October 23rd, 2022 8:20am pdt

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The Nightmare of Her (V)

 read ( words)

"I am sick and tired of dreaming about being behind the wheel in a car and unable to stop it with the brake pedal. I’ve probably spoken of this before, too. There have been too many occurrences to recall and I simply had to have brought it up here. The latest ended like many others, my inability to press the brake pedal hard enough to stop forward motion. The car was not out of control, however. It was moving slowly and I ended up cruising right through a red light, and that is not even the main issue with the dream. Other occasions have found me alone in the vehicle and simply trying to park or stop at a light. The latest dream was much longer and began with the car, myself in the driver’s seat, and two passengers.

1054. The routine is finished and I don’t know if I feel like driving over the hill today. I’d love to have the bar stocked up, yet there is a storm of feeling inside related to the dream as well as everything previously (somewhat) explored recently. The only positive thing is the fact that the dream this morning had nothing to do with ‘her’. I’m certain all that shit will return soon enough and catch me upside the head like a wrecking bar. And speaking of the fucking dream...

I was driving my car through a residential area when all of us spotted a semi trailer bearing the Jack Daniel’s logo. For whatever reason, I turned just past where it was parked and spied a man delivering a dolly full of whiskey cases to a very large house. Even more confusing? I parked the car and we knocked at the door. We were greeted and led inside as I noticed the interior of the home was appealing, seeing that my taste gravitates toward old-fashioned woodwork and lots of dark colors. The occupants were very strange and all drinking whiskey from decorative glasses. They offered me one. At that point, I began to feel concern over being inside their home. One turn of my head and I saw a friend’s son sitting at a computer playing some type of game. The sight felt natural, however, because I’ve been in the exact same situation. The odd part is that the man playing the game was not the son of my companion. I still don’t understand that one. Anyway, once I became uneasy about being there, I noticed the occupants had retreated to what appeared to be a bedroom. I could see bare feet through a gap at the bottom of the door. Something was happening in that room which made me desperately need to get the hell out of the house. I searched for my wallet and car fob (I have no idea why they were not in my pocket), told the others we had to leave, and then we made our way out and along a path through the front yard, one overgrown with exotic plants. I saw my car backed into a parking space at a right angle to the street – much like some of the hill parking in the City – and we all piled in. I pressed the brake and then the start button, but the engine had difficulty cranking. Once running, I pulled into traffic and turned right. For whatever reason, I knew we had to make our way to Interstate 465, though my brain was thinking about Interstate 5. The engine was running rough and I feared the inhabitants of the house had somehow tampered with my car, thus increasing my already overwhelming need to flee the area. We traveled down a slight hill to a traffic signal as I scanned the horizon for signs leading to the highway. The light was red, but as usual in my dreams involving driving a car, I could not fucking stop no matter how much pressure I applied to the brake pedal. As we approached the intersection, a man tried to tape a note to my windshield, all the while yelling at me to stop the car. I could not. We slowly moved through the intersection – cars on both sides honking and swearing at me to get out of the way – as I overheard the man with the note shouting words that struck fear into my heart. He was warning me that I had crossed the wrong people, namely those in the fucking house. I then knew that he was in cahoots with them and possibly responsible for the electronic failures with the engine. I immediately felt as if I was being pursued and could not escape no matter the effort. At that point I saw some sort of little module that seemed to be a part of the car’s electrical system (possibly due to all of the recent work on my truck) and knew I was doomed. And... Awake at two in the morning. I am still uncomfortable about the dream nine hours later. This is going to lead to anger. I know it.

There is a fucking Freudian shit component to this situation, as well. I have too much in my head and BARELY make it through a given day without my Goddamned subconscious adding worry to the pile. I am becoming more and more angry as the minutes pass. Maybe I should go shopping just to kill time and add distraction to this fucked up day.

1418 and I feel like crap. The trip to the big wine store was rather uncomfortable, and on the way out I didn’t see that the cashier left out my dark chocolate because I was staring at her fucking black jeans. As if that wasn’t enough, the previous customer was a gorgeous Asian girl wrapped in yoga pants and appearing as an example of obsession, complete with a long, dark ponytail. I failed to see her walk out of the store and that fact likely saved me from further heartache. I saw nothing else in the store, thankfully. I picked up supplies, fell down like always, and then returned to town for a stop at the market. There was a woman near the seafood wearing earbuds and dancing a bit as she shopped. The sight of her put a smile on my face for a few seconds as I moved to the other end of the store for some fresh pasta. Now I am home, lunch is out of the way, and I do not have a fucking clue as to what the rest of this day will entail. I don’t feel like doing anything. Wait... ‘Feel’? I feel stupid. Had I gone to a different cashier, I probably would not have overlooked the bar of candy. At least I picked up stuff for dinner tonight. Oh, and I have enough whiskey stocked up to fill the bathtub. Not funny. It’s a crutch, nothing more. I am an idiot, but I suppose if I’m going to be an idiot, I may as well have plenty of alcohol for appropriate drowning. Laugh it up.

I was trying to imagine lines. Both of them... Lines. Great. Avoiding the pet store next door was probably wise. Nearly anything can set me off, from lips to eyes to whatever the fuck else is present.

Jesus holy hell shit fuck damn Christ in a bourbon barrel. 1830. I spent the afternoon in the garage to finish the laundry cabinet doors – basically just a decorative center facade and the latch – and then did some vacuuming after slathering the benches with sawdust yesterday. I then hatched the idea to go back to my home theatre receiver with its faulty display. I have the capability to test individual components when they are out of circuit, so I pulled it apart and ran several experiments. That is all the good stuff today. The bad? Take a wild fucking guess. God damn the whole world anyway... A couple walking along the street with three kids sharing one of those small electric cars. The woman. Very tall, thin, and wearing the fucking yoga pants created by some otherworldly being bent upon my fucking destruction. Yep. She was fucking amazing. And not only did they make their way along very slowly, effectively allowing me quite some time to stare, but they paused to reconfigure the kids and the car. She moved every which way – at one point facing directly away from my position – and I saw far more than I should have. Damn it all. Amazing, slender, and full of those FUCKING GODDAMNED LINES THAT ARE RULING MY PATHETIC EXISTENCE. Everything was right there before my broken, desperate vision. Oh, believe me... I saw the lines of my life. When they disappeared, I went back to the receiver experiments and my show on the garage television, yet nothing was clear. That sight cut me so deeply that I can still see every fucking line that woman carried. She probably has no fucking clue as to how strikingly gorgeous and amazing her appearance can be to another person. Wait... Person? I am not a person anymore. I am a machine with broken and/or missing parts that less than one hour ago went through the trial of a lifetime. The store? Earlier? Yeah, all that shit is GONE. I don’t even care because the woman on the street pretty much made everything else in the world disappear. Good God, I really didn’t need that. But I stared. And then I stared some more. And I saw something that is always somewhere out there, yet so far away from me that I may as well reside on fucking Neptune. Between the dream and being gripped in fear for most of the morning, and then gazing at the artwork of the fucking universe after already being so weakened and desperate that I can barely get through the day’s work, I’ll fucking tell you that something has got to give here. I can only handle so much. And my heart is breaking into pieces because I’ll never have the chance to tell her exactly the type of galactic beauty she carries. I am hurting, bad. And I’m fucking sad in more ways than one. The worst part of all this is my brain processed her lines and then fabricated a question: Is that ‘her’? Go ahead... Label me. Shoot straight. Crucify me. I will help with the fucking nails. I don’t believe that even after all this time I’ve actually gotten the point across as to my fucking condition. I am a mental and emotional wasteland filled with more need than should be allowed one person on this fucking planet.

Most of the time, the lines are a complete mystery. On her? They were right fucking there and I saw them from across the street. Tell me I’m ok or ‘normal’ and I’ll demonstrate reality.

0710 on Saturday morning and that woman is still slowly walking away from me. Well, in my head, anyway. I still see her black pants and all those points of wonder that no one can explain to me. Coffee flow, third show, cats fed, fucked head. This is one of my favorite mornings of the week and I am trying to enjoy the quiet and my friends on the television. Unfortunately, between researching the symbolism in some of my dreams and the other dream which walked by the house yesterday, I really don’t have much reach toward enjoyment of any kind. I didn’t even make dinner last night because we ended up in a discussion regarding dreams and I lost my damned appetite. At one point I actually considered opening up about the damaging dreams before coming to my senses. I can’t do that. Those moments seem to have faded for the time being, anyway. Maybe the artwork on the street squashed some of my other desperate visions. I don’t know. One thing which could help (and has been impossible thus far) is for me to learn the reason why those lines torture me almost to death. Why are they so important? Everything turns to shit when I see an example of my obsession, and yesterday was nearly the peak of the whole fucking shitaree. I remember asking two disparate women – many years apart, of course – to sit or stand a certain way so as to allow me to stare at those most amazing of lines. They both complied and showed interest in my appreciation. One was the highest order of what I had been seeking, the other not far behind. Well, yesterday showed me that the sliding scale continues to roll right over me with nary a concern for my survival. And both those women are gone, anyway. I was trying to illustrate something and now I just don’t give a shit. Too much beauty.

I have to travel over the hill again today, this time for an oil change and to stop at two places for staples. I may go outside that route and browse a bit, possibly even for some lunch. Right now I am unsure, though. Maybe it’s just too early for me to formulate a decent plan. Or maybe yesterday ruined my ability to think at all. I don’t fucking know anything this morning. I suppose finishing the doors and latch was a good thing because I probably can’t do fuck-all today. I’ll be out there searching for that woman.

Yes, I was hoping it was ‘her’. Do you believe that shit? Desperate. All those mornings for years hoping someone would come along out of the clear, black sky and save me from this life have molded me into something I can no longer identify. The dream is a combination of what I felt during my futile wait for Shilo to emerge from between those brick columns and all of the other visions during the last few years, wherever they may have taken place. Not just lines or a certain darkness, but the whole fuckin’ shootin’ match... Understanding, beauty, and an end to the worries that have taken over my entire life. ‘Her’. The answer to everything. Unfortunately, she is also a product of my imagination and I will suffer accordingly. I wished that the woman yesterday would turn and see me, maybe even wave. A smile and the sight of her eyes. Now you know just how far gone I’ve become.

I don’t know where to go from here. Do I continue to write about doing laundry?

For reasons of good form, I’m including the verses from the song. See them below. This is how I think. And keep in mind that no composition is going to be a complete match to my mindset. It is close, however. I placed the choruses between for posterity. The idea that he is desperate enough to imagine 'her' knowing of his feelings is the most important aspect of the track. And I own this album on vinyl.

Beyond the words
Of beauty and desire
A memory of you
Sets me on fire
Your voice was magic
Your eyes will paralyze
I fell out of your spell
I was mesmerized
I wish you would make it real

(Dreamin' about you)
If only you knew that I was
(Dreamin' about you)
If my wishes could come true
(Dreamin' about you)
You've got to got to know that I am
(Dreamin' about you)

Even when your heart
I could not find
I keep you locked up
Inside my mind
You dance through my thoughts
All of the time
To want someone this bad
Just must be a crime

(Dreamin' about you)
If only you knew that I was
(Dreamin' about you)
If my wishes could come true
(Dreamin' about you)
You've got to got to know that I am
(Dreamin' about you)

Oh life's just a battle
I fight it every day
Sometimes I wonder
If it's worth it to stay
But when I'm down
It's you I'm thinking of
Someone who's special
Somebody I can love

(Dreamin' about you)
If only you knew that I was
(Dreamin' about you)
If my wishes could come true
(Dreamin' about you)
You've got to got to know that I am
(Dreamin' about you)

The lyrics above are copyright ©1984 George Criston, Larry Gillstrom, Raymond Harvey, Victor Langen and Brian Gillstrom (the band Kick Axe, bless them).

I don’t know where to go from here. The lyrics notwithstanding, this entry has already said too much and then became derailed like so many others after I fell off the edge of the world over a very specific dream. Oh, it was right there. ‘Her’? Never mind. Too much.

0820. The cutest Bajoran ever is on the screen in this episode. Too bad she ended up being a very bad person. No one else will compare until the hybrid in later seasons. I have some coffee left and over my right shoulder is a very gray, drizzly sky. This is the ideal fall weather I used to dream of when mired in the heat of the valley. I probably went all over the place with those memories in ‘Holiday’. Warm feelings, beautiful landscapes, and all during the glow. That was also the period when my sensitivity to climate went through the roof. I yearned for the cool, shorter days of fall and Winter combined with everything which goes along with holidays. Now? I just sit here and remember because everything is fucking gone. I can ‘want’ all day long and nothing will come of it. Should I turn my head the other way and embrace what I have instead? You’re going to have to teach me exactly how to do that. Remember, I am but half of what I once was, so you need to take into consideration all of the empty space inside my being. Some of the words will fall away as quickly as they are uttered.

My needs don’t matter. I think there is only one part of this I can actually change.

Song lyrics. Ugh. The situation is pretty fucking skewed if I am quoting someone else’s work on my site. This is not surprising, though, when you consider the sheer weight of difficulty inside me. I’ll keep reaching until something changes, as unlikely as the idea may be. That woman shook me to the fucking core yesterday and I may not easily recover, if at all. Dark, wavy hair, damn it. I could sit here and type forever and never even glean the amount of need inside me upon seeing her move. Some physical, most mental. I needed her to save me from all this shit, once and for fucking all. I have a strong desire to ‘see’, yet at the same time I really do not want to see anything. The result is only pain. Lots of pain and sadness. Today I have to go through the usual motions, too. How the fuck am I going to accomplish anything with such a dream having been so close? Just when things seemed completely fucked, they go further.

A bit of coffee left, along with my third show again. I am waiting for those key moments that bring tears to my eyes. I love these people, unlike most aspects of life or society. Maybe lunch at an agreeable restaurant will help my mood today. Sometimes lunch goes bad, though. I see everything, often much more than I am capable of handling. I’ll decide later.

0917 and I still see that woman and her lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Lines. Why? Fuck me in a ditch. I need a fucking drink.

The incident took me away from that fucking dream from the other morning. I suppose that can be construed as a good thing. We discussed the symbolism in the dream and I came up with an empty bag yet again. Honestly, I don’t really care what it means. I have neither the time nor the inclination to sit here and analyze that crap as if I am a psychotherapist. The biggest fish in the history of the universe must be fried. And? Blah... Blah... Blah... Herlinecakes. I am wrecked. I have wished for the Passion for more than five years, but that is a material possession, nothing more. The reality is I could acquire the fucking thing with some years of very strict discipline and intelligent investing. The idea IS possible, see? The Passion is just a wristwatch. A very complex, ultra-rare and expensive wristwatch, but that is it. An ‘item’. The word ‘impossibility’ entered into that essay, too. Honestly, I should have employed the term ‘improbable’ instead, because despite the extraordinary set of circumstances required in such a feat, it is possible. On the other hand? The woman. ‘Her’. What do we say? SHE is impossible. Convince me otherwise. She removed most of the dream. For that I can be thankful, although I’m certain I will dream of her soon enough. This entry is going in circles like many others. I am losing my way here, and in life.



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1007. Huge cocktail next to me. I won’t be able to do anything later without a touch of ‘skew’ in my brain. Call me what you will... I don’t care anymore.

I still see her over there standing in the street. Lines. All of the lines, and possibly more than I can fucking handle at this point in life (hence, partly, the booze right now). The race girl is probably the last example with such an appearance, although she was very young. I believe the woman I saw yesterday was older. I can’t be certain, and her age doesn’t matter any more than my feelings. She may as well not exist. The sight served as another example of my desperation and yearning for someone to come along out of nothingness and save me from all this shit. That woman is in a good place. Where, you ask? She knows nothing of me, nor did she see the pain in my eyes. She is better off that way, believe me. I am not a person any longer. I am a syndrome.

The clock continues to roll along with nary a concern for the well-being of people, most notably myself. I don’t see the oil change and shopping happening today. I am going to tell her to go get the oil change without me. I must remain home and alone. There are problems out there beyond my garage door and I don’t want to see them. Yesterday was plenty. Ahh... Ice cold whiskey. Improvement is not on my horizon, but at least I can hide myself away from the bad things.

Do you see the young woman modeling the dress? I ran across the first image of her by accident and then sought some additional angles. She is nothing more than a random person who happens to show off some features I appreciate. I may or may not remove her. I shot some images of the truck the other day. Perhaps I’ll switch to those. They are pretty with the colored lighting. Like I always say, if the fucking truck is going to sit there all the time, it may as well look nice. The drive I felt a month ago to see it operating on batteries is waning. I can’t get myself to care very much lately, hence the lights. The batteries and charger are expensive, as well. Again... I am not caring very much. It can reside on the bench.

The depression is becoming severe this morning. I suppose I’ll get to the routine soon and then dry clean some shit. Maybe moving around will help. My head is in a nightmarish condition today. I had thought that fucking dream was a nightmare, yet compared to how I feel in life right now, it was actually a Goddamned cake walk. As I sit here and recall the woman on the street, I am reminded of asking the Raven to stand with feet together while we waited for a train. She did as I requested, and then I saw the lines. Her jeans were about as form-fitting as could be. The same situation took place years later in the goblet when I saw the lines on a woman thirty fucking years older. Same stance, same lines. There are differences, of course, due to age, but the idea does not change at all. Beauty is universal. Both represent two of the most beautiful women ever to grace my fucked up vision. On both occasions, I lost my mind. Those lines were right across the street yesterday and the only resulting feeling is loss. Not desire, love, or any other beautiful term. Just loss. I am lost. I HAVE lost. Everything. ‘Keep sipping, dumb fuck.’ I’ll do chores very soon.

This has become a nightmare from which I cannot awaken.

I cannot be good for anyone. Not kidding. I cannot be good for anyone. If the future holds someone that can understand, the only possible outcome is disaster because that person would have to be completely fucked in the head to connect with the likes of me. And I am worsening with the passage of time. Any positives I may spout on the subject are meaningless.

This is going bad. The rails are a circle and there are no switches. A circle. A spiral, actually. A spiral descending into a place I expect to be much worse than where I sit right now. Nothing good is going to happen to me. Recently I mentioned that every time I’ve had a second cocktail during the day everything went to shit and I became reckless with my thoughts. Well, today is probably the worst day to head in such a direction. I can already see that second glass of booze and where it will lead. No doubt. After this first yummy glass of depressant, I shall cease my sipping. As liberating as the resulting decision appears, I don’t want it today.

Many years ago, a coworker of mine referred to me as a ‘master of arcane knowledge’. I could not disagree at the time because of the number of different jobs I’d had by that point and the fact that I tend to remember detailed information on a wide variety of very technical subjects. That was when we lived in Dublin, which puts the year around zero-four or shortly thereafter. That time was when the obsession became driven by the girl at the car wash combined with my fascination with the exotic nature of Asian women and their dark features. I could probably still be considered as his observation now as I was back then. I know lots of things which are obscure and highly technical, from the principles of internal combustion engines all the way to engineering and electronics. I can state in all confidence that as I sit here right now I know many things that are unnecessary and lack a mass of emotional education. The combination has created the person writing these essays, not to mention those incidents of the past that helped to shape me into a fucking depression case. Aside from helping people throughout the years with repairs and other advice, I know absolutely nothing that assists me personally. Yes, I am a helpful person and try to provide other people with technical issues, but inside I am a fucking void. My crowning achievement is not that very complex and wondrous vehicle I designed and built from imagination, but a condition defined by what I saw yesterday and the resulting pain inside. I stared at her and needed more than I can ever say. I felt lost, full of torment, and more desire to understand that at any other time in my fifty-five-plus years of living on this spinning marble. I needed to see her lines up close and wanted the sight to lead to more than I care to admit.

I am running out of superlatives and the drive to type the words. Damn this condition, anyway. Just... Damn it to hell. The time is now 1115 and I’ve cemented my own decision to remain home all day. I don’t want to see anything else. I am so fucking lost that I can’t see two inches in front of my face. Forever worsening. And remember... What I am feeling at this moment is not her fault. Not even close.

What a fucking nightmare.

1406. I have all but lost direction today. The routine is finished and I had something to eat. Everything else feels as if it is on the outer edge of a very large circle, one in which I am centered and cannot reach at all. I cannot reach anything right now. Megan is on the screen again with her adorable chiclets. She is so cute. I am so ruined. ‘Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it to stay'.

I don’t know anymore. Ugh.

Something just popped into my head for unknown reasons. December of zero-one, two and three. The occasions when each installment of the big trilogy were released to theatres. The Christmas season in full swing, my career being built in a wondrous place that fit my personality to a tee, and family gatherings for the holiday on the horizon. The theatre is gone, my family is nearly all gone, and the holiday brightness has dimmed accordingly. Ah... Megan again. Even when she plays a villain, the loveliness does not diminish. Anyway, I don’t know why those three premiers came to mind. Maybe I am again yearning for the past. A decade prior to that era? Glowing. It is gone, as well.

0711 on Sunday morning. I have my nice cup of coffee and my loving companions have been fed. My other loving companions are up there on the big television. I am still cruising through the third show because the feeling of seeing and hearing what is taking place provides me with a very specific type of comfort. It is difficult to explain. I will say that during the beginning of the pandemic when I first mounted the television in the kitchen, I had been watching mostly broadcast programming along with the occasional streaming stuff. Well, the BBC typically ran this show each weekday morning from six until noon. I got into the habit of putting that channel on each morning during the business time and before my drive. Some months later was when I decided to drop the cable box and stick to streaming media exclusively. For whatever reason, the memory of watching and listening to this series from two years ago warms my heart.

Lines on the television for a split second. Wow. I don’t need any more lines in my life, but I want to see them. ‘Her’ lines. This morning I am again wishing that the woman on the street the other day was here to save me. Isn’t that splendid? I am screwed. No one knows shit about the imagery I see each day while alone, nor can they know the lengths to which I travel just to watch the hours roll by toward the evening. This is not a fucking joke. Ah... The lines were not completely there. My imagination must have filled in the blanks. Wonderful.

I need... Something.

My football game is on after one o’clock this afternoon. I’ll have time for my usual Sunday business and maybe a bit more. As much as I tend to prefer the morning games, when ours is in the afternoon I do have more time to complete everything before relaxing. It feels more rewarding, somehow. And I just experienced a touch of warmth knowing that my Sunday norm awaits, along with whatever I wish to keep me company in the background. This used to be the end of my very short time off work before diving back into the deep end of the pool Monday morning, but now it is probably my favorite day of the week. I suppose my life has been reduced to the point of me finding garbage work that fucking enjoyable. Marvelous. Anyway, in and around the typical stuff I do on this day will be some planning for furthering my work in the garage. Since I completed the doors on the laundry shelves, that side of the room looks much neater. Now I’d like to go further and see how much I can actually improve the space without going nuts. And then there is the damned truck. I have not done anything for a few days, or at least once the tail light fixture was completed. Yesterday morning I threaded a piece of stainless tubing as a test for possibly replacing the teflon sleeves that are on each axle. Sometimes I picture replacing the screws and sleeves for each wire rope with custom screws made of that same tubing. And then when I come to my senses, I picture the entire steering system being supplanted by two high-torque servos. Ugh. I don’t know. I’ve gone through holy hell for fifteen years making that system work properly without failing or falling apart – all the way to the point of actually driving the fucking truck along the floor and watching the steering operate – and now I”m considering scrapping the entire thing? I don’t know yet. The point is there is always something to do on that project. I’ll see where the time takes me.

Hopefully, nothing else takes me from myself. She is still in my head. I still wish for ‘her’ to come up the driveway and save me from this existence. I still scan the neighborhood for those lines and then picture something good actually happening to me. And then I realize I’ve already answered that question... Nothing good is going to happen in my life. Just little tidbits. Hardware. Progress on the truck. My friends on the television. The occasional booze or good food. The things that matter and those which carry more importance than even my own life are just not on the fucking horizon. Not for me. The good stuff is for other people. I need her to come up the driveway just like my dreams while waiting to go to my toilsome, depressing job. Sometimes I pictured three women strolling up the driveway, other times just one, and on those rare days when I was actually doing ok, I wondered if there could actually be a Shilo somewhere in the world. I wish...

This just keeps going and going (nowhere), I sit here and speak with the keyboard and nothing ever comes of the effort. Do I seem like I understand more than a year ago? Do I seem like I’ve gained insight into how I can live more comfortably each day? Nope. Still saying the same things over and over, and then finding something new and saying THAT over and over. There is always a bottom line here, but if I state it and then stop writing, that means I won’t be typing. I like the feel and sound of the keyboard. Do you think I’ve written all this shit for nearly six years just to hear the keys clicking? Yes, almost six years because the site shifted direction in January of fifteen. Nothing is being served here. The likeliest outcome of my effort in creating this shit is that someone out there in the world is finding some entertainment value inherent in my words. You know, people need constant entertainment, much like my shows in the background. I see nothing else possible. Nothing. Hopefully the truth is no one reads this drivel.

I have to update the ‘About’ section because it no longer fully applies to the bulk of the content here. There is only one site purpose remaining anymore, and that would be my fucked up head. I was in pretty bad shape as fifteen moved along into February, but now I see that period as a little better than I felt at the time. There was one glaring positive, too, but I’m not going into that crap right now. The loss will ruin my day. Anyway, some parts of the ‘About’ section need to be reviewed and streamlined. I let things go quite often because I’ve been distracted by this FUCKING FRUITLESS SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS, not to put too fine a point on it.

I’m going to toss more shit into the trash later.

The ‘image’ is attempting to force its way into my head and derail everything this morning. I can’t fucking have that right now. The last hour has been fairly peaceful and the idea of my dream hasn’t shoved me into a hole as of yet, so I need to push against that damned ‘image’ and continue my Sunday path. I do not feel disdain or dislike for myself as I did years ago, this is true, but I still do not react well when I do something I feel is a mistake. Pushing.

The sun is shining, albeit not fully as of yet due to the early hour. The angle looks like fall, the air smells like fall, and the feelings of those past holiday seasons are trying to wedge their way into my head. Maybe that stuff can help me block the path of the ‘image’. I don’t know which is worse, to be honest. The ‘image’, I suppose, because that one can affect me at some point during a given day and then hang on for a fucking week.

Someone please tell me there is something out there. Please.

I need a way out of this fucking nightmare."



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