July 31st, 2023 3:02pm pdt

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




Intermission

 read ( words)

"1040. My daily routine is finished and the dry cleaning will be done very soon. I still have some laundry and garbage work, so spending too much time sitting on my sorry ass is not going to help me much. I paused the media to perform a bit of research and find clear thinking, and lo and behold, there is Portia again with her unique facial structure. Wow, that woman is something to see. Anyway, I am going to try to have everything in order prior to lunch time because I need to relax here in the office for a while. There is much inside my head right now, not the least of which is today already being a fucking disaster.

‘Convene your sheriffs so we can kill this uppity Wiccan cunt!’ – the lovely Pamela Swynford De Beaufort, bless her evil nature.

1113 and I don’t know what the fuck else to write. Daily business? Very exciting. Thoughts about some errant woman walking by my window? Very exciting. Daydreaming about someone in the media that is always running on my right-hand display? Equal shit. Maybe I just need to relax with a pizza. Ah, Christ... There is Holly. If there was ever a woman on the screen that turns me so far off that I could die this way and be content, that character is such a woman. I can’t believe Andy ended up married to her. Ugh. Fifty-six years old on the outside, yet still the little boy who dreamed of Shilo all those years ago. I’ve gone nowhere, and perhaps the fear from that period spilled into everything else and left me completely incapable of entering one of the three key doors. I fucking hate this shit but don’t know what else to do. I can’t seem to watch the media without equating some aspect of my life or personality to what is playing out on the fucking display. Not good.

I have to keep the auctions going in order to secure funds for all things more important. My old phone is first on the list, and then the big knife. I still have some redundancy with regard to the knives, so one of them has to go out the door. I really love the XLT, too, so it will stay here. The little knives will soon be organized and entertaining scales befitting their status, meaning whatever parts are left over will go away. I’ll keep the most important models, likely just three. Everything else is on the chopping block, to quote one of my favorite television programs.

Tara’s girlfriend is fucking scary. She is tall, slender and occasionally gorgeous, yet the underlying fear surfaces all too often, effectively ruining any appreciation for her physical appearance. Such is life. I don’t matter in the least, meaning that my way of thinking is obsolete and likely matters even less. I am alone and will always be, in reality and my opinions.

Sitting here ‘sideways’ on a Monday morning. Already sideways. Heeled. Not happy. At least I have coffee. I am going to keep the garage closed for a long while because I don’t feel like being sociable (or viewable by others) this morning. All of the typical weekday work awaits my attention, yet I will not go into anything until the coffee is gone. At that point I can transition from the office, begin some laundry, and then take care of my daily routine with friends in the background. I am looking forward to seeing them. Disaster, anyway. Fucking disaster. I hate feeling this way, but... Onward.

1019. My routine is finished and the laundry is running. There is a fat White Russian next to me on the table and the usual supernatural storylines playing out on the right-hand display. The garage is still closed for the time being. Gray skies, cool mercury. I may leave the big door down until after lunch because doing so sends a signal to the neighborhood that I am occupied or otherwise unavailable. Sometimes when I do have lunch, the front door is bolted and everything else is closed. The phone ringer is turned off, as well, because my little video entertainment slash food comfort comes before almost everything else in life. Yesterday I was thinking about the beginning of the HD era (for me, anyway) during the early aughts and began to feel as if everything new and exciting is behind us. I’ve said this before, too, but sometimes I need to look back and recall the wonder of that period. All of the technology which used to be innovative and portable has been rolled into phones, meaning nothing ‘new’ is unexpected anymore. This makes me very sad and tends to force me to wonder if I appreciated the early HD period – or even the glowing years and the way electronics were being advanced during that time – and sometimes the sadness takes over and I wish for nothing more than a railroad trip back in time. And one more time for posterity (and clarity)... Arlene’s baby is fucking ugly. Jesus. You want the opposite? Unending beauty on levels that can barely be reached by anyone? Look at Susanna Thompson’s portrayal of Dr. Lenara Khan during the fourth season of the third show. Ho-ly shit are that woman’s eyes a fucking universe all their own. After years of watching her in various roles, I still can’t believe the feelings inside me when her face is on the screen. She is absolutely amazing. More emotion comes through her eyes than ten thousand other actors all combined. Just trust me... The woman is beyond beautiful. There you go. The real world has been shoved aside once again as if it never mattered. Reality just can’t do it for me anymore.

The garage is now open. I don’t know what it means, but I have the empire on display once again.

Everything feels very thin, yet still I am sitting here day after day performing the same tasks and typing the same words. Wow... I’ve been watching government hearings all morning regarding UFO (or UAP, if you prefer) sightings and reporting procedures that have apparently been a long time coming. The process is very interesting, if long-winded. The hearings are historic in nature due to the actions and inactions of certain aspects of the government and the fact that the public rarely gets a straight answer about anything strange. Anyway, this process has my attention for the time being. Part of my interest is one of the officials... She is fucking gorgeous and has one hell of a unique face. On the inside, I will say that I am broken in half due to having been proofreading and streamlining the long story I wrote some years ago. I am referring to the three-period tale involving me gallivanting all over the nation in search of very specific and critical (to my survival) types of comfort and understanding. I will eventually decide if I want the information to remain public, or if the idea of actually publishing a book may help me. I spent a good portion of the last two days working toward such an end, the detailed reminders having taken quite a toll on my ability to deal with the way life is at present. The memories are crippling, to be honest, most notably the beginning of eleven when I took a trip to visit family in Florida. That period now stands as one of the most beautiful and damaging of my entire life, the fall of aught-three being nearly as bad/good. Jesus fuck... There is another government official who is gorgeous. Beautiful hair, too. Damn. Oh, she is a member of the House of Representatives. Anyway, recalling eleven and my adventure with Andrea has served to further diminish my already depressed state of mind regarding life itself. I am going to continue editing and smoothing the content, however, because I am compelled to learn if the story can actually be published. In the meantime, the current site will undoubtedly suffer a lack of additional entries due to so much time spent with the older material. Whatever.

The au pair just pulled up two doors distant. Since my neighbor moved his truck closer to his garage, I once again have a prime view out the window. I’m sure when the au pair strolls by, my mood will drop a bit.

I removed the seventeen parts of the story in question. The archive no longer reflects all of my writing on the site. This is probably temporary. Moreover, I created this 'intermission' due to my muse flying away like so much ambition in life. The story of the doors will continue shortly (I hope). Right now I can't be certain of anything.

1217. The daily work is finished and I have the rest of the day to myself, or at least time to do whatever seems best. One of the neighbors was here for a bit, too. I think his emotional condition is less than well considering the fact that he asked me for a big glass of vodka after arriving. My typical morning cocktail lasts upward of two hours, whereas he consumed the booze in roughly twenty minutes, and then chased it with a spiked seltzer before heading home. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I’d be lying if I said I am unconcerned. Well, he’s an adult, so I will not take issue with any behavior. Christ knows I have lashed out in multiple directions throughout the last few years, so I am not one to draw uneducated conclusions. Anyway, I have some music playing in the background and will continue to work toward having the long story streamlined for possible publishing.

I need a very specific and special type of help these days, yet nothing of the kind is on my horizon. This is very sad and will likely come to a head at some point, although I have no idea of when. The fact that everything is cumulative points to something unpleasant on the horizon. And yes, I’ve been gleaning such a fact for a very long time, but trust me when I say that I can only take so much before flipping the fuck out for the last time.

The music again sounds as if it is being run through a noise gate. Something has to change here, damn it. I guess more research and analysis is on tap in and around whatever else I do today. Ah... I just noticed that increasing the volume helps quite a bit. Wow. I guess I’ll just run the media at a stratospheric volume level in order to correct the fucking problem. I am in the ideal mindset for such a move. Yes.

At least I’m not broadcasting my mood in the garage, and what a bad mood it is, for sure. The reckless feelings have to be squashed right now or I’ll leave the state. Birds of prey. Birds of FUCKING PREY. I am not well. Not by a damned sight.

I can feel every experience from the last twenty years flooding me right now. Everything. I don’t know why this is happening right now (unless this is the time when shit finally combines and leaves me sans reasons for trying), but I will say that the combination of recent dreams and housework has left me realizing my absolute value in life. The music is now heading back to the root of the fucking problem. Trust me... This is the very pinnacle of depression. The mood created by six particular compositions brings me back to sitting in the JCPenney parking lot years ago unable to move, drive, or think at all. I was crippled and about half a fucking inch from running into traffic on 280, which was just beyond one pathetic fence. I’ll tell you something, too, and what follows is now an axiom: I could have avoided tons of pain and suffering had the mood won me over that night. Since then, only a small measure of physical comfort has remained. The rest is a slow decay of my being. Believe it. Decay.

1429, same day. I am lost. The housework is finished and I’ll be making soup in a little while (positives), yet the inside of my head is awash with memories of wonder and beauty, none of which exist anymore. I don’t think I can fix this situation.

Thursday morning is here and the only interesting aspect thus far is the fact that I have a nice view out the window again. Everything else is tertiary, if not completely unimportant. After yesterday’s difficulty, I really don’t care what happens today. The time is only 0814 so far and I see the road ahead... Coffee gone, a trip to the market, and then the second half of my daily routine afterward with a big, fat fucking cocktail. I can’t stop the Rolodex of past imagery from spinning me into a froth of shit and decay, nor can I go back and make alterations in order to emerge in an improved state. I did what I did, and no matter how many times an issue is taken with my decisions, there is simply nothing I can do. The train has derailed inside me, the ship of possibilities sailed (and sunk), and the very idea that there is some way I can find even a sliver of what I need to be content has all but disappeared. All I have are those little things I’ve been mentioning for years.

I fucking hate feeling this way. Maybe when I go shopping I’ll get a small pizza for lunch. See? That is one of those enjoyments that need to prop me up in life. Does it sound stupid? I don’t care. For years I tried to get one foot into the forest, but lately I’ve realized that the reason I’ve never achieved that step is because the other foot is firmly planted in the cemetery. One or the other, and to be completely honest, I don’t think I’ve ever earned the forest. I don’t deserve it. I am not enough of what is required in order to be there... To REALLY be there. If you understand, you’re lying to yourself. Enjoy.

The little widget in the lower-right corner of this display is indicating that the local temperature is near a record LOW for this date. Low. Isn’t that amazing? A good portion of this nation has been wrestling with record heat, but over here the mercury rarely climbs north of seventy when the sun is shining. And there is the au pair again. Geez. On another front, my afternoon is going to be cut short because I have to take a trip to the medical offices after lunch. At least the time will be broken up a bit. I guess that’s better than nothing. Right now my head is so heeled over that nothing seems to make any difference at all. I don’t know what the hell to do with myself. How many entries contain the line ‘this is a bad time’? Not enough, I suppose, but the usage shall continue unimpeded. As for the temperature, well... I waited decades to escape the discomfort of living in a very warm climate and would not go back for all the tea in the supermarket. I don’t even drink tea, so that’s fucking stupid anyway.

The memories from the story I’ve been trying to assemble are hurting me deeply. ‘I shall never look upon her like again.’ Not good. If ever there was a time when my need for comfort and understanding was more powerful, this is it. I fucking hate this shit. Maybe I already stated as much. Whatever. LIke many other wavering entries, this is going nowhere. The same shit, the same words, the same pain. Sometimes I wish I had never met those women. Perhaps different memories would not be so cutting right now.

1057. The daily routine is out of the way and I have a nice, icy glass of whiskey for reasons of good form. Morning housework is finished but I am completely fucking miserable. I have yet to go to the market because I don’t give a shit. Maybe later I’ll venture over there, perhaps after the alcohol mellows me a little. Right now I just don’t know because my brain is fucked up. I need more problems like I need Satan’s fucking thorned penis jammed in my ass. I'm in a bad mood.

Maybe I shouldn’t have begun collating and streamlining the story. In book form, it could prove to be interesting to a segment of society, and since my first name is in there just once (and could be fictionalized just in case), the potential external connectivity could be minimized. I don’t need anyone asking fucking questions. Believe me... Several blasts of shit have already taken place in the past and I’d like to avoid anything further.

Friday is here and at only 1033 in the morning, everything is finished and the laundry is running. I also took measurements for a platform that will sit atop the bathtub so I can paint around the top of the walls along with the trim. The work has been waiting too long for me to ignore it anymore. I have to finish the painting just to feel better about myself. Visiting the medical offices yesterday yielded a problem in my head by way of a tiny half-Asian girl with tons of midriff on display. She was dressed like crap, fortunately, yet I could tell all of the information was present. There was very little definition. Across from me was a very tall woman with a fascinating face, too. I very nearly typed a greeting to show her in the hopes of beginning a text conversation. In the end, though, I realized how that might appear and left myself thinking of her as a person, and one about whom I knew nothing. She was a person above all things and I could not muster enough will to disturb her at all. I didn’t even stare. The tiny Asian girl was another story, as she generated only one type of interest. I honestly could not WAIT to get the hell out of that building. As I’ve stated many times, there will always be something when I leave the house.

Intermission. Right. Thankfully, I have a nice glass of depressant here on the table.

I’ve been thinking about Ashley and Andrea far too much lately, and for very good reason. I can’t really go into specifics, however, because the information will result in too much of a flytrap. I don’t need any fucking backlash right now despite feeling so reckless and angry. Years ago when things went aslant with what I had been saying on the site, I merely told everyone to fuck off and find something else to read. There is plenty of other shit on the Internet. As I said up the page, proofreading means reading, and that adds up to turmoil the likes of which I haven’t felt in roughly eight years. As much as I am compelled to finish the book and look into the possibility of publishing, I really don’t need to feel any worse, and I fear that will be the result.

The time is now 1057 and I am approaching the typical hour when my neighbor visits for a cocktail. Like everything else external, I do not feel like being sociable today. I might close up the garage and hide myself away to avoid any imperial entanglements. From my window here in the office, I have a view of the truck next door along with its huge chrome bumper, meaning if anyone approaches the house (we have a very long driveway), I can see them prior to arriving at one of the doors. I’ve always maintained the idea that if my garage is open, it means I am available for a visit. I can close it with the phone.

Every fucking problem I have outlined for the last three-plus years is driven by two aspects of life, one old and one more recent. Everything. Unfortunately, I can’t go into detail or I’ll receive the aforementioned backlash. All of my problems must remain locked away, and if that means I’ll implode at some point, so be it. Life choices have been removed, permanently. Believe it. The story I’ve been working on simply exacerbates my condition, but somehow I need the potential catharsis, not to mention the possibility of sales. The story gleans the problems I mentioned. Splendid. Sometimes in order to see the potential for ‘gold’, I must mire myself in the ‘shit’.

I guess we are going to attend the race in two days. Had I opted to sell the tickets, the window was narrow, meaning I had to avoid losing money. Hence the plan to bring our cameras to the event and try to enjoy. I am going to have to try hard, to be honest, and the problem is not that fucking stunning race girl from a few years ago. The truth is I feel uncomfortable with the notion of leaving this house for several hours and being around lots of other people. Does that mean I fear seeing some errant vision of beauty? Not really. The pit and concession areas end up full of people, yet to be honest I rarely see anything special with regard to fan attendance. Since the race girl almost exactly two years ago, not a single woman within my sights has stirred me very much at all. There was one the following year – I saw her upon exiting my car in the parking area – yet she faded within minutes and nothing really formed as a result. Maybe due to the race girl’s cat eyes combined with the way she looked right through my soul has contributed to seeing other visions and immediately sending them flying away because none can compare. Hmm. That could be it, honestly. The race girl knows no equal. Anyway, I believe once we are in the car with coffee and pastries in hand, I’ll feel better about heading to the raceway. Like last year, my intention is to completely avoid the grandstand in favor of strolling around the pit area to capture interesting sights with my camera. We left early, too, as in three hours prior to the event being secured. This year will probably follow suit. Do I expect to see the cat-eyed girl? Nope. I have little reason to believe she will be there, nor do I think anything will cause my head to explode. The truth is all I have to do is get in the fucking car, pick up our morning coffee and such, and then fly up the highway before changing my mind.



01

That being said, I have to also include the fact that the race is very different from years ago when I attended with my dad. Everything seems to have followed technology in that the entire pit area feels very detached from race fans, whereas many years ago we could be up close and personal with drivers, crew members and the actual race cars. When I speak of audio and video technology, I often lament the way the state of the industry has changed with the advent of very advanced smartphones, and the atmosphere at the race is no different. Everything seems generic and detached. I can still remember being barely five feet from a top-fuel dragster when the crew chief attached a starter motor to the blower pulley, and such a connection meant the car was mere seconds prior to launching through the bleach box in order to slam the engine and heat the tires. Now? Not a single fan is closer than two hundred feet from the same. So sad.

Um... Not just sad. The changes are becoming debilitating. The gradient continues to widen. And I just closed the garage door from here in the office. Depression is not enjoyable and pushes me to shove other people away. Today is turning into one big, fat reminder that I no longer fit with society. And when I try to reminisce or describe the amazing aspects of the past? No one gives a shit in the wind. I am fifty-six years old. Just wait until a few more birthdays pass. Oh, boy... I can see my slice of the world burning. I always listened to my grandfather when he regaled us with tales from his childhood and beyond, but until recently I never truly realized how important those stories were to him. Intermission. The other story will continue at some point, but I make no promises.

Here I am in the garage. The time has advanced to 1509 and I finished the laundry as well as the frame for another neon sign (to replace the one which had been damaged). The wood around the sign will protect it from harm. The neighbor was here a while ago and realized I was not my typical pleasant self, instead opting to demonstrate the mass of difficulty and frustration inside me. At the time, I was busy with the woodwork and my music was just high enough to preclude any normal conversational volume. Perfect. The intermission continues without interruption. Do you get the meaning? This is not merely a pause of the story I’ve been writing. The intermission is a period designed to slam home the point of my condition to other people. There you go. I believe I already mentioned that the muse has left me, too, and such a fact contributes to this dry spell. Fuck everyone. The motherfucker who won the last knife auction STILL has not paid for the item, nor has he contacted me. Just another example of my disdain for society, and another little drop in my mood.

The more I think about going to the race on Sunday, the more relaxed I am about being there for several hours. There will be no race girl to speak of, and the general admission contingent is nothing special. The cars are key. No one sees me anyway, so why worry? I am as invisible in a crowd as I am at this very moment. Hiding in plain sight? No... That only applies to the Disney parks.

And that reminds me of Andrea. Shit. Hence the nature of the music playing in the background today. I have no illusions...

I still don’t know whether or not to move forward with the idea of publishing my nonfiction. Sometimes the thought frightens me, while during other days I feel it may be a good idea to see if I can actually do something with the material. I am on the fence. Vacillating. Pondering. Worst case, someone I know reads it and either congratulates me or ends up filled with questions about the person they thought they knew. Hmm. I don’t need questions, although avoidance is very simple lately. I can be very cryptic as well as wholly unwelcoming. The bottom line is that I will have to think about this more and see what develops inside my distorted head. Maybe I can reap some income if it bears fruit. The process may also destroy me.

I’d love to see that girl again. The most likely outcome would be me turning away and dashing off for dear life, but that does not mean the sight of her would be completely bad. Cat eyes. The race girl quickly took standing among the other two key figures from my sordid past, including the CD changer girl and the one on the rollercoaster. I eventually located and captured the latter because of the media in question, but the race and CD girls were in reality and can never be seen again. Well, the idea is not impossible, and I say that because the very first real focus of my obsession was the car wash girl, and I saw her just weeks later entering a market. The odds are astronomical, however. There is no way around that. And nothing could come of the situation, either. Not a fucking thing. Probably just another stupid essay. No one needs that kind of thing, least of all yours truly. Oh... Great song. The title and lines from the chorus echo the way I feel every fucking day. Unreal.

Spinning my wheels. Spinning out of control and sans direction. Such is the current period. At least this keyboard is fantastic. Better than nothing.

People are driving by, likely on their way home from work. Most are probably pretty happy, too, because today is Friday. I used to love heading back into town on this type of afternoon and rolling into the bar to see the others. Now? The entire lifestyle is completely fucking alien to me. The world is not much different from a few years ago other than the lingering effects of the pandemic, but I’ve become vastly different. I can’t even begin to imagine going to a full-time job every day of the week. The act would probably cause me to either lash out and disappear (again) or shut down completely and leave me ready to die. The former would be the preferred choice, of course, given the proper resources. The latter? It may already be in the works. I see those cars heading opposite the direction of the highway and realize even more what I said above... I am far too different now to engage in anything ‘normal’ or ‘acceptable’ within society. My entire life has been reduced to just under six thousand square feet and the occasional drive born of nothing more than absolute necessity. Splendid. At least I know what I’ve become, unlike many others.

Do I need to go into the reason for the sole image contained in this entry? I will say that I’ve seen them, yet will never see them again. If anything has the power to alter my present stance on this fucking planet, that image does, in spades. She is the culmination of everything and the reasons I am so fucked up are all over her. Does that get the point across? Nope. There is so much swirling inside me when I see it that to convey it all would take much more than what is left of my lifetime. Trust me when I say that my condition is infinitely worse than what you may believe. You want a bit more? The image is about as close to Andrea’s appearance as I’ve found in the more than eight years since the site's direction was shifted. I remember her face, too, because there is one which comes to the screen during the run of the second show. I can’t forget because those five series’ are nearly all I ever watch anymore. The face will come around in the rotation and I’ll go through yet another period of deeper depression. Just trust me... The form of the woman pictured is nearly a match to Andrea. Never again. Never fucking again.

1607. I am so lost right now. At least the evening is coming soon. Dinner and a bit of a cocktail tend to relax me. Afterward? Sleep. And then all this shit will begin again in the morning. I never should have left Vegas that last time. Ellie told me to go home, and then she made me promise, but I never should have left. So much could have been avoided. THIS could have been avoided. Fuck me.

Lost.

At some point I guess I’ll return to the house and make revolutions for dinner. No one ever understands that figure of speech, but a clue is this: Think of the command structure and communication procedures within a submarine. Anyway, I can only sit here for so long before my back starts to scream, so I will shut down the empire soon. The music is quiet and I have a bit of beer left in the can. I just don’t know what else to do right now. The memories are still slicing me to ribbons and to look toward the future accomplishes exactly nothing. None of this will change. Morning coffee at the computer, housework for a little while, and then a dry spell until I make dinner and watch something on the television. Projects? They will be in there, too... Somewhere. But the truth is that nothing has the power to truly lift me anymore. I see no wonder on the horizon, and I am having more and more trouble finding solace or comfort during the days. My situation is not good. I see myself a bit lower each morning. Typing is nothing more than the passage of time. The horizon never changes.

The race is appearing better and better as the hours pass. At least I’ll be out of here for a while and can hopefully get into some photography. I haven’t truly been ‘in the lens’ for over a year because the process is very different at home than it was while on vacation. Last year was a prime example of me having become so disillusioned about everything that once held wonder. We were at the race with a very different plan, meaning we avoided the grandstand (as I’ve mentioned) and the idea was to focus upon the cameras, yet in all the hours, I shot all of three images with the mighty Nikon. Isn’t that splendid? Will the same situation occur this year? I don’t fucking know, but the plan is the same. I am looking forward to arriving there in the morning, but have no clue as to how the visit will play out.

I am back in the office and have no idea of what it means. I sit here every day for one reason or another. Maybe the barstool in the garage took enough of a toll on my back for a while. This chair is much more supportive. Exciting, eh? I am in the house and no one gives a fuck. Part of the reason is that I am not feeling sociable, so if anyone decides to come by, I can simply close the door from my phone. Never mind. I just did. I also ceased the video media because the voices began to annoy me.

God I miss her. Everything leads to either pain or heartache. The ability of the little enjoyments to lift me on a given day continues to diminish. This is not good.

Saturday. I don’t know what to make of speaking with the neighbor last night. I just don’t fucking know. At one point (not very late) I pointed outward to indicate that it was time for him to go. Sometimes I go a little sideways, but not in the same way I do during the mornings. I don’t feel any of that type of difficulty today, just disappointment. That’s going to be the last evening in the garage for a long time. As for this morning, I am going to take the typical drive to the City and then go shopping afterward. I am hoping to be back home by ten or eleven. Any longer and I’ll cancel the race outing tomorrow. I feel very down right now and don’t know how an extended period away from the house will affect me. After last night, I am not feeling inclined to be near other people. This is most likely the worst I have felt toward people in a very long time, possibly my entire life. I can’t believe it, but at the same time, I really don’t care. My little world has been reduced further. This is one of those days in which the garage door remains down all day, or at least as long as possible.

Monday morning and not all is well (naturally). The time is only 0639 thus far and I have much to consider today. Yesterday was blank because we ended up going to the race despite my hesitation. Of course, there were things to which I was exposed yesterday that would be better left out of my life. The warm weather meant many people dressed accordingly, and that added up to a shitload of views throughout the roughly five hours spent at the track, and one in particular. No, not the race girl. She is gone for good. The example which stood out was a girl giving out samples of a drink. Nothing else the entire day compared to her, honestly. There were two flashes of reminders from the festival last year which had me at sixes and sevens for a little while, and I believe it was shortly after the appearance of those recollections inside me that I made the decision to get the hell out of there. By one in the afternoon, my head was awash with difficulty and I began to yearn for the quiet weekdays again. Within the next hour or so, I will be inside one of those quiet periods. Between the shit from Friday night (in the garage), the story I’ve been trying to streamline, and the beverage girl’s thigh gap yesterday, I need time to once again process exactly what I’ve become in recent years. This is much worse than the mid-aughts, too. I need to know why, although there was a bit of evidence in my head when I awakened this morning. Standing there as she poured samples was difficult, but like so many other parts of life, once in the clutch I was able to push through and come out the other side sans any outward sign. Believe me, though... The light shining between those compound radii confused the shit out of me for a moment. What am I? Do you know? I needed to know why her appearance was so stirring. She was very rare.

On the upside, I indeed ventured into the lens while at the track and shot some really nice images throughout the morning and a few more in the afternoon. I should have shot the beverage girl’s legs from the rear. Maybe I could have simply asked her to model in front of my camera for a few minutes. Wait... What? I don’t fucking think so. Anyway, I was able to move inside some of the roped-off areas by politely asking the officials from a few race teams if photography was alright. They are typically very busy between rounds, so once the first race was out of the way, my ability to get some up-close material went away. During the quiet morning, though, I found myself free to roam here and there. Last year I didn’t make the effort or speak to anyone. Pause.

0755. The rest of the day is all mine. I really need this time, too. I need peace and quiet... Space to think and live the only way I know how. I am planning to remain inside the house all day and keep to myself no matter what takes place outside or who may contact me. There is plenty to do in this house. I am thankful that I need not go anywhere today. Perhaps the market and smoke shop tomorrow, but that’s it. On Wednesday I have to carry someone to the City for a medical appointment and am not looking forward to it, yet the process will come and go like everything else. I will treat the venture as another reason to be overjoyed at arriving home when everything is finished. As for this morning, I need to relax in front of the control center for a while before tackling anything else. I can still see the light coming through her thighs. Basket case. Oh, believe me... I know a good portion of the reason. Routing. Squishing. Yep.

Jessica’s best feature is her entire face. Wow.

One of my auctions (an older phone) ended yesterday and the winning bidder wished to know of the battery condition after the close. I set up the phone for the third time, gathered information for him, and then erased it again, after which he wished to cancel the transaction. Since my seller rating must retain its historically high standards, I canceled with a friendly message to him. Now I have to list the phone again, this time including said battery information. Whew! Prior to his inquiry, I didn’t even know such information was available on the phone. Whatever. As for the other auction, the bidder never paid, so that one was also canceled and relisted. I will wait for a few days to relist the phone because I like the shipping times to be staggered. I may or may not list another knife prior to the phone. Anyway... Luna’s lips are fucking amazing sometimes.

1031. The dry cleaning is finished, one load of laundry is in the dryer and the second is washing. I have the garage closed in order to focus upon my stuff rather than being concerned about the fucking neighbor stopping by. With the big door down, my show can follow along as I work on the laundry, something which came about at the beginning of the pandemic and carries on to this very day. I really find comfort in my friends being in the background no matter where the housework takes me. I love them. Oh, and the current series is the one in which I constantly wish to live. I really do, and the feeling has grown exponentially throughout the past year. One more time for posterity... All of my problems would disappear within hours. What a fucking dream. Such a life is very likely the only way I could ever find happiness and contentment. That is a sad commentary. In any case, the hour is early and I have much to consider. Thank the maker for these quiet days. Hopefully I can continue with the muse very soon. I see bubbles floating past my neighbor’s roof. Not the ‘issue’ neighbor, but next door... My very good friend. Interesting. At some point today I’ll capture images of what is likely the last knife I plan to auction. I can list it in a few days. The auction I relisted is already gaining interest. Nice. All in all, this day is proving to be everything I needed after such a busy weekend. Well, not everything. The pieces that have been missing from inside me and those aspects of life which continue to elude – likely never to return – cannot be changed. I am only referring to the benefits of being home alone and left to whatever I feel is best. As for the rest, there seems to be nothing I can do. Nothing. I am slowly dying inside.

And there is Nora. You know how I feel about her. Is more of a description necessary? I don’t think so. Her appearance always catches me off-guard because the advancing seasons are seamless while streaming the program. I just limp along doing whatever I do, and then all of a sudden one of the most beautiful women upon whom I have ever laid eyes appears on the screen. She is a part of the holy trinity... Jolaimora. If you don’t know that one by now, go read something else because you’re an idiot. Bye.

God damn do I ever love Nora. Holy Jesus fuck is she beautiful. I would give my life to worship her labia for a little while.

More bubbles floating by. Heh. I think there is a young person on the adjacent street who likes to make bubbles from time to time. It’s kinda cool.

Aside from all of the laundry today, I will probably spend a lot of time sitting here at the control center. I’d like to transfer yesterday’s images off the camera and take a look at my handiwork. I may also work on the story for a while if it doesn’t cause too much damage to my head. The possibility of actually publishing is looking more and more ridiculous after the research I’ve recently perused. I guess getting a story out to the masses in print form is extremely difficult, not to mention a rarity. If the cost is not too excessive, I don’t see the harm in trying. Not a lot of harm, anyway. I’m already fucked in the head, so if I can earn a little income, the result might be a touch more positive than what I have been feeling.

Andrea and I were together for mere weeks, and I seem to recall the time passing in slow-motion rather than quickly. Whatever kind of bubble we created, it did not follow suit with a typical vacation or other enjoyable situation in which time seemed to ‘fly’. I don’t know the reason. Maybe we forced the circumstances to bend to our wishes.

1401. Oh, Nora. Little hearts are floating everywhere.

The laundry is finished and put away and my tools have been delivered. I ventured to the garage to finalize the garments that have to hang to dry, and integrated the new tools into the fold. Hand tools are difficult to understand for some people, but I can honestly say that for some of us, they are like drugs. There can never be enough. Every conceivable contingency has to be mitigated. Heh. Anyway, the entire day has been nice and quiet with the doors closed and the entire world shut out of my life. The inner situation is quite different, though. I can’t stop thinking about what has happened each time a vision crosses my eyesight. I feel so weak all the time that to think I can ever fit with society in the future is nothing more than a joke. I may have accomplished a lot today for no other reason than to distract myself from turmoil. So far today, it’s fine. I’ve been able to care for everything without issue. At some point this will all come to a crashing halt. I know it. Between now and evening there will be a fight inside me. In the next minute or so, there will be a shot of Nora walking toward the camera. It drives me fucking insane. She is unreal. Oops... Wrong scene. Anyway, I am going to take it easy for a while and see if I can truly relax about everything. The afternoon may end in disaster regardless of how I feel.

Nora.

I am so lost. Every day brings the same feelings, too. The same. The race was not a big deal because I know the information is out there floating about and doing whatever people do each day. The problem is obviously inside me, and I’ve said that before. I just can’t figure a way out of this shit, nor do I feel responsible for much of it. My life has been ruined. The future? Same.

Intermission will be over soon."



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