February 10th, 2022 2:40pm pst

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




Blood Repast

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"Ever closer to PDT. The PST is waning. 1253, just hours after publishing.

The two flanking Benny at the bar again. Problem. They remind me of the smiling face. I really don't fucking need that right now. This may be a good time to switch television programs.

Done.

Nothing there yesterday. Work, but nothing else. 0641 on Monday. I will have this entire day to myself.

The previous entry was one side. This may be the other but I am uncertain as to what direction this page will take until rolling. My head has not been screwed on correctly for so long that I believe whatever comes out on the site can be taken as the norm. I am in very bad shape and no one knows. The word 'past' is in the title because I've been considering something which took place around seventy-six or seventy-seven outside the elementary school I attended from third to sixth. Me and two other guys, one of which was known for being somewhat of a tough guy, although he was a friend of mine and always on my side. The other kid is another story. I don't know whether or not to go into it because I am already unsure of how I feel about myself anymore. The previous work that I published yesterday was pretty bad, yet still much was hidden. I guess I don't know of any other way to do this these days. The processes inside me are messed up and -- if known -- could change the face of what people see when they visit here. I can't have that. Already I've stated those personality traits which I see in myself and the idea that I've caused much heartache and turmoil as a result of remaining unchanged for so long. Well, loosing some other information just might be the last straw. Right now I don't know.

There was a second situation, too. Lots of blood on the screen right now. The second situation has nothing to do with blood. Sometimes I see it, other times it is absent. Everything safe and organized. No worry. No evil. No challenges. The past is pushing me to tell another story, though it is not terribly interesting or exciting. Just one afternoon right before school let out for the day. I remember one name, not two. It was the only time in my entire life that I had a hand in something rather than being on the opposite side. A few years later the pendulum swung in the reverse direction and became stuck in position. That change was permanent and ruined my life, for lack of a better phrase. But the shit prior to the swing may have been one key to what takes place in my head when I am upset. Angry, mostly, like lately. I cannot seem to quantify or rationalize anymore. I believe the memories of blood-spattered areas were born of three circumstances, one of which is already known. The other two are being processed.

The time for weekday morning business has nearly arrived. I'll have to return to this afterward because the compulsion is nearly as strong as the other compulsion. There are three of those, as well. 0819 and the early crap is finished. I even got a little head start on the routine to ensure plenty of time for writing just in case the mood strikes. The past continues to creep in and there is nothing I can do about it. I feel bad nearly fifty years later. The only time in my life that something transpired without eventually working against me. The problem is it works on my conscience. I can't have that right now because my opinion of myself continues to fall. Realizations left and fucking right these days. The typical morning shit now has other parts of life piled atop. I'll fail again. I am beginning to believe that there are thoughts which one day may seem the most dire in life, and the next feel trivial. If the past is any indication, my ability to apply importance to some situations which would be better forgotten has flourished. Like one of those circles. I can't get out, yet I know what is going round and round and why.

Narrowing. Every day this is narrowing and losing sense. I believe the last two years of heavy writing have left me with much less to say. Maybe. Or, perhaps I simply hit the limit of what can be revealed without crossing certain lines. I can only be so frank here. According to my calculations, there is good reason and room to begin processing numbers as in eleven. The period was quite different, yet the end result would have been the same. I can only do this for so long before knowing nothing will change and there is no point in continuing to explore the same shit over and over. I'll be damned if I'll do this for the rest of my life and sit here exactly the same fucking person. That is bullshit. I'll take steps.

Going into the past has never yielded a good product. The little snippets here and there in different colors are one thing, but to splay an entire hurtful story here and HOPE it means fuck-all to another person is really desperate and asking for trouble. I don't expect anyone to fully understand because such a stance is totally unrealistic. Plus, I can read people and will know whether or not there is anything behind the words. By the same token, I cannot expect to fully comprehend anything along similar lines from someone else. Also kind of bullshit, that one. We know, we try, but in the end there can only be so much. Different brains. If I do it one more time and the pendulum is seen swinging in my favor, I have not clue one as to a reaction. That could be the end of me sharing anything, yet still the opposite of shutting myself down for self-preservation. The fact is I would be retreating for all time due to feeling guilt and shame over the past rather than fury and rage. Maybe this entire entry will serve as nothing more than a preamble. Then again, it could also be the beginning of the end of my life.

The last year has shown me that there is only so much I can take or do in order to be comfortable. Beyond that, the fact is nothing improves. Only so much. I hit that limit almost a year ago yet did not realize it until last night. I'll have to embrace a few parts of life a bit more in the coming months because the likelihood of me being a responsive human being by the close of the year is for naught. I need to shut down. The music will tell the story. Don't forget what goes along with the music.

I believe the time has come for me to shove aside that smiling face and consider it nothing more than the leaky facade of a fucking worthless waste of blood. The days ahead will be eased as a result. Anger fixes everything.
Tomorrow will be precisely twenty years since the site went live. I was sitting in a fifth-wheel trailer at my big desk when the domain and hosting linked and I saw the index in the public domain for the first time. Zero two. Unbelievable. The entire idea of being global was very exciting and I saw possibilities everywhere. The memory is darkening the present, unfortunately. Very dark. I had not clue one I would end up like this.

1221 and this day is just like all the others. Perhaps this shit will be nothing more than an 'in-between'. I don't know. I went to the cleaners and market -- the one I do my best to avoid most of the time -- and took care of a little business. Nothing remarkable over there, thank Christ. One pair of big eyes above a mask and not the usual slew of legs and whatnot. Good. I don't need any imperial entanglements right now. Regardless of the good fortune of not falling on my face, this day is blah. Fishcakes, really. Fuckedupheadcakes. Something had better materialize, and soon.

I had the idea of disassembling all five big models just to pass the time, although I don't want a bunch of crap spread all over the dining table. We will need the space to put away Christmas ornaments. And yes, the tree is still up. Just to my right. After the living room is put back into boring mode, I suppose I'll work on the models again. A few months later will likely find me assembling them again. Anything which can remind me of how comfortable I was after deciding to quit work and remain home almost two years ago. Building on of the big cars for the first time was utterly amazing.



1006


0605 on the eighth. Now we've hit twenty years on the site. Three domains, five titles, twenty years. Unreal. Sitting there dreaming of the server, T-1, whatever... Apache web software. I don't know, but it was very exciting. New and different. Ever since building the site for my parents' business just a few years earlier, I desperately wanted my own slice. That may have been the initial period when I dreamed of having a discussion forum under my control, right there as a part of my own site. Never happened. During the 1236 period when my site was pretty much organized and in full-swing, I was a moderator for a discussion forum and really began to yearn for my own design. Well, one thing led to another and it didn't materialize. I seem to recall placing the software next to the site at some point and setting up the operational parts, yet as a live forum it never attracted any attention. Too small and unknown. Now I am a regular reader of some sections of Reddit. They did what I wanted to accomplish just under two decades ago. I wonder what it would look like now. Everything makes me sad. Hundreds of millions in revenue but someone else beat me to the punch. According to Wikipedia, it is the nineteenth most visited website in the world and the seventh most visited site in the US. I guess I had a pretty good idea. Who knows? Maybe it would have caught on. I use Reddit quite often to read about what people have said regarding some television programs, and every single visit reminds me of what I wanted to do.

I hope today doesn't end up like yesterday. Some of the time was fine, though. Not bad. I never got into the heart of this entry. Other aspects of the day took over and I really could not type a fucking word after lunch. There is Fiona for the umpteenth time with her incredible caring. Combine her with the comare from the second season and the sum could actually be the solution to a lot of problems. Anyway, I wasn't really feeling this much yesterday, likely due to the nature of the old story I was going to reveal. Along with the big secret from the eighties, that tale is one of those parts of life I have left alone for a long time due to worry over how I would be viewed. Uh oh... 'You're an ok guy, but each and every man is judged on his own merit.' Jesus, I fucking hope not. If so, I'm screwed. Not really seeing much good coming from the impact of my life these days. I feel like something trivial and to be avoided, like a box on the highway which may or may not house something harmful to tires. This feeling will return later today -- I'd guess an hour or more beyond lunch time.

I attended two elementary schools, one from kindergarten through second grade, and the other from third to sixth. Other counties and states have different splits, I guess, but that is how it was in the seventies where I grew up. Some children remained at the first school for third grade if they were falling behind. I did well in school so I advanced with those who changed schools after second grade.

I can recall a few occasions of not really fitting in and twice being 'picked on'. Nothing serious, just enough to force me to pay attention. Well, one of my friends all the way back to kindergarten was a tough-guy, lacking any other way to put it. We had been friends from further back than I can remember, and he was the type to be avoided by the other boys due to a reputation, I am supposing. I honestly don't know. In some ways I believe he may have simply appeared intimidating but all these years later I can't be sure. The bottom line is that many left me the hell alone because they feared my friend. Most of the time there was no trouble in that school, anyway. The trouble began after I left the sixth grade and moved to Colorado.

I can see the face of another boy but can't remember his name. Blonde hair, straight, as if cut around a bowl atop his head (many looked like bowl-cuts back then). 'Chiclets', as I sometimes refer to a woman if she has prominent front teeth. He had the same. About my size, perhaps. Something happened one day. That's it. Something happened and there was a bit of an altercation involving that boy and myself, but there was also someone else nearby and maybe the cause. I can't be sure, although the point is not the details in what took place. The point is that I had lived my entire life in school constantly concerned for my safety due to those minuscule occasions of being the object of (minor) bullying. Every day I was on edge at some point. Timid. And I had my circle of nerdy friends who carried themselves in precisely the same fashion. Well, whatever had taken place irritated boy number three and he asked me to help him grab the blonde kid. At that word, the target took off running and we pursued. As I said, I honestly cannot remember why they had a beef. I wish I could, but it was probably something stupid. We ran, he ran faster, right off the school grounds and toward his house, which was just a block or so beyond the parking lot. At one point he turned and called us 'assholes' and then sped up out of fear and ran across his own yard toward the front door. That was that. I believe we turned and headed back to school, at which point I began to really think about the previous few minutes.

That was the only time during my entire school career that a person was running from me and not the other way around. For a moment during the chase, I think I felt a sense of empowerment because of being on the other side of things for a change. We returned to whatever was happening during that recess and the day went on like any other. I know the boy we were chasing was back in class from the next day forward and nothing ever came of it. I seem to recall apologizing. Unsure if it was that specific situation, though. Maybe during that time apologies were not standard procedure unless parents were involved. The end result of the whole thing was no harm, no foul, and we were back to normal in no time. He was a friend, honestly. He was one of 'us'. To this very second I cannot remember any reason why the altercation and chase played out as it did. The only smidgen of a possibility is maybe I had been trying to fit in with a tougher crowd. As I said though, not enough memory.

Why I've been thinking about that situation lately is a mystery. Something had to bring it to mind, though. Something. I don't know if it was a name, something on the television, or what, but since three days ago I have been feeling terrible about the whole thing despite it being such a simple event with a good resolution. I actually feel remorse and sometimes wish I could speak to him and apologize. I don't understand one fucking aspect of that little chase decades ago having such an impact on my head right now.

I suppose short of anything dramatic taking place and magically rebuilding lost memory, I'll just have to eat it. A depressing repast, to be sure. No blood, just fear, but on that occasion it was not mine for a change. I can actually see his face and hair as he turned to yell at us. Details. In the next frame? Smiling. We were friends. Why in the fuck is this hitting me so hard? My conscience? It wasn't that fucking bad.

Someone from Coffeyville, Kansas has been visiting the site. I'm only pointing it out because I saw some analytical information regarding site traffic and then became curious about a city with such a unique name. Off to the Internet, and I read some things about that place. It reminds me of living in the Midwest... Out there not really near anything huge, close to a river, and a fairly low population when compared to this fucking mess in which I live. Heh. Anyway, the city also dredged up our trip to the Salton Sea four years ago. Now I'd like to go on a road trip. Just a thought. I need to drag out all the camera stuff and get into the lens.

Almost morning business time. 0723 and two cups of coffee gone. Hmm... Coffee. Coffeyville. Interesting.

I suppose it is my conscience even though the shit was resolved near fifty fucking years back. Another aspect of feeling this way is consideration of any impact on my head just prior to what took place during middle school not long after. I had not put such things in perspective up to this point, but honestly I cannot be certain of anything due to the passage of time. Lately I have been angry thinking of the sheer number of facets in my life which have been deeply affected because of what played out on that levee, and now my head is ping-ponging back and forth between all that shit and the minutes-long chase which seems to be digging holes in me and filling them with guilt even though it should not be having such an effect. The bottom line? Just more grimy repast I must chew. The taste is not good by a damned sight. Maybe a road trip will assist in righting my head a bit.



1007


Again with the word? Yeah... Again with the word. Society has had its opinion reinforced to the nth degree by media, and there can be no pushing back with expectations of change. It just cannot fucking happen. I can't believe the number of situations that have been defined and exacerbated by boiling down an entire person's life to the relationship between behavior and that fucking word. I realize the programming to which I hold tight is a part of the problem and backs society's position more than anything else in the world, but for fuck's sake... Can I just enjoy the quality without being labeled? I suppose not. I mean, who the hell am I, anyway? Whatever. Blah, blah, blah dysphemismcakes.

I fucked up this morning and mixed up her work days. Damn it. Very unusual for a person typically very organized and ready for whatever comes along each day. Oops.

This guy getting Corrado all set up in the psychiatric facility was a complete weirdo on Donovan. He's fucking awesome as an actor, though. I suppose he has been typecast a few times. Uh oh, the stream just lost the HD. I hope the wireless connection doesn't suffer. Eh, maybe the powers that be know that I will gush like a teen girl at seeing Jamie's face during that scene while the wedding guests are dancing. Splendid.

A grim repast is all I have to eat. The memory continues to slice me for reasons I do not understand. A while back I mentioned that I am a good person, and then for the second time as I considered all those negative or questionable traits I realized throughout the last two years. At this point I honestly do not know what kind of person I am, yet at the same time I feel the need to defend myself against my own suspicions because each and every person on this planet suffers from one thing or another they dislike about themselves, and I am no different. I don't believe there is the possibility of a person feeling nothing but good regarding themselves. But I don't know. It's a mystery, to be honest. One day I feel good about myself and the next I feel bad for one reason or another, and that little chase combined with seeing fear in his eyes has been reinforcing the idea that I may not be as good a person as I had thought just a week ago. Chewing. Should I continue to feel guilt more than forty years later? The incident in middle school was horrible, but does that give me license to avoid compassion toward someone else? I don't think so, Tim.

0833. Sunshine and the last of the coffee.

A product of time and circumstance. Anger over things I cannot change. That is a failing, I believe. 'Life is too short to dwell on the past.' Yeah, okay. Thanks for the advice. What about the consideration that some events are too crippling and creep into every fucking second of every day? Didn't think about that one? What about chronic pain? Was such a situation present when those positive words were written? Fuck you. I will admit some of this is by choice, but not all of it. The one overarching positive these days is the fact that I do not need to work daily. I can remain here and care for the house and related shit at my chosen pace rather than adhering to a schedule set by demand. Being here alone can also be a negative, however, as evidenced by so many entries having gone off the rails because I think too much. I need a balance. Seeing that kid running away from us is not helping any semblance of balance. Not a bit. It is over and done and in the long past. But I still see it playing out, though. I feel bad. I honestly hope HE has forgotten it. There can be no knowing.

You may be thinking the entire works is not worth stewing over at this point in time. As for me? I don't fucking know anymore. One of the downsides of my personality is sometimes I simply remember too much and hang onto things better let go. I work hard to avoid fitting into a caricature or stereotype, although I'm pretty damned sure my brain is spinning within both. If one cliché cannot be applied, there is another right there waiting. Ugh. I have to cease thinking about that boy running away from us.

God damn fuck shit anyway, I am head over heels again. This is not good. I didn't know so much beauty could be crammed into one face. Basket case. Not a trace. All over the place. Not the case? Way off base. The face...

'The clouds will part and the sky cracks open;
God himself will reach his fucking arm through
Just to push you down,
To hold you down...'

0856 and I don't give a flying fuck what time I begin caring for the routine. My schedule is mine. I'll keep the gangsters up there for the duration, too. Sometimes I need them, although I may switch to the third show if this gets on my nerves or if Jamie floors me too much. My feelings for the character continue to grow out of control and will eventually cause a serious problem, I know. But I can't help it. I live in this little universe all by myself with my problems and devices, all the while dreaming of impossibilities and shoving reality further away each week. I don't know how to live my life differently anymore. I really don't. Even during those afternoons when I worked and we swung into the bar to see the guys, most of the time I looked around our table and the rest of the bar and did not understand the difference. I saw aliens. Never in my life have I been so voluntarily detached from typical everyday life. My feelings for Jamie's character are nothing more than a byproduct of this situation and living condition. What a fucking 'thing' I've become.

Road trip. Lots of space, thinking, image capturing. I need it almost as much as I needed to revisit the Sea a few years ago. Maybe I'll drive down there again. I keep picturing the peaceful walks in search of anything I wanted to shove into my lens. My head goes all the way inside the camera. Wonderful.

Far from reality now.

There is John again. No, not that one. The other one; the actor who makes me sad. He was so wonderful on the show, too. One can never tell what may be taking place in a person's life behind closed doors. Look at me for Christ's sake. Not funny.

I have to pass off yesterday afternoon as a fluke. I just can't have a repeat of that useless time period. Not good. There is always something to be done. The plus regarding yesterday is that I broke out the cleaning stuff and did some scrubbing where the cat food and water lives. They like to splash the water which leaves a mess. I won't fault them, though. I want them to be happy and comfortable since they are not outdoor animals. This house is their whole world. Cleaning the area has to happen once in a while and looks much better afterward. A definite plus. As for today, I'm hoping to find motivation in the garage again. I have lots of building materials and ideas for enclosing two different shelving units. The space will look much better if I can get them together. This entry is a mess like so many others. Ugh.

JESUS HOLY HELL IN A BUSINESS SUIT, SHE IS SO BEAUTIFUL THAT I CAN'T THINK STRAIGHT. Sorry. Damn it.

Is today going to be the day I actually stand up and make a change? Doubtful. Real doubtful.



1008


The radii images here reinforce all that is broken within me. You'd think I would avoid such shit.

0936 and I am on the cusp of moving away from this and toward the work.

1122 now. The routine and lunch are out of the way. I keep hearing certain words and phrases over and over in my head and have been reacting accordingly. That means further withdrawing from the real world. The word mentioned in the previous section continues to make me think about the hierarchy of society and the manner in which instinctive behavior has evolved throughout the eons. The subject was a point of contention years ago between myself and the woman down the hall. She was quite knowledgeable regarding the direction of human behavior as it developed over time. I rather met my match with that one.

0627, two days later. I worked yesterday, so nothing here. The work was very tedious yet rewarding. Basically, the work schedule completely changes my daily routine. Here we go again... Up there this early in the morning. Sometimes I almost can't take it. Anyway, knowing I had this day all to myself helped me to remain strong yesterday even though the job was very physical. I was motivated. Very unusual for me. Now I can reap the benefits. Coffee, the big eyes on the big television, and the time and space to do whatever is necessary for keeping my head just above the water line. This morning is like so many others... Dark, depressing, and lonely. There are things I keep seeing day after day. I see them all the time. There is no getting away from dreams or visions. The plus is that I am not out in the world doing it, but sitting here behind the door all by myself. Today may be the most rewarding Thursday in weeks. I don't always feel this way, either. Two forces upon my head right now. The relaxation helps, but I can honestly only do this for so much longer.

I still feel bad about that boy running away. Is that wrong? Do you think he still recalls that little incident? Am I worse than I had already thought? Is there a time limit to me feeling this way. Holy God for the thousandth time, her face in this scene around the dining table. The contrast between her dark hair and eyes, olive skin and that gorgeous, burgundy sweater just kills me. Ugh. Off the rails again. Yes, I still think about him and whatever took place afterward. I do recall being friends later in the same school, though. Everything smoothed over, so why am I still feeling this way? Something else wrong with me now? Don't need it. Not at all.

Today will be partially spent sorting that out. I plan to research the feelings from the past and any commonalities related to concern over things I've done yet were simple and not serious. Maybe all I will learn is the idea that I am too sensitive and worried about what other people may be thinking of me. Stupid? I don't fucking know. But I have to do something. I can't keep thinking this way or I'll be worthless. One positive is the subject may keep me away from the other feelings that are slowly ending my life. I just can't have everything at the same fucking time. Too heavy. I'm angry enough already, and enough for a group of people.

Cara is super cute here. What I wouldn't give to... Damn it.

I might end up all pissed off again like late last week and blast the music in the garage again. Wait a minute... I was supposed to run a test on the Realistic twins the other day and never did. But I have the speaker wire back from the bar now, so maybe later this morning I can get them powered and see what happens. Music inside the house is often better than the garage. Not advertising my mood as much, I suppose. Anyway, I'll have to do something today, that's for sure. Sitting here stewing over everything will only end in tragedy for me or someone else. I don't want that shit right now. I don't want to go back to the cauliflower line and its new coloration. Not good. The music can help pull me up a bit sometimes, so perhaps that is the best path for after the morning business. I have a huge mouthful of fowl disappointment in my mouth as shoved there by circumstances. Again with the grim repast. Disgusting. Keeping the horrible mood and actions at bay is going to take much effort today.

Oh the conversation at the bar yesterday. I was the only one analyzing. Everyone else just went with it and carried on with the laughter. Nothing serious, yet bad for me. More reinforcement of everything. I don't like it, although I always tell others if there is a part of society or media that they dislike, just avoid it. My being near them is a choice and I know full well that I can do as I please. The fact is they were there on my birthday (which was very kind), so I try to be there if one of their birthdays comes along, and that was the reason for the gathering. Not many, but enough. No problems at the bar, no visit to the market, nothing. The only malfunction was me trying to understand how people can be so insensitive and crass without considering how another person may feel. I guess they see me as just another person at the table who doesn't stand out. Good and bad. I don't want anyone to know the real me. The word at issue up the page was all over the fucking place and I recoiled inside, yet on the exterior I did my best to remain even keeled for the sake of a decent image broadcast. Honestly? Are you ready for this? Visions of blood splattered everywhere flashed inside more than once. My solution, like many things in life these days, was to walk out the door and separate myself from potential trouble. I have enough going on inside. Running away is still enticing after all these years. It never solves a fucking thing, yet the temporary freedom can lift me for a time and help.

0816 and the morning business is complete. The day will pass at my pace now. I need to go to the market before lunch so I can secure a few staples and come up with a chicken dish for dinner. Sitting here in the morning and I am already considering how comfortable cooking dinner is with my friends keeping me company. Either preparing meals or cleaning during the day... The kitchen warms me still. I'll be keeping my boss company tomorrow morning across the bay as we wait for an inspection. That means lots of time to discuss current events and relax with some coffee, perhaps with breakfast. The waiting also means little work. We will probably have to run around the job and ensure everything is ready. That is the same place where we installed the piece of shit, overpriced pile of a water heater. I fired it up last week and ran all the showers for testing. Everything was fine so I don't anticipate problems. Just a lot of waiting. Heading out early in the morning again helps me to appreciate this day and having the time to reflect and plan. I still see that kid in two ways; one view of his face as he was running from us, and another as he smiled because we were friends. I still cannot remember why the situation developed. I still feel bad and probably should not at this point in time. Guilt is not something I need piled on top of other guilt.

Trouble. As usual. Sick of it. If this is all there is, I'm not going to make it to the next Christmas season.

The repast is not enjoyable. Of all the difficulty I've caused other people throughout my life, I fail to understand why that crap from grade school entered into my mind recently. I already have a boxcar full of regrets, damn it. I really didn't need another piled atop the rest.

There she was again at the kitchen counter with hair all goofy and zero makeup. Still fucking stunning. I don't understand how this happened. I feel like shit.

The weather has been much warmer than during January, meaning I can work outside as much as inside. I'll have to hop to something soon, too, lest my head descend further into the pit of what I've become. I don't want to dwell and then end up a complete failure this morning. I don't see this changing, either. I really don't. Everything is beyond my grasp. Maybe alcohol earlier than usual. I don't fucking care. This feeling is going to kill me. And that brings up the idea that this writing process may actually be helping in at least one way, and that is the fact that I am still alive.



1009

Hush up about it


The train series which was removed is merging with the fiction that began here. Part nine of the train and part nineteen of the fiction have a continuation together which is being written concurrent with what I publish weekly. It will be featured on the index when complete.

Miserable. Too many days like this. Absolutely miserable. The past will not fucking let go of me and there is not one God damned thing I can do about it, either. 'Put the grief behind you.' Yeah, ok. Whatever you say, shitbrain. I'm fucking sick of feeling this way every day. Tell me again to simply let it go and I will force my anger upon you. It's too much now. The goddess above is telling you to shut up. Or is she? Look that those eyes. You tell me... Is it a question or statement? Look at those fucking eyes. Jesus fuck, already.

The smiling face is attacking me again.

0901 and I am on the last cup of coffee. When it's gone I will head to the store. Returning? Booze. I need it like never before and I don't care what happens this afternoon. I really don't. Why should this day be any different?

I am overwhelmed by everything and constantly attempting to grasp at anything which can bring comfort or help to distract. The work yesterday helped the latter because I made the commitment to help and then felt obligated. I can't tell someone I'll help and then flake out. That is unfair. Plus it may burn future bridges which can lead to more resources. And here comes a bit of a scene which reinforces my losses. Damn it. I chose to watch this show, though. I already know what is going to play out because it's been running over and over for a very long time and I know it backwards and forwards. Still, I don't like how the scene pushes me even further away from understanding why I feel the way I do about certain specific parts of living. Again... I just don't fucking get it. The smiling face is related, directly and without remorse. Just smiling. The situation plays out on the screen but I don't typically watch anymore due to familiarity. I don't need to watch because I already know. Hence the booze in the morning, the attempted distractions, the grasping at ANYTHING lately. Even the fucking watch purchase was yet another push toward a smile. This is a ridiculous way to live. The only possible solution I have considered for several years is a massive influx of money, and the likelihood of that is so far beyond comprehension that I shove it away quickly. Money cannot buy happiness, but let me tell you it can lead to much physical comfort. I've done it. And those expensive, bloated trips all over the place were the direct result of a lack of the same. Believe it. Case in point: In eleven, there were months sitting alone and severely depressed. A bit of the early part of that year had me wrapped around a beautiful woman in an exotic locale, severely depressed. Now you tell me... Which is better? Exactly.

I'm about to drill a hole in my head to drain thoughts I no longer wish to experience. Smiling face, I see.

At least my current problems which stemmed from the past are helping to alleviate the guilt over that grade school situation. Part of me can't help but believe that nothing ever came of it. I'll never know, but I do realize that whatever issues I had at that school pretty much evaporated years later. If such a fact can hold true for someone as fucked up as I, well... You know. I can't speak for anyone else so I have to believe that that day faded for him. As I said, I'm still eating the repast and remember that we were friends afterward just as before. I may be making something out of nothing. The comparison is good and bad.

I don't want to go to the market. There will probably be some woman waddling around in yoga pants, and then my head will enter said pants and the losses will mount. I could be wrong, though. My destination is not the market by the bar -- yes, that one with all the pants -- but closer to home. It's a mishmash of patron types. Still... I can see too much sitting here right now, let alone out there among people. God only knows what may cross my desperate and weakened vision. Infirmi et desperatis, remember? A constant condition. Two, actually, and the sum will be the death of me. Believe it. I'll go anyway because we need a few things. Might not come out the other side well, however. Might be even smaller.

0957 now. The entries are all stupid. Titles become lost in my shuffling of thoughts. Topics waver worse than a drunk walking on uneven ground. Everything narrows as I work down the page. Imagery stares back as if to rub in the desperation. I don't know what else to do anymore. Lost, miserable and oh so angry.

Fat Dom Gamiello was a character both hilarious and menacing at the same time. Fantastic actor, too.

Smiling face. Pretty, bright, and positive. Always smiling. Right behind my fucking eyelids, too, always. I see her there... Wherever. Gorgeous clothing. Silky, shining hair. Impeccable nails and makeup. Smiling. Something terrible is going to happen and she is not at fault. I don't know where to point the finger. Not at her, for sure, but somewhere. Five-three. A hundred pounds. Fucking stunning and it doesn't matter. The face is key, like always. Smiling. How does that happen? Is she a machine? Nope. Just a person.

I have to let go of the grade school situation. It adds up to nothing now. I began to feel for him out of left field. No clue as to why, especially now. Perhaps my condition has ramped up the compassion for some people. I don't know. I'm learning that anger is not nearly as dangerous as sadness. I have been accused of chicanery in the past. Believe me, that was not the case. The reality was the way I feel right now, yet merely in development at the time. Just believe it. I am only capable of so much anymore. Not much, really.

1226 and holy Jesus her profile at the beginning of this episode. I don't care anymore how much I gush about that character. She is one of those dreams which will not let up, and in fact has grown exponentially throughout the pandemic. Sometimes I just can't believe how much my heart leaps when her face is on the screen. Splendor. Glory. More beauty than I could have imagined years ago. Keep in mind this episode and season originally aired in April of zero seven. I did not feel love for her at that time and I don't know why. Maybe the years of being empty pushed Jamie's face to the head of the line. Or? Maybe those features which stir me on a daily basis and that she shares just hit me one day. I don't know. One of the most beautiful women I have EVER seen lives not far from here and shares the same. She brings feelings I cannot place here, unfortunately.

Lunch in the oven thanks to an uneventful trip to the market. Nothing there. Well, there was one woman who appeared mysteriously beautiful despite the mask, with legs from the heavens, but she was not cemented in my mind the way others have. At least I traveled there, shopped, and headed home without a scrape. On the drive there I was already steeling myself against the possibility of a slam. A handful of the most unreal women I've seen in this little town were encountered in that very same store. Always concerned.

I can still see that boy turning to yell at us as he ran toward his house. A bad feeling. Why after all this time have I been reminded of something from so long ago? And I still feel like shit over it. The repast is not tasty. And God damn does James ever look amazing sometimes. I love him, rest his soul.

1437 and I've lost the ambition to meet the others this afternoon. Just too worn out. This is all so stupid these days. Coffee, writing, discomfort, worry. And then lunch, loss of drive, a few chores. Evening, cocktails, dinner, lack of direction, sleep. I don't see the point. Continuation means the blood repast. Memories of everything gone.

Her."



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