July 8th, 2022 9:47am pdt

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.


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"0658 on Tuesday morning after the big blowout. Well, not much of a blowout here, but all around the neighborhood things were lit up like Disneyland on Labor Day. Jesus. We lit a few things, I made some firework ‘experiments’ for posterity, barbecue, booze, whatever. A friend of mine from up the street stopped by on two occasions with another friend, the latter having forced my eyes from my head by way of her big, bright eyes and big, bouncing breasts. I’ve written about her before. Young eyes filled with wonder. Whatever. The holiday always brings people out of the woodwork. Seeing her was nice, but it’s better I stay away. Other than the girl and a big hug, the night was typical.

I have the second show up there and some coffee this morning. There is no schedule today. I don’t know what I’ll be doing later. The routine will not take long due to having dinner outside. The kitchen is already mostly clean. Maybe I’ll find something else to occupy my time. There was a boost yesterday for a little while, helping my brain come to terms with my likely future, yet still this morning I can already feel myself dropping into the same soup. Soon, as well. I already know. Nothing dramatic is going to take place and lift me to the point of being content for very long. As a result, the house will have to come to my aid today. Whatever I decide to do had better be pretty damned rewarding to make up for the years-long pit in which I’ve been buried for years. Today will not change anything. At least I have lots of booze.

And speaking of booze, I’ve noticed on two occasions now – the second was yesterday morning as I began cleaning the kitchen – that when I have the morning cocktail off to one side of the counter, I tend to wait until it is icy cold and a touch watered before sipping. The truth is, that one glass can last two hours sometimes. But that isn’t the issue here. Yesterday when I grabbed the glass to take the first sip after washing all the dishes, my hand was shaking, and even more so as it approached my face. I’ve experienced this phenomenon before, such as on a few occasions at her parents’ house during one of the holidays. I remember trying to lift a fork to my mouth and watching the food fall off due to a little shake.

Wow, this lowfat milk doesn’t really cut it for coffee. Very thin. I’ll have to pick up some creamer later.

The ‘shaking once in a while’ thing may not be related to booze at all, but something else entirely. If the booze is steadying my hand, well, that is a larger issue that I will try to address in time. The fact is I have one cocktail during the mid-morning and then nothing for several hours. I have the same routine in the evening and almost never waver from it because I know I am more sensitive to changes than in the past. For the time being, status quo. I’ll be in mind, however.

0809. I’ve been reading about one of my favorite movies after performing searches for a mask I’d like to display in October. I located some images and references, after which I ran across a writeup of the film pointed in the direction of my feelings. A lengthy, detailed account of the sophistication of Kubrick’s work, each word pulled me to the next. I soon realized that my writing style is flat and boring. Fortunately, the fact is that I am trying to accomplish something else here. Anyway, now I’d like to see the film again, and for two reasons. First, no matter how many viewings I may have under my belt, the full meaning and depth of the story are still not clear. And second, the film in question was released just before the turn of the last century, and within some of its long tracking shots is a woman over whom I began to obsess because her shape was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I really strained my brain to understand what set her form apart from all the others. Hence, I now have another possible catalyst for becoming obsessed with all that she had on display. Such thinking just never goes away no matter where I am or what I am doing.

Maybe today I’ll just take it easy. There is a tentative plan for one day this week which involves a trip to the electronic surplus store and a few other places. I don’t know if I want to do all that driving for a possible letdown like the last idea. I can’t seem to find a groove anywhere near exciting or wondrous enough to match the past. This current period is very tough in that way. I keep trying to either recreate or partially replace the feelings from years ago with new exploration or adventure, yet every time I do, the result is disappointment. Maybe there really is an era coming to an end. I don’t know, but I am certain this will continue to affect me into the future.

My brain is on the other side of things today. Yesterday I had all but given up and I believe my defense mechanism kicked in today in order to save me from a possible repeat. I am still very upset about the whole shitaree, though. Nothing goes away, ever. In fact, I am at this moment beginning to roll down the same hill. I don’t know what to do most of the time.

I just don’t understand.

The girl’s appearance on my driveway yesterday reminded me of seeing her at the bar on those rare occasions when I visited at night. And her oversized chest was not the clincher, although at her age those globes appeared pretty fucking amazing. Just a fact of time. Anyway, her eyes were the key, honestly. Very large and round, dark brown, and they always seemed to be kind. I used to imagine her listening to me speak and seeing some understanding in there. Well, after last Christmas, I am much more comfortable far away from those eyes because she is reckless and rather off-putting much of the time. The whole fascination was her face. The truth is I may see her briefly from time to time due to the close proximity of her partner; right up the street. That is ok, I guess. She is young, and a young age comes with all sorts of shit. There was an older version of her face, too. The one I spoke with some years ago regarding photographing and measuring her hands had the same type of eyes, yet that woman was nearly my height rather than shorter, hence the hands. As I said in a previous entry, the likelihood of my world being destroyed was pretty strong. I have not spoken to her in nearly four years, I believe. That is a good thing for both of us.

Being here all the time is as a sword with twin edges. All the time I desired. Sometimes far too much. I am constantly thinking. The other story – the one I cannot place here – is providing insight into the way I have operated my life for many years, as well as spelling out what is doubtless the largest issue in my head. It relates to the paragraph I have often mentioned because it still floats directly below where I am typing each day. The two subjects are completely intertwined.

0712 on Wednesday. Have I been paying the tab? Yesterday morning was horrendous, and I never dreamed I’d be in such a position and so fucking desperate that my thoughts would head into the ground every fucking day. Unimaginable. After the morning plodded along, I decided to do very little yesterday and instead remain as comfortable as possible. Some agreeable media and a decent lunch helped me to stay put. Today is another story. I have no clue as to what is going to take place later. For the time being, I have the second show and coffee. I am into the fourth season, roughly the exact center of the period known as the glow. Marvelous.

Carolyn Seymour is fantastic.

Maybe the past was worse than I had thought... Those decisions. The current period is telling me that if true, the invoice for my behavior is larger than I can afford, and believe me there is no financing. I’ll just have to live with a situation very possibly worse than what I am dealing with right now. This is not good. If I am paying, it will never stop.

Ah, now I’m becoming angry again. The lack of both ears and understanding is really going to fuck up my morning from here on in. I’m tired of feeling this way nearly every single day and then damned-near killing myself to push everything out of my head enough to live through the remaining hours without committing suicide. Everything was right there, so many times and throughout the course of years, that the present appears more narrow than even a month ago. Right there. One of the byproducts of experiencing this type of loss and emptiness for such a long time is the idea that everything from the past has grown in importance, meaning those events and situations may have become more than what they actually were at the time. This is rather like some of my past vacations and the difference between what is experienced at the time versus the way I recall them as time passes. Years later, the vacation is shining even more than it did at the time, and then I question myself over and over regarding appreciating those events at the time; remaining inside the moments as deeply as possible in order to retain the magic. If I apply such logic to the past brushes with beauty and desire, am I recalling them as they were, or am I inflaming everything so that nothing in the future can compare? Has the past become so wondrous that I’ve built it up too much? Of course nothing can come along to bring happiness or fulfillment if those years and relationships are now completely blown out of proportion. And then a bit further... If so, I made this happen through far too much desperation and reaching. There may be no denying my role in being unrealistic.

But I cannot be certain.

This is fucking stupid anymore. I probably said everything there is to say yet continue to type the same crap over and over, and for what? Is someone going to feel something and then talk to me? Nope. Am I going to wake up one morning and feel better? Unlikely. I enjoy typing, but this has gone on for too long. Maybe I need a different activity to occupy my mind most days.

I don’t know if I want to drive all the way to the middle of San Jose to visit the surplus store. It’s so far, and there is no guarantee the place will be what I hope. Refer to the above paragraph regarding built-up expectations. The plan was to have lunch, too, but even that idea is not as enticing as it was when I was first disappointed in the research. Today is Wednesday and I have no idea if we will go there by Friday. Right now I’m just not feeling the wonder. The glow, the period after returning from the Midwest and the building of computers, and then the work for my parents when the Valley was in full-swing are overpowering right now. Everything else continues to pale in comparison and I wouldn’t know where to begin regarding the magic. Sometimes I think I should just find other places or activities and make some new wonder, yet I have very little confidence that anything can hold up to those periods. Not only do they glow more than at the time, but I’ve probably exaggerated a few parts here and there due to memories fading. The fact is I don’t fucking know anything these days, let alone methods for coping with such emptiness and dissatisfaction in life itself.

I believe there were answers some years ago, although nothing easy. Each decision would have been at a cost I was unwilling to bear. One path may have led to fulfillment. Another may not. I cannot know, of course, yet I keep dwelling upon those moments when there appeared forks in the road. Not knowing sometimes bothers me. Too many ‘what ifs’. The Midwest situation came to an end due to my actions and I did not realize the value of that time until driving back here and considering all of the facets because I did not see them. Yes, I realize the statement is overly cliché these days, but I can’t deny the power of looking back at aspects of life and seeing them differently after the fact. That type of thinking does not help, honestly, because I apparently have not learned anything. Splendid. And then there was another... And another. I believe I’ve remained stagnant for years due to the uncertainty principle. I literally threw myself at the Raven and became blinded to everything else for a time. Had that continued, I know we would have destroyed ourselves. The opportunity was squashed, though. She removed any further options. I may be better off due to Her going away, but again I can never know. I would love to speak with Her again. The answers may have been there, too, just like the answers dating back to the glow. I ignored them in favor of finding comfort.

0917. I’ll care for half the routine as soon as my last cup of coffee is gone. Afterward, perhaps I can continue gathering clothes for donation. I started separating a few garments the other day but lost interest. The weather is again very humid and the house has suffered since the holiday. We have to close all the doors and windows during that night to shut out as much noise as we can for the cats. They get very scared and hide themselves away for most of the night. Due to everything being closed, the interior became warm and humid. The condition carried on through yesterday because the attic cannot cool without force, and I don’t have anything up there to move the air. This morning it is still over seventy inside even with windows open and no sunshine. The weather pattern needs to change. I have no control over it.

There is no longer comfort or understanding, and the understanding has been absent for so long that I have no idea of how to reconcile the fact. This hurts me deeply and there is nothing I can do about it. Searching has become nothing more than a fruitless effort resulting in my seeing certain things and then watching them all fade away without possibility of understanding. This is not good and will eventually drive me to do something very bad. I am feeling cornered. My life may have turned out a little bit easier had Ashley not planted what she did all those years ago. I think about her words and the expression on her adorable doll face every single fucking day. Curious, years ago I dreamed of her slender body and the way she felt. Now all I think about is her mind. I'm in a very bad spot here.

Playing 'doorbell ditch' with the captain is not a good idea, but it's funny nonetheless.

There is an image of a machine below. Do you see? Someone did a magnificent job of creating that image, too. It is pretty cool. I look at her and think about two years ago when I began to both write and dream about a fictional, mechanical woman who could make all my issues go away. I attached different appearances to her, as well. One was Jaime, the digital images I covertly shot in San Diego, the next was Jamie herself straight off the television from the past, and then a veritable smorgasbord of faces came and went, not the least of which was the rollercoaster girl. I scoured the Internet for that one, too. Locating the video not long ago felt like a huge victory after nearly giving up the search. Now? I haven't gazed at her in days because all she will accomplish is to further illuminate where I am in life and all that is gone, most never to return. She is still in my heart, however. That will probably never change. The rollercoaster girl -- 'Katie', if that is her real name -- was first discovered during one of those periods I did not appreciate enough at the time. Eh, I've gone in that direction already, yet sometimes it is overly compelling to type more because as the calendar rolls up behind me, the past looks better and better. Perfectly natural. Glorification? Maybe. The machine came about during that very same period, driven by more than I care to repeat.

There is no answer, no 'girl', no nothing. Maybe I should cease trying entirely. I keep writing and writing and nothing changes. Nothing can change because all of my dreams are unreal. My hopes are unreal. Everything is becoming one big fucking fog bank. The walls are approaching. I am going to spit.

Why do I always feel so deeply for this woman? I see her from time to time when the episode rolls around, yet still after years have no idea of why her face nearly moves me to tears. At some point in the past, I looked at her and out of nowhere fell in love with her eyes and nose, later seeing more and more when she began to have trouble in the story. Now I feel for her, a lot. Maybe all those dreams of ‘understanding’ pushed me into yet another dream world in which I could bury my face in her neck and gush everything because she simply appears emotional and complex. Maybe? I don’t know. I’ve felt this way for other faces, however hers keeps rolling around because I watch this series over and over. Others have faded, as have the feelings. The woman’s eyes convey so much emotion that I just have to applaud her talent as an actor. Inside, though, there is so much more. And keep in mind that every occasion of me gushing for one reason or another always relates to the character and not the person because I do not know who they are. God damn is she ever adorable, too. So pretty. Her nose alone is the stuff of dreams. When this first aired more than thirty years ago, I was apparently very different. I did not see it. I did not look at her with the same deep need and appreciation. Well, we know that I am terribly desperate for... Something. Perhaps my condition has become so severe as time has passed that I drove myself toward such a place. That does not sound unrealistic.

I remember watching this for the first time, as well. Tons of mystery and wonder, just like the way the future looked at the time. Now all of that is gone, just like this glass of whiskey will be very soon. I have no reason to avoid anything which damages me. I’m already such a fucking wreck.

1055. Half the routine is finished. Yesterday I undid everything we changed for the holiday, and now my garage is likely neater than in months. Not bad. I don’t really have anything to work on out there, though. The space is just sitting idle. I began gathering stuff to donate – clothing and such – and may continue today. My options for time are wide open. Unfortunately, my ambition is waning faster than the calendar. This is a single home, meaning there is always something which can be reworked, cleaned or improved. I just don’t have the motivation to do much at all anymore. Two-plus years ago at the beginning of the pandemic and my mass of free time, I became angry with social media and tore into all sorts of projects. Now? I just don’t fucking care. The routine seems to be the only constant remaining during the day. No sooner do I get an idea for working with this or that when my brain swerves into a dream world and everything begins to appear worthless and gray. The process does not take very long, either. This year is half over and as of yet the only activity commanding much of my time is this shit.

Holy fuck, the ensign at the helm during this episode is five-ten and was Miss Universe 1990. Jesus holy hell, what a fucking beauty. I remember seeking her name some months back but forgot shortly thereafter. Damn. As I understand it, she won an audition due to winning the pageant. That’s funny. But wow, her face is amazing. This just goes to illustrate my point about the woman above from the same episode... The beauty queen is fucking stunning, and the other character is ‘pretty’. The latter is in my heart, however. Crazy. This is the most subjective topic in existence. Believe it.

An image just popped into my head as I walked to the garage and grabbed a cigarette. Holy fucking damn it all anyway. I don’t need that kind of shit right now. Years of feeling so empty and dreaming of everything which is impossible have resulted in this type of thing occurring from time to time, however. I can’t help it. Something comes along and attaches itself to imagery already floating in my brain, the result being nearly too much to comprehend. I’ve seen some in person, but nothing like what can develop at times when I am feeling most vulnerable. Desperate. Weak. The other story which I cannot bring to this site has grown, meaning my head has been going over past situations and images that will not leave me alone for a fucking second. The dream image that took place when I walked into the garage is a byproduct of the past combined with so many days, weeks and months of dreaming about everything either missing or impossible. The current period is becoming nearly unlivable.


0703, Thursday. Coffee, cats fed, second show still in its fourth season. The glowing period of the past laid out on the screen and shining for my enjoyment. The show can be magical, stirring, and wondrous beyond belief. Even while reminded of seeing these adventures playing out on the screen for the first time, I often do not become sad. I simply appreciate having had the opportunity to discover the stories during a wondrous period.

The weather had been irritating me since just before the holiday three days ago. The temperature rose in the house on Monday and did not fall back anywhere close to ‘normal’ until this morning. Thank the maker for the drop in mercury. Humidity, too. Perhaps today I can continue working in the office more comfortably. I’ll have a few hours by myself, much like on Sundays. Hopefully the way can be seen to come out the other side of that time feeling better than I have so far this week. Yesterday morning started out very bad and slowly improved. So far this morning, I do not feel the same. Don’t ask me why. I don’t want this to change, yet there is very little under my control anymore.

My head is having a difficult time processing the idea that I am to remain forever as I have been for the last several years. No matter what has transpired nor my effort in attempting to rise, I am stuck in this familiar gulag once again. The problems I experienced just one year ago have worsened and I cannot explain. Most of what I speak of stemmed from experiencing something wonderful and then watching it disappear. As time continues to pass, more of that has taken place. I expect nothing less. No good, no ‘up’, nor anything as wonderful as my dreams. Not even close. I am sitting here right now in the middle of twenty-two no better off than I was at the beginning. Some things were taken away long ago, others more recently, yet the sum feels as if I am occupying all the time periods at the same moment. I see everything laid out before me like a panoramic photograph with the years passing from left to right. I see it all. When I look to the far left, I see myself turned inward and full of concern. In the opposite direction, I see nothing more than fear and loss. The place within which I am sitting right now does not feel real anymore. It feels like a construct pieced together by little moments and then spooled like those films I saw during the late nineties. Unfortunately, this current period has become a malfunction. The film ceased its motion and melted to the glass. The only space my head can understand is the unreality... The dream world... The fantasy of being able to sit here with a clear, comfortable head. I just don’t fucking see it.

Every now and again I run a search for anything interesting related to androids and the like. Considering the current stage of advancement in such technology, I should be able to purchase a female android as a companion right around the time of my thousandth birthday. Yes, I said thousandth. That should give you an idea of where everything stands right now. Heh. The artificial intelligence is fantastic, I think, yet the reality of what I’ve seen in fictional media is centuries away, if it can happen at all.

0837 and I am beginning to freewheel while sitting here. I still have coffee left. Perhaps I’ll go back to the way I did things prior to the pandemic and begin the laundry early. This morning is nothing special, not like the Saturday mornings when I was working full-time. They were very special because the free time during the early part of the day felt precious and I had to appreciate each second. Now? Seven days a week I have the time. That is not to say that I don’t appreciate it, I only mean that sometimes too much of a good thing can become spoiled and does not look the same after a long while.

A dream this morning, possibly two. The information I recall is very convoluted now, unfortunately. I remember crawling through some brush and trees knowing I was in a residential area, trying to be respectful of people’s property while heading somewhere. At one point I was in an unfamiliar home – a very large luxury house – guarded by a multitude of dogs. I made contact with the owner who resembled Michael Douglas and he invited me to accompany him to some social affair, possibly at a country club. The entire story was very strange. I wish I could recall more details. Some of what I experienced was enjoyable and exciting. Enough of that.

This morning I am feeling like the day ahead can be rewarding if I stick to a plan of sorts. Laundry can run in the background while I continue my efforts of gathering clothes to be donated, and that can lend to more space in the office. My goal is still to swap the big tables in that room and begin to set up another desktop computer. Yesterday I cared for a few details in the garage in and around everything else. That space is in very good shape thanks to the holiday preparations last weekend. I am hoping to keep it that way and maybe go a little further by tossing more stuff. The garage is very important to me these days. After the office I can work out there.

I predicted this condition as far back as fifteen. The Raven came along and threw a wrench into the gearing of my life, though. There had been a pause in my thinking while She commanded my attention. All those years of my head being all fucked up by certain types of beauty left me completely unprepared for the sight of Her, let alone the fact that She wanted to spend time with me. Only Andrea carried similar lines. During fifteen, I did not write as much as years later because my concentration went flying out the nearest window due to being completely blinded by the Raven’s sheer stance and gait. And then Her mind came into play, followed almost immediately by Her heart. Everything went to hell in a handbasket and I needed months to recover. Years later the feeling prior to meeting that woman returned and I again fell on my face, writing ‘The Failing Fantasy and Alexis’ to partly describe the shit in my brain. The Raven was unique, of course, as was Andrea, and the loss caught me upside the head unlike anything in my life. I was obsessed for a very long time before the Raven latched to my heart. Seventeen was the first year in which I realized nothing so wonderful could ever take place again and the writing followed that mood. Even the stories about Vegas and the other trips did not hold up to a single microsecond of dreaming about Her. It was during seventeen that I realized my life would be cut short at some point in the future.

Fast forward to twenty. All fucked up. That spring and summer was when I became one hundred percent certain that nothing in life would ever compare to the wishes in my head. Nothing. The intervening years held their own wonder and bliss, yet underneath it all, my problems continued and eventually forced any joy straight into the ground. I am still feeling that loss acutely. Now, here we are in the midst of twenty-two and the unreality is in control of my every waking moment, not to mention a fruitless and endless search for answers. All of the choices and hopes of the glow have been burned away.

0936. Back to the gangsters because Paramount Plus is a piece-of-shit application sometimes. I don't understand why their interface has so many problems. They could take some serious lessons from Netflix or HBO Max. The latter is fucking flawless and I love it.

I need to get off my ass and do something. The audio on the Roko has been restricted to stereo only so that I can listen while in the garage no matter what is playing. Even after nearly two years, the ability for my shows to follow me into the garage is still heartwarming. Oof... The downside of the gangster show just appeared. Yep, that woman again. Was I speaking of unreality? There it is in spades on the big television.

1159 and my routine is finished. I have laundry rolling along and I worked a bit more in the office. Cocktail? Yep. Right next to me, all icy and yummy. Pizza is in the oven for a little comfort. The gangsters remain on my big television. I’m sure the heavy lunch will slow my afternoon, although I’ve risen from it before. This time I feel driven toward the goal of the office desktop computer, so after lunch my motivation will help me toward that end. I have the next few hours to myself.

Richard Maldone is awesome.

Unreality is a way of life now. I can’t simply sit back and embrace the mundane while thinking realistically like some others. I can’t revel in the simplicities. I can’t just breathe my way through one day and wake up the next to the same shit. Those with children seem to have the ability to love the everyday responsibilities and benefits of raising a family, whereas that type of lifestyle is completely alien to me after so many years. Their dreams are vastly different, as evidenced by my flighty, adult-oriented and haphazard nature. What they hold most dear is alien to me. What I hold most dear is something they can seldom enjoy. I believe such a fact reinforces the value of their daily lives and shines much more brightly when it is available. Sometimes I feel at a loss for not knowing the same. Most of the time I just don’t understand. The bar scene fell away for the same reason. There had been rampant discussion of children and most of the time I saw joy and fulfillment on their faces while I sat there with nothing to offer the conversation. Eventually the situation wore on me and I ceased my participation, soon after ceasing my visits entirely. The way I live is not easily understood by other people. It is unreal.

I work around the house, sip coffee while speakig here during each morning, and think about something special and satisfying for lunch. I sweep the main areas of the house every day before caring for the litter boxes. I wash, dry and fold the clothes when each basket is full. I dry clean the suits and ensure they hang straight and true in the closet afterward. I spot clean the floor and change the sheets. I make sure to keep up with everything needing recycling and composting to minimize what is picked up in the gray residual can. I water the few plants in the back and trim the trees when they dangle below head-level. I empty the ashtrays and make sure the back patio is neat and orderly for the evenings. I straighten and set up the table for dinner and then cook each night. I drink whiskey near ten each morning for comfort and then again around six in the evening. I rarely shave or pay much attention to my appearance unless I need to go out shopping, and I do most of the food shopping, like later today. I take care of business matters because I have the daytime hours to myself. I take little breaks here and there and play a word game on the phone. This is my entire life. Other people do not understand, if my experience of dealing with them earlier this year is any indication. They cannot comprehend the idea of not working and having a partner who brings in all the money. The situation is unreal. My life is unreal, but after so much time and loss, I don’t know of another way to live. Unreality is me.

When I compare my life to that of those people I know from the bar (the only social situation within which I've been a part for a long time), I see a division the size of an asteroid belt.

0701, Friday. Nothing has changed. I am still completely empty and void of hope. I have coffee and the second show is gracing the television. Cats are fed and the weather has finally straightened itself out. Sixty-five inside with lower humidity than in the past week. Thank goodness. I don’t need that shit weather anymore. As usual, my only plan is to sit here for a while because I don’t know what to do with the rest of the day. Last week I tried to plan a trip to the electronics surplus store in the south bay, but I guess that went by the wayside. Sometimes I feel like all of the good has done the same.

I am believing more and more that the invoice is due. Other possible explanations seem to fade with time. The last thing I want is to sound cliché, yet every day is exactly the same. The trip down the highway to explore possible pasts will have to wait until I am alone again. That’s too bad, but at least I’m accustomed to venturing on my own after hoping to find enjoyment outside the door. Today will probably elapse just as the last few. I’ll go to the market later this morning because I never went yesterday. The low fat milk is leaving an aftertaste in my coffee.

I failed, too. Nothing looked appealing and I sat here stewing for quite some time before falling, but it definitely happened. The show didn’t help. The words didn’t help. I was taken off my feet. The failure is probably inevitable, I suppose. I’ve been reflecting on the past so much lately that sometimes I am driven toward something bad without even realizing where my head is. Too much thinking is one thing, but too much of the past is entirely different. The enormous difference between the glow or one of the other joyful periods and the present, meaning my current situation appears that much worse. Those times have become defined not by material items or possessions, but the feeling that there was hope. The world seemed to have much mystery, whereas now all such wonder is gone. When I reach back, I feel only loss. There were fewer failures during the glow because the need did not arise very often. I also found some clarity through conversation with a coworker in the Midwest who was open-minded enough to understand human nature as it relates to desire. She helped quite a bit back then. I just wish I could break out of the mindset that there is no other way. I’ve felt powerless for a long fucking time.

One more time... ‘Nothing unreal exists.’ That is a quote. I will not reveal who said it, though.

If I truly deserve being in this netherworld void of anything I need, someone or something must give me a sign to be certain. I'll accept it, but there must be clear indication that some force or forces out there have made this situation specifically tailored for my misery and unhappiness. I need to know for sure. As I said, I will accept it as soon as I have confirmation. The reasons are many, too. I know what I've done and avoided, things I've destroyed or otherwise disregarded in favor of steering my life toward those few moments of wonder and comfort. I know all of that. When held against the years of being dissatisfied or unhappy, however, the moments of damage are few in comparison. Still, I know what I am and how I continue to think. The damaging dream made that very clear on at least one front. The dream was unexpected and changed a part of my thinking in certain situations. I can't spell out any of this shit, either. That is another reason why each of my days has become so much more difficult than years ago.

I believe the rollercoaster girl contributed to the dream because I never forgot her face in all those years. For more than a decade I could still see her, all bright and beautiful. I am realizing the dream carried a few of her traits I noticed within the documentary. Sometimes I see too much, and she is one of those I cannot forget, nor can I deny her pull upon my senses, good or bad. Not a day goes by without me dreaming of her as she was or as a machine. Very bad. I am sitting here now daydreaming of her face and some of the scenes within that film and attaching them to those of the damaging dream. Both are unreal and underpin the fact that my unreality has become the only way I know how to live anymore. Her smiling face could match the other smiling faces which haunt me daily. The sum of all this shit is making me uneasy.

Part of this unreality is my attempt to hide from decisions and actions from the past of which I am not proud. I have not discussed many of them with others due to feeling that I may be ridiculed or rejected as a result. I went into some of it during a few therapy sessions many years ago and came out the other side full of regret. I can’t have that again. More recent years found me trying to find the strength to open again, but the same fears took over and forced me to clam up most of the time. There are two key situations which lend to my credibility, neither of which is known by anyone currently living. They may reside exclusively inside my brain forever, like the damaging dream.

I don’t understand why there must be so much fucking difficulty. Those words have been here before and will be again because I can’t find any fucking answers. I’ll keep saying the same thing, asking the same questions, and sitting here wondering out of a desperate need to understand. The other side seems equally impossible. I am tiring of typing that fucking word.

The cooler weather means I can continue where I left off yesterday with the clothing storage and organization. More and more I need the office to be set up as it was some years ago.

0932. I have half the routine finished. The kitchen will be quick. No cocktail yet, but I’m feeling the draw. Maybe in a few minutes when I move away from this crap. Once the noise of the day begins, I plan to organize the totes which hold keepsake clothing and such. Afterward, I can ponder moving the tables into their new positions in the office. I also need to make a trip to the market before lunch time. Keeping busy for a while may help extract the imagery in my brain. I need it to go away or I won’t be able to do much. I am becoming crippled by those smiling faces again and connecting them to the dream. This is not good and has the power to cease any forward motion. I don’t want that kind of shit today.

The world of which I tend to dream is unreal. The girl is unreal. The machine is unreal. Reality is just not cutting the fucking mustard anymore, so I continue to be steered toward the opposite. I can’t help it these days. Too much time has passed and too much has been lost, possibly forever. Such a thought is contributing to my deep depression. I see no way out.

I could use a boost. Nothing of the sort has come along for quite some time. Two boosts in a decade, both of which were destroyed by yours truly. Maybe I don't deserve such things anymore. I am not proud of any of it.

This must end soon."