September 20th, 2022 8:24am pdt

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The Relentless Reproach

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" hands immediately following hers.

Oh my, yesterday was quite the pooch-screw. I made a few little mistakes (no big deal) and one huge, glaring error. Along the multiple hour journey from one game to the next, there had been two items out of order which were trying desperately to draw my attention. One succeeded for a moment, and that is all. The other floated about the room during the game and stood out like the Titanic sitting in the middle of a desert. There were few women in the room to begin with, honestly, but her bright outfit shined beyond everything else. The other item was in the outdoor seating area with a friend of mine and the sight of her body sent me back in time all the way to the glow. I remained in the past for seconds before returning. From that moment forward I had to refrain from speaking as much as possible. My brain saw those converging and diverging pathways of time when chance can alter a person’s direction. Mine had been altered. I can see the other path at times, such as early last week. A few days later I saw it again, briefly. Bright eyes, hopeful words, positive thinking. None of that relates to me. The couple was like an alien life form sitting there unaware of the bad things nearby. I’ll try to avoid commentary regarding their month-old child in the stroller. There was a third item, too. She was behind the bar, and hours after the crowd had thinned a bit, I went to her for a round of drinks and in no uncertain terms complimented the hell out of her eyes. A little later I did it again. I don’t know what may have gone through her head, however, because bartenders are often addressed by those who have been drinking to excess. And I don’t really care, either. There is little chance I’ll see her again anytime soon. I simply threw out the words and saw a smile. I then walked away.

0753 on Monday morning and boy am I ever going to take it easy today. I really need to relax after yesterday’s fricass, yet still my routine will be completed in good order. For the time being, this is it. Regardless of being away from home yesterday and completely distracted for some hours, everything returned quickly. Sitting here right now? I feel broken. Every time I venture out to do something social, there is either a vision or other problem which remains inside me for the duration. Every. Fucking. Time. Yesterday was no different, hence my taking it slow on this Monday. I have to think about everything. Oh, and there was more...

The breasts again, early this morning, right there in front of me. I dreamed of the same fucking woman and her chest AGAIN. She spoke to me but I cannot recall the words. For the third time, her hands did some of the communicating. After yesterday and seeing the partner of my friend, I really didn’t need that shit while sleeping. I’m tired of being hit in the face with such sights. I’m just fucking tired of it. Honestly, I’m fucking sick of many aspects of life right now. I believe the fact that I had a hell of a time keeping my eyes off the chest of my buddy's partner had a hand in creating another dream. The timing could not be worse.

I have much to do today. The kitchen was never addressed yesterday due to my being gone for so many hours. There is laundry and dry cleaning, too. I’ll get to everything soon enough. The rub this morning is like many other days, and goes all the way back to the beginning of the year. I’m feeling the passage of time more acutely today due to the weather reporter pointing out that we are but ten days from the beginning of autumn. Ugh. The summer is nearly over, which generally brings me joy due to cooler weather, football, holidays, etc., yet today I just feel lost. The crap from months ago is affecting my ability to remain even a little bit positive, and combined with seeing the young people in the courtyard yesterday, I am beginning to expect a very dim fall season. Something needs to pull me out of this. Right now I don’t have the first clue as to that type of power. So sad. Everything continues to roll right over me as if Satan is driving the fucking train and I am the rails. Still, I believe today can be alright if I focus upon the housework and take it slow. Everything I need is most decidedly out of reach, so I'll do what I can.

1137 and I actually finished the routine. I have no idea what motivated me to rise and work, but it’s done, thankfully. I was not looking forward to being on my feet so long, nor did the thought of caring for the kitchen after it sat for nearly two days seem enticing. Right now I feel a touch of pride. I also have laundry in the dryer. The rest of the day – aside from dry cleaning and a bit of attention given to the flooring – is mine. Earlier, I was pulled from reality and daydreaming of subjects better left out of this content, and too much thinking led me astray. Aslant? That came after. I need the clock to move and shove this day into history. I really do. My brain is awash with imagery again. There is no cocktail next to me this morning.

All my problems would disappear if I could live where I have wished for years. No, I am not talking about somewhere on this planet. Remember... Everything I need is impossible. The thought comes to mind at some point (or points) every single day.

And Tuesday morning arrives without fanfare for the common webmaster. Coffee and the third show again. I am watching and waiting for a few key moments. Being the strange person I’ve become, however, I cannot simply skip to whatever episodes carry said moments. I have to watch them in order. That’s who I am. I’ll take the time because I have it all.

I dreamed of machine shops and all my years working in the space program. I am beginning to see that anything necessary for ruining my days and sending me into a downward spiral shall take place just prior to waking in the morning. As the truck is related to my past and the importance of what I have accomplished, I’ll be sitting in front of it later today when my parts arrive. I’ve found that is the best way to resist falling down whenever I feel out of place. I sit there and embrace the project. After recalling our routines and procedures for operation of the light gas guns, I'm feeling pretty fucking lost. I may spend lots of time at the editor this morning.

0843. The day is open, yet beyond the usual routine and possible truck work, I don’t really know what to do. The wickedness seems to have faded for the time being. It will return, though. Nothing good is expected. Nothing good. I suppose I can go through the motions today and see how I feel once the housework is finished. There is a mass of dining chairs in the garage which must be dealt with, plus some items in the freezer I wish to list for free on the neighborhood site. We have far too much crap in the garage right now. Maybe I can work toward clearing out some things once I’m finished in the house. Whenever my parts arrive I’ll switch gears to see if the steering can be made operational. The last step is to reconnect the wire ropes and tubing. I hope everything works properly because the alternative is to scrap the entire system as I designed it and install a linear actuator instead. Not good, but such a change may be necessary.

My mood is gloomy, just like the sky outside since yesterday. No sunshine inside or out, most notably inside the part of me in desperate need of understanding. The color is gray and heading toward black. Two main issues with this: One, I cannot forget or extract the past imagery from my brain, and two, the dreams are killing me. No, not that shit about NASA. I am referring to those which leave me wondering why I have become so out of balance. Maybe so many years of being closed off due to fear have ruined any possibility of a future in the light. Gloomy. No matter what I may be doing or whenever there is enjoyment during my days, there remains gloom behind everything. I think of the closet doors and feel sad. I look at my truck and lose hope. I look around the house and see everything left unfinished and then feel bad. The past rears up and stares at me as if all this shit is my fucking fault, after which I look back and display as much pissy disdain as I can muster. Gloomy doesn’t really cut it for a term here, yet after years of writing I really don’t know what else to say. To this very second, the only positive I see is a mass of time to myself. Yes, I know the time can be both good and bad, but let me say that if I had to reenter the fucking workforce, I’d lose it pretty quickly and retreat straight back into this little house. I need the time as much right now as I did five years ago. Given the choice, I’ll take the bad over being out there among society when I do not wish it. I suppose sometimes I need to focus upon the ‘good’. Doing so is very difficult at times.

1017. The routine is finished, plus I did some spot cleaning of the floor near the litter boxes. Those cats are not exactly the neatest creatures, but I love them. In a little while I have to drive south just like the other day, yet on this occasion there will be no cancellation. The departure time is entirely up to me. That trip will chew an hour or so, and then upon my return I can work on whatever seems best.


1017. The routine is finished, plus I did some spot cleaning of the floor near the litter boxes. Those cats are not exactly the neatest creatures, but I love them. In a little while I have to drive south just like the other day, yet on this occasion there will be no cancellation. The departure time is entirely up to me. That trip will chew an hour or so, and then upon my return I can work on whatever seems best.

Wednesday after the morning business. I have coffee and the third show, bless those people. I also just added four images of Nicola for posterity which will likely accomplish nothing more than irritating whomever may be reading this crap. Well, build your own shit and you can display whatever you wish. She is lovely, bright, and inspires getting ‘out there’ to do something other than allowing the world to simply roll over oneself. Not bad. And yes, she is a model. No shit. The point of her being here cannot be discussed, unfortunately. ‘I can’t go inta dat right now.’ – Tony. One word or phrase in the wrong direction and my fucking goose is cooked. Again... Nicola is here for posterity. That’s all I will say. Well, she does relate to a certain character on the show I’ve been following during the evenings. The relational analysis must be in strict confidence, though. Just know she is here for good reason. And no, it’s not due to her oversized chest. I am not that fucking shallow. Eh... I just removed two of the images in favor of Grace. Enjoy her eyes.

0910. I have to go to the market in a little while for some things. I’ll probably take care of half the routine, like usual, before heading over there. I like coming home to less housework. Yesterday I spent hours in the garage trying to fabricate a mount for the spur and eventually succeeded. I must say it came out pretty nice, although in operating the drive off the actual motor – a temporary setup – I noticed for the first time that the spur is not concentric with its center bearing. This is likely due to the gear having been adapted to the bearing via a custom made carrier. I don’t believe there is anything I can do about it, either. The problem is not terribly severe, though. I think the system will operate just fine because the offset is scarcely noticeable. Now I have to decide if I want to further complicate the primary drive to increase the ratio, or if leaving it as direct-drive will be alright. All that time in the garage does not mean the house suffered, either. I took care of everything in order to free up time in the afternoon. The cost of having parts machined for me is high, so I’ve been trying to do it myself, albeit without the benefit of proper tools. I can be pretty resourceful, however, and so far everything has been coming out nice. I have machine tools, just no machines. Heh.

1453. Everything is finished, including the market and lunch. I’ve been tooling around with the drive system on the truck for the last couple of hours. The conclusion is this: Either I grab some raw aluminum stock and fabricate a few parts myself, or I put away some money and get a tabletop milling machine. Yep, an actual mill. That is probably something I should have considered several years ago rather than farming out the work I cannot accomplish with what I have in the garage and with any decent accuracy.

0654 on Thursday morning. Days have passed without more dreams, and I believe the lack of strikes in my vision or wake is the reason. As much as I don’t want to see any of those images, at the same time I am absolutely DYING without the ability to once again gaze upon such sweetness. I want to see, I need to see, but I never said any of this was good in the least. Maybe in the future I’ll get a glimpse of one of the lines. Just one, please. Or, maybe that’s not such a good idea. I’d like to...

This is going to be one of those mornings in which my brain tries to get the best of me. I’ll have to fight against it, I guess. Each day has me a little lower than the last, hence my embrace of the project lately. Whether or not I can go out there and solve problems, I need the distraction. Badly. This is a bad time. I have to take care of the morning business very soon. Maybe that work can help get the breasts out of my head this morning before everything goes to hell. And now the time is 0800 and the work is complete for the time being. I have hours to myself for whatever seems best, or whatever may keep me going. My mood has been gloomy for three days. Right now I can see difficulty ahead and must remain out of it. Not that I know what the hell to do, but I know something has to alter the morning or I’ll lose my shit again. I am going to try to focus on the design work for a while just in case my dream of the milling machine comes to pass in the next few months. I honestly believe that the machine is such a big deal to me that it could actually save me. The capabilities might have the power to pull my sorry head out of the bra cups. Well, something had better, or bad things are going to happen.

Here I am after eleven in the morning with the routine finished but nothing else. I am currently at a loss as to a direction for the rest of the day, but hopefully something will come along. The truck is probably going to sit there as I ponder the idea of the benchtop mill. I don’t want to waste material while trying to make reasonably accurate parts if I’m going to end up replacing them later. The electronics half of the vehicle is fine for the time being, or at least insofar as the manner in which everything operates right now. Until the drive is completed and operational, I need not mess around with the system. The best path may be to create drawings of each component for later fabrication. Drawing with precision takes a lot of time. There is a cold glass of orange vodka to my right because the morning has not been pleasant. I know too much, remember more, and need even more. There is precious little good in my life. I must try to focus.

Having been a willing victim of the lion is weighing heavily on my head and has caused more anger and distress than almost anything else in my history. The situation was a reproach, meaning I had been forced to recoil and lash out with money in order to distract myself from the hellish memories and the hole dug in tandem with that creature. In short, said reproach is holding me back in life. I found comfort through material possessions and nothing else. Now that my resources have been severely truncated, the comfort has followed suit. The fucking situation back then has had an enormous impact upon the way I view other people, especially while considering the physical aspects of relationships. That does not come up terribly often, but during those moments I must say that my head travels back in time quicker than you can slap a tick. THAT fast. Straight to the damage path still apparent after being thrown into the head of the pride, devoured, and then shit out the other side when everything went to hell.

0648 on Friday morning. The lines were in my head last night thanks to the show we’ve been following, and then I was led back to the reproach through a dire need to explore. That type of situation is very unusual for the latter part of any day. It really is. Most of the trouble I experience is either during mornings alone or when I am out there among the sheep of society (and then alone afterward and left to my thinking). The sweetness on the television creates feelings inside me rivaled only by the most pulling aspects of the damaging dream(s), and all of it tends to jam up my brain during the first few hours of each day while I am trying to consider options for the hours ahead. Today is no different, naturally. The damaging dream continues to attack me randomly during any given day and then I falter while trying to concentrate upon something technical. Yesterday, for example, I worked on the steering system for a while with some mellow music in the background when the imagery from weeks ago slammed me and halted the metalwork. I did eventually get everything together and was quite pleased with the effort, but in the background was a pair of breasts that would not disappear. Believe me when I say that the modifications and maintenance I had been attempting to complete were highly complex, meaning my concentration must be sharp and unwavering or nothing will align. Sometimes there is literally nothing which can be done to extract the difficulty, and then I feel a combination of depression and loneliness. The work ceases and I end up right back where I started. Most of the time my only wish is to complete even the slightest amount of work before stopping because I know full well that once the imagery and dreams catch up to my consciousness, all brainpower disappears.

Later this morning I need to drive over the hill to the pet store and the big wine store right next to it. I’d like to get over there and back with a minimum of issues and in good time. Hopefully there are no disturbing pants. I’ve become so weakened that a trip over there requires me to steel myself for the possibilities. Yep, this is what I have become.


"When I reach the halls of the hallowed dead, I will find your beloved and remind her that her husband is a noble warrior, and that he still loves no one but her." - Dahar Master Kor

The more I watch this series, the more I love it. The episode in which the above quote occurs originally aired more than THIRTY-TWO FUCKING YEARS after the character’s first appearance within the first show during the late sixties, and was portrayed by the SAME FUCKING ACTOR. People may believe me to be nuts, but upon hearing such an opinion I will slam them back so hard they’ll wish they had never addressed me. Don’t even get me started on how much I fucking LOVE Hertzler and his unreal portrayal of Martok. Do you think I’m just a dork or nerd because this is science fiction? Fuck off. And I don’t mean the everyday ‘fuck off’, either. I mean fuck ALL THE WAY off.

Just a thought.

1038 and I still have a few things to accomplish. My trip over the hill has been postponed due to the stock of one key item, so I’ll probably head over to the local pharmacy for a few bottles. Hopefully their typical stock is present. There are lines on the television right now. Beautiful lines from the past. They are nothing compared to last night, however. The lines I saw just after dinner sent me flying into a solar system full of dreams – all impossible, of course. I still see them, and the woman on the screen right now is a stark reminder. Not good. This shit has been floating inside me all fucking morning.

Saturday morning. The seventeenth day of September, anno 2022, 0700 straight up. The sky is quite gloomy this morning. The neighbor told me that we are to be hit by a storm this weekend, but I don’t usually believe the word ‘storm’ around here. They are rare. Anyway, rain is coming, so I’ll have to ensure the hatches are battened down. Coffee and the trailing end of the third show.

Last night everything flared again and left me a pile of doom. My head went back to the reproach again, eventually leading me to see triggers throughout the years which caused me to lose my way all too often. Those moments when I was exposed to something stirring, quickly causing my common sense to fall away and paving the way for bad decisions. That was the first time... It was the initial situation that bore the others – four occasions of me running for my life and into the arms of pretty much whomever would hold tight. I was scarred by the decisions I made and disgusted with myself to the point of considering suicide as an exit every fucking day. The lion was not completely at fault there, however. I will say the lion acted as one hell of a trigger, though. What I did was reprehensible and I know it. The lion? Cold. Icy cold. The show was on last night and the entire shitaree went through me like crap through a goose, eventually forcing me to realize that whenever the power of beauty is before my weakened self – especially the type that has come along thanks to the damaging dream some time ago – I am going to continue to cycle through that entire time period more than a decade back and feel a combination of anger and sadness. I watched the show and again saw far too much. I could point out the one plus to this situation, but that would give away more than I am comfortable with right now. I still can’t believe the continuing aftereffects of that fucking first dream. Don’t even get me started on the third. Last night I found it very difficult holding my tongue during certain scenes. Unfortunately, such behavior is necessary right now. I can’t have this apple cart upset or a very bad series of events will ensue. The point is, every time the dreams or the woman on the screen come along, my brain goes back to the reproach and I end up quite distraught. I wish I had known years ago that my hand would be slowly forced over a period of years. Maybe I could have saved myself.

The more I see, the more I feel, and then the more I recall that precious, terrible time. The reproach continues to occupy me at random intervals and derails my technical thinking too often. Fortunately, the wicked strikes have taken a pause for a while. Nothing aside from daydreaming has affected me for more than a week. Well, there is the television program running during my evenings, along with those visions I cannot resist thanks to the dreams which have altered me for all time. There can be no getting around that one until the series runs its course. One more season, and maybe a bit more. Afterward, I’ll have to find something else. Last night was a big one, too. My brain went around the world in eighty milliseconds. Very bad. What I wouldn’t give to be allowed five fucking minutes with...

This is not a good morning. I am so fucking disappointed in where I am – and mind you I do not feel sorry for myself nor do I blame others for my decisions, so fuck off – that any little boost seems huge right now. And to add a bit of spice to the middle of the last sentence, I may not place blame on other people, but understand that I have been fucking DRIVEN to this type of state by way of a number of very unfeeling situations. There you go. Stick it. The fact is I am not fucking happy with much these days, the quiet mornings with my shows and coffee being toward the top of the list. When those cease to help, I may end up completely roasted. There is simply too much fucking shit swirling in circles and taking up most of my brain power these days. I almost can’t deal with all of it. Almost. Mornings like this make me dream of hitting the road, although this era is not like anything prior. This is different and I am different. I know that I can leverage myself into the type of position to do what I need, yet at the other end is not the world I once knew. Nothing is waiting, nor can anything be expected to help. This is nothing more than one additional simple truth which I cannot get around. My only path right now is to live these mornings and just fucking deal with the feelings. At least this is not unfamiliar territory. Still, the fact that I feel there is no way out of this can be much more depressing than anything else in life. I mean... Is this shit situation all there is to be? Lie to me. Please.


I am hoping the hardware store contacts me later to let me know that my tubing order has arrived. The material is the final step in my weeks-long rebuild and alignment of the steering system. No details here, though. No one gives a shit but me. I need the tubing so between today and tomorrow I can run some mechanical tests and see if all my work will bear fruit. Other than that, I will try to further experiment with the electronics and see if there is a solution to four of the servos being jittery while the radio is ‘on air’. When the radio and receiver are wired together, the entire system is much more stable. I won’t even go into the number of little issues which have arisen since completing the big board, and the signal connection between the transmitter and receiver is not something I can repair. It is a fact of the frequency range combined with the age of such technology. Whatever. If I need to keep everything connected via the DSC, so be it. The machine will still show off my abilities.

0903 with the last of the coffee and a head full of impossibilities and depression. Soon I’ll have to dive into the housework just to attempt to get the dreams and other imagery out of my brain for a while. I really don’t like this shit one bit. Something changed earlier this year (or perhaps I just failed to notice prior to the current period) that has me at sixes and sevens nearly all of the time. I feel what I feel – much like many people, I’ve no doubt – yet every fucking time this crap comes along and sends me down, I realize that my feelings don’t mean a fucking thing in the grand scheme of the world. Do they? Or is the idea of my feelings related to other people? As in, my feelings seem meaningless TO ME. Another possibility is that my feelings on the more personal subjects have been smashed to bits so many times that they don’t SEEM to matter. I don’t know. Again, the voodoo comes to mind along with a plethora of other terms I don’t seem to understand. Those have been railroaded here enough already. I can’t figure a way out of this. I can design, machine, and implement a very complex and unorthodox wire-rope-driven model steering system and make it work, but I can’t seem to sit here in the morning and find answers to anything which actually matters in life. What does that make me? Am I an idiot? Asking the wrong questions? Or maybe asking too much? I don’t believe the latter is true, though. I can’t believe it right now or I’ll fucking flip out. ‘Too much’ does not fit, if you ask me. My dreams are simple. Paying the tab again? Eh... I don’t even want to touch that one today.

I’d sit here and write more about the truck project but no one is going give half a blue fuck about it. If I could just...


Oh boy, the thoughts that flew through my head last night were something else, and rivaled only by those just after the third damaging dream. That was a bad one, for sure. There is a word I could attach here for describing that situation, yet it would ‘ring’ in two different ways and I can’t have that type of thing. All must remain shrouded in mystery. Not because I’m trying to hold too much control over my words, but due to the sensitive nature of the subject matter. The thoughts, though. Holy crap. And that third dream was soon accompanied by something I really didn’t need to see, yet it quickly became something I desire more than can be put into words. This is just fucking horrible. I cannot unsee the beauty, nor can I lie about the sheer level of desire. And don’t get me started with the idea of how those dreams relate to a story that played out on my television many years ago, something better avoided lest the dam break. Roll everything into a burrito and wrap it in foil. Then? Grab a felt pen and label it ‘my life’. There you go. The bad continues to expand (along with the pain) while the good shrinks beyond my control. Two fucking massive strikes within the show last night and I ran with both of them. I honestly wish that I could spell out the relationship between the strikes during the show and what I saw before my eyes not long ago. I can’t say anything. Scared. Thank Christ for the alcohol. Soon it will be all I have left.

The reproach is worsening inside me every day. The lion and the whelp, remember? I was a fucking idiot and there is nothing I can do about it now. I WAS A FUCKING IDIOT, yet not entirely at fault. The paragraph above contains allusions to bad things, but let me say that the bad thing related to this paragraph is much worse. There is no end to my anger. And I believe I just made the decision to relocate my stupid ass to the garage for a while.

0709, Sunday morning. I had some very strange dreams earlier. I believe they were not long before I awakened for the day. My old place of work was the scene for a bizarre set of characters messing around with decades-old equipment, yet we were only in the facilities part of the time. We seemed to be within a residential neighborhood, too. I cannot explain clearly because the whole affair was so odd. I was actually taken aback by such complex imagery and people I knew while employed there. I’ve had some lengthy dreams in the past, yet this was pretty amazing. I felt like a part of the team again. Well, until everything became really goofy, that is. Anyway, after everything which went through my brain last night that relates to the latest difficult situation and the fucking show again, I was surprised not to dream about beauty or desire. My head was awash by the time I hit the sheets. I’ll be thinking about the dreams on and off all day. The activities which played out and my interaction with the others felt very good, and I rarely feel good anymore.

Not long past this time yesterday I was very upset, hurt and disappointed and am beginning to head in such directions again. This is something I can’t have all over the site, however. The keys to my condition are all veiled for good reason; be it a dream, something on the television, or the past. Enough detail is missing for me to be comfortable typing the words. Two problems reared their ugly heads yesterday, in fact. Two. By the time I transitioned into the garage, my head was so fucked up that I nearly had to return to the bedroom and lie down in hopes of losing consciousness for a while. I felt THAT bad. And I truly wish I could splay the reasons all over this fucking page. I do. Everything is bottled inside me and hermetically sealed, just like those questions from the eighties. In a vault. Unavailable. Part of yesterday was backwards, as well, meaning rather than the morning moving along into afternoon and then evening, what took place in the morning affected me enough to return during the night and at key moments within the story on the television. Yep... Her again. I began to see the morning problem as much worse than I had originally thought some months ago. I mentioned two problems yesterday. One is much worse than the other, believe me. They are beginning to coalesce. Not good.

In addition to everything that is already damaging my psyche, another fucking backward strike last night had me thinking about myself and all that has changed inside me throughout the past two-plus years. Much has changed, really, but I don’t always see it unless I am concentrating on details because I become so easily overwhelmed by the smallest issues on a given day. I have to push pretty fucking hard just to get the bare minimum completed and to feel even a tiny bit of good, whereas every level up and down the gamut of life pops into my head at times, and then something ends up standing out from the rest and forcing me to compare. That is never good for anyone. It’s as if I find myself unacceptable and unable to attain certain basic levels of life and see another person who has become the diametric opposite through their own efforts. Well, I did that last night. The situation reminded me of relaxing by the pool deep into the 1236 period and those hot summers. A few of us spent as much time out there as possible (and please remind me to speak of Michelle number two – of three – as well as Cara and Shannon) due to the availability of the area and the long afternoons. I noticed something one day while sitting reclined on a towel, and that image came to mind last night just after one of the episodes we watched. In fact, my brain was fighting itself over said image versus the other one... The fucking goddess strike who brings the damaging dream to mind every fucking time and for very good reason. The backward strike is something I can actually affect, however. Or can I? Do I even have any strength left after all this time? I mean, strength beyond that tiny measure that I use to do housework and shopping? Do I have it anymore? Or did I let it fall away like everything else? I’ve been in a very bad frame of mind this year mostly because of a seemingly unalterable series of events over which I have had a distinct lack of control. First was a physical problem very early in the year. Next? The damaging dream followed within days by a matching vision that played out right in fucking front of me. And then two more... The third being something I can never forget. Twice now I have been hit upside the head with a word related to last night’s issue, and one of which I STILL do not know the definition. This backward strike has me thinking of myself as but half. Half of what, you ask? Many things. Half of each. I used to be more. I feel horrible right now. Very upset. I wavered in this paragraph and don’t give a shit. Sometimes I simply lose my way. Forgive me.

What does all this have to do with the reproach? Well, I will say that one of the most difficult moments combined with a shitload of very hurtful lies came to pass some years ago right in front of me, and I believe the subject was dredged out of the rotting soil on purpose. Yep. I said that. This took place very late in ten and I remember every fucking bit of it. Aside from a short discussion in which I actually learned something about myself, the issue represents the beginning of the reproach and is DIRECTLY RELATED to the backward fucking shit crap in the previous paragraph. There you go. Everything inside me is mixed up like the outer edge of a mental hurricane. I am not well. Not by a damned sight.

2364 occurrences of the word 'bad' within the site.

1243. I am overjoyed to be at home rather than the bar. As much as I appreciate the energy and ability to watch several games at once, I made the decision some days ago so I could relax and watch the home game here, alone. Seeing my friend’s partner in the patio area was too much of a reminder... The strap, remember? It was too much. The imagery running through my head when I saw her sitting there was questionable, at best. I kept thinking of the wicked strike and could not stop until we returned to the table and once again focused upon the games. Even with my head back in the football, those breasts and the sweet, sweet smile continued to swirl. This week? I don’t need any more of that shit. Home is quiet, isolated, and full of whatever I may need for comfort. Well, as much as is possible at this late date, anyway. I have the routine finished and a good portion of garbage business out of the way in order to relax for the next few hours. The weather is all over the place today, very windy, and the rain is a constant threat. I need to ensure the cans are at the curb fairly early. The third show is on the television again, and twice now I’ve been stabbed by Nicole’s fucking UNBELIEVABLE legs. Given the chance, I would worship them far beyond the limits of comprehension. I was reminded of another pair, too. They garnered high praise, believe me. I went nuts over the appearance of those legs, probably more in the space of a week than most people would in a year. Nicole’s are similar. Anyway, the rest of the day will be appropriately slow thanks to my diminished mental capacity combined with the crazy weather. The sky is darkening as I type these words. Fuck, there she is again, along with a split-second glimpse of her lines. What I wouldn’t give to...

The word ‘broken’ does not even scratch the fucking surface. After the game, I plan to disassemble the chairs and blast some appropriate music. I'm in a bad mood.


0809, Monday. One of my favorite mornings of the week. The sun is shining after a very haphazard Sunday weather pattern. At one point, the wind was so strong that I could barely open and close the back door, plus the rain became very harsh at the same time. I was able to watch the game in my garage while working on other projects. That was quite comfortable, and aside from one hell of a fucking goddess on the television for a few seconds, my afternoon went along fine. The reproach always comes to mind during football, though. Always. I had to shove that shit to the rear just to take care of a few things without losing my mind.

So, my mood was not helped along yesterday by the lack of contact and respect people have shown me recently. I put the chairs that we inherited on the local site for FREE and received only one response. A woman wanted to grab four of them. That was fine, but her communication was lacking in clarity and eventually she left me hanging in the wind without a word as to a time for pickup. Well, yesterday I reacted appropriately with regard to how I feel about people disrespecting my time. I disassembled all six chairs and several parts have already been picked up by the garbage truck. Throughout the next few weeks, I’ll continue to dispose of pieces until the garage is clear. If I receive a message – however unlikely as it may be – I’ll inform her that the chairs have been destroyed. Believe me, if I needed to dispose of an automobile in our tiny trash can, I have the tools to do it. The idea is to render the object down to small fragments and then work from one week to the next. The issue of no communication (or at least being left holding the fucking bag) came up three times in one week. I put some frozen specialty food on the same site and was later snubbed in the same fashion. Number three is the fact that the general contractor I’d like to have here for an estimate seems to have ignored or otherwise disregarded my messages for over a week. This communication bullshit is going to piss me off and make me push everyone away in a very harsh manner. The main issue is that I want no one else to work on this house. No one. I am being forced to wait because of the choice. The house is very important, the work is very technical, so I must wait. Once the lines are open again, however, he is going to fucking hear it. Basically, I’m saying that despite the fact that I am nobody in the grand scheme of ‘everything’, show me some fucking respect the way I convey the same. I did it first.

I’ve lost the subject of this crap again. Reproach. The backward strike, too. Everything is making me realize that I don’t fucking matter at all. Is this the truth? Am I asking the wrong question? More important than that, is anyone qualified to answer truthfully and without bias? I fucking doubt it. Whatever. Who cares, right?

The reproach came into my head again last night during the show, yet that situation is all me and hardly the fault of a television production. Well, it’s inside me, anyway. I didn’t create it. The more I watch, the more anger I feel over being such a fucking idiot in the past. That’s my fault. I allowed myself to follow along like a fucking whelp. I keep thinking about the situation from one particular visit to the City way back in ten. I remember a magazine (albeit somewhat of a luxury publication), an interview, and then one hell of a conversation. I retreated soon after, although what ran through my head was vastly different. I saw a very bad situation with an even worse conclusion, after which I would have been denied my way of life. If you can follow that, run with it. If not, I can’t help you. Just know that the evening in question after a beautiful visit to downtown San Francisco likely altered the way I see myself, not to mention a massive reduction in the amount of trust I can place in another person. Every single fucking day for decades has had me questioning myself due to a fractured ego and enormous lack of self-esteem. All that shit began during the early eighties and became reinforced in such a fashion so as to catch me completely off-guard. I was in love, all the way into a mushy land of wonder, and then shot in the fucking neck as if my feelings needed to be sprayed all over the walls along with my blood. I should have lopped that person’s head off like a dead branch. Such an idea could have prevented a decade of anger, frustration, constant questioning, and more confusion than I can put into words. Eh... As much as that sentence appeals to me, I just can’t be mean to another person until completely weighing the situation, however much time may be required. Everything just fucking pisses me off these days. Don’t even get me going on the overwhelming amount of self-control I am forced to employ in order to spare those around me. You don’t want to know.


I failed to mention how the reproach arose inside me last night. It was nothing more than a case of questioning myself again, something which occurs every day regardless of the television or anything else external. Last night it was worse because of all my thinking during the preceding day, including feelings of loneliness and loss. Missing pieces, too. Everything over which I have zero control. The anger floated along immediately thereafter. I can expect this to continue, a condition I predicted long ago by stating in no uncertain terms that there is to be nothing good happening to me in the future. And this fucking morning is a perfect example. All of it has combined to leave me a muttering, pissy individual full of disdain for everything. Splendid.

0934. I have to drive down the coast to the hardware store in a bit. Thankfully, I have half the routine finished so that upon returning I can pour a nice cocktail and work in the kitchen. Last week, I ordered some really good tubing from them at a great price, and enough for me to experiment while building the steering connections on the truck. I also need to pick up some hardware while there. They have a nice selection of stainless fasteners. In addition, I have yet another order from McMaster arriving tomorrow, as well as bearings and some lengths of antenna pipe (which seem to be in a postal gulag right now). The custom bushings are on their way from the east coast, too. Lots of stuff incoming means lots of work on the chassis very soon. I really need this shit because without that project I will fall down and NEVER get back up. At this exact moment I have past relationships swirling in my head along with the reproach, the girl on the show, all those visions of lines and whatever else that never seem to fade, and none other than the damaging dream and more fucking desire than could be conjured by ten beautiful, female swamis. I have to embrace the garage and truck or I’ll flip the fuck out, and I am far from kidding right now. This is the worst situation through which I have ever lived.

Free reign, for a while. And then the reproach. And then the fighting and threats. And then back to free reign. What the fuck was I thinking? What an idiot. Weak and desperate. More than the amount to which one person should be sentenced. Bad. Fucking stupid, nothing more. That sums it up. Oh, I am an intelligent person capable of solving shit and learning without instruction, yet at the same time I am fucking stupid. The only plus here is that I no longer dislike myself. I only dislike some past decisions and actions. I am not happy with a good portion of the past, but at least I actually like myself. That felt impossible just a few years ago. Maybe I should remain focused upon such a fact. It could be helpful while I spend time fifty fucking feet below the surface of the earth. Figuratively, of course.

1255. Everything is finished. I also went down the coast to pick up my tubing and the entire trip was nothing more than a waste of time. The size of the tubing was transposed, as the outer diameter ended up the inner, so it will not work for my purposes. I need a specific outer diameter which many hardware stores used to stock. Well, not anymore. At least I was able to pick up some metric stainless hardware. Better than nothing. On the return trip I swung into the market for some things for dinner tonight. No worries in that place today. Now I am home for the duration, yet I still need to find the right fucking tubing, damn it.

This is not a good day and such a fact has nothing to do with tubing. I am not well.

0704, Tuesday morning. Another dream. This is the fourth, and the intention can no longer be taken out of context. No way. The situation was crystal clear. It was a moment in time, caught right there before my eyes, and then it happened. There was no one else nearby and she took the initiative as I began to pull away. She then asked, “One more time, please?”. I gave in, but only for a second or two. My brain was attempting to understand, feeling very concerned, and at the same time loving both occasions. Sense took over, I awakened, but the damage was done. There can no longer be any doubt whatsoever of the feelings inside me, and believe me when I say this has nothing to do with anyone aside from myself and the insane, questionable processes within my own head. The level of desperation inside me is driving my dreams and disjointing my daily activities. Put simply, she kissed me deeply. Her eyes told me that she wanted (or needed) to do so and could not help herself. A kiss. And then another, deeper kiss at her adorable request. The next time I see that sweet smile, my heart will be involved. I really need to...

0747 and I have the morning business out of the way. I have gone around the bend regarding the reproach, and now I see because of this latest dream and the pain inside my heart, I must cease the exploration of that very defining series of events from more than ten years ago and focus upon what has been happening inside me for the last several months. Today will probably be very slow due to the dream commanding much of my attention. The reproach might be finished for the time being because what lies before me at this moment may very well be the largest fucking fish I've ever had need to fry.

She pulled me, and I said "yes" because of too many pieces of the past to recall right now.

She pulled me, and I immediately thought..."