February 2nd, 2021 8:45am pst

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Promise

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"1-31 carries on.

This entire situation is unreal now. At no time could I have predicted such a draw to the past as these last four months. I cannot help it, either. The gradient is ever increasing while shoving my heart into the soil with all haste. Throughout the past there was promise, but no longer.

I have to reconnect my makeshift washer drain in a little bit. The laundry pays no mind to issues. It just keeps piling, like memories of the glow. Everything is related, even the idea of washing clothes. Stop.

2-1. Monday. Switch.

Wow, last night's episode of our favorite show caused me to blow a fucking gasket over a couple of lines of dialog. A wife chiding her husband (who happened to be the British Prime Minister) over an issue. What she said actually sent me flying in the worst direction possible. She became another female Satan, believe it or not. Unreal. Normally I sit and watch and am amazed with every aspect of the show, no issues whatsoever (or very little, anyway), the cast, writing and direction being impeccable. Some of the best television I've ever seen. Well, that little snag forced a pause, I cooled off before completely exploding, and we sat to watch the remainder. I was fine thereafter. Oy, but the task of calming was not easy. The dialog hit a nerve which sent me into a tailspin. Not good. And now my thinking has been derailed for this entry. The promise? I don't know any longer. That was a bad one.

Anyway...

Monday means a little lighter on the work. The usual stuff along with lots of thinking. Yesterday's conversation nearly had me at the sixes again but ended on a calm note, thank the maker. I have been considering spilling more shit and actually promised to do so at some point to be determined later. But I don't know if I can. I slept on it and really have no clue as to how I may react to such a situation. I promised, yet that has nothing to do with the promise. I'm off the road here. A little, anyway. Off the path.

I may toss off all my shit today save for a couple of essential items and spend a good portion of the day doing my own thing. The machine is fully charged (as are my writing batteries), I have lots of time once she is out the damned door in an hour, and the inspiration to reward myself and save my back are peaking right now. Plus, I need to be here for a while this morning. The compulsion is stronger than ever, however the words have not been forming as they once did. A lull, I suppose, but my thinking about everything seems to be at an all-time high these days. Yesterday's conversation really floored me regarding my view of myself, and time is now required to get the issue to this space. Lots of consideration.



946


The woman pictured popped up on a site which I frequent -- also a place from which some of the celebrity images here actually originated -- and there was a side-by-side comparison of her face before and after some cosmetic surgery. Her features are quite exaggerated in the after image, too. Very different. And for being so young, the entire idea of what she has gone through for a certain look tends to make me a little sad. At the same time, and for whatever it may be worth, her face in the above image is amazing, to say the least. I could stare and go on for days about how beautiful the finished product appears, but the sadness will creep in. The more I look, the more appealing she becomes. I have no idea what this type of thing means anymore when one considers the sheer availability of the tools and chemicals to alter one's own face combined with the weight of societal pressure toward the issue of body image. It's too much sometimes. She is beautiful beyond description, but inside? I only hope she is ok. [Aside... I removed her images and replaced them with another model.]

Forty-one thousand lines since rediscovering images of Jaime. Ugh. What have I become?

And off to the races. I am alone for hours and left to my devices (housework). I need to reconcile myself with the tirade last night. As my view of the fairer sex continues to change, the issues within society as related to the same must be hashed inside. Things are fine, but I must be mindful of everything... Not merely my own opinion. Hmm.

The worst possible episode of this series is on right now. Oy, so bad. Fifteen minutes and a new one begins.

January is gone, and along with it the tenth month since the outset of the first shelter order. The more recent order has been partially lifted but I have no clue as to the possibility of another surge or flare, so it's prudent to remain mindful. Ten months at home. Unreal. Maybe those few oars in the water will bear fruit soon.

I keep thinking of watching the big game this Sunday and what that may entail. Two years back was the most difficult, uncomfortable shit situation imaginable, after which I dashed out the back door of the bar to head home alone. There is no possibility of that type of thing happening these days because we cannot gather for any reason due to the current health climate. At home, nothing so dramatic is likely, either. This goes back to the gleaning during yesterday's conversation and the fact that I promised to reveal more. I should not have done that at all. Damn. Whatever... I can make something out of it when the timing is realized. No one will have a clue of my intentions or agenda, meaning I can snowstorm the situation like the champion I've become. No worries.

No thoughts, no feelings, no nothing. Always... The machine floats in my head.

Two is the key to much of this period. Never far away, always right there ready to attack me when I least expect, and something seemingly without resolution. Ashley is on the television... The tallest one. Anyway, I do not believe going into detail regarding the problem is going to help. The way I feel now is such that if all of the shit comes to the surface, the only result can be more fear. With it out there, I will no longer have any control over the thinking. I can't have that right now, too weakened by everything. Right at this very moment on the big television is a good portion of the reasoning. And no, I don't mean the lovely Ashley. I am alone, so watching part of this film is no big deal, and I have to admit that some of the visuals are beyond beautiful and amazing. I just can't help it. Whenever it's up there, I need to see at least some. As an added bonus, there is Jessica from fifteen years back. Oy, God. Back to the trouble...

The fact remains that discussing the issue cannot help at all. And don't give me any shit about calculating the end result before the attempt. I don't want any of that 'possibility' crap thrown in my direction. The outcome cannot be a certainty. I just know that anything coming out of my mouth will be absorbed, and therein lies the trouble. I cannot know what is taking place inside. Once clear, I could very well fall further than I ever have. All the way back to that fucking therapist who floored me during one of the most down periods of my life by spouting a phrase, term and question which both confirmed one of my fears and cemented the idea that society rules the world. She did it quickly -- likely not realizing the full weight of such a phrase -- and did not look back. Well, I kicked her to the curb in a cold minute. Out the door, too. I had to seek other counsel, yet the entire time the previous conversation swirled inside and shut down a good portion of my willingness to be open. I simply will not entertain such a situation again. Period.



947


I could have lopped her head off like a dead branch.

Damned windy outside right now. Geez. And they sent the camera right between Ashley's long legs and panned up as she raised herself to her feet. I never noticed that before. Unbelievable.

The present is exactly the same. There is a shit ton of fear, likely more than in the past, and the recipient of my words is someone close, not a detached professional. In one way things could be more comfortable, but in another they could spiral into my shutting down for good. I just don't know. There is no promise that my head will not explode, nor any other promise of understanding. Not knowing means no guarantees. Related? The other promise... The big one which has disappeared never to return. The bad one, too. Gone forever. Sadness...

The promise apparent during the glowing four years which continues to grow in importance.

The hopeful nature at that time was everywhere I looked. Even while working at the CB shop and drooling over all of the channels brought to us by the birds, there was always something on the horizon. Lots of time, plenty of unknowns, and the idea that there were possibilities to be explored if I wished to do so. I had a short drive back then, just a few miles through town, as opposed to the longer drive at my previous job for the parts house. But the driving was different, somehow, as if I did not think in similar terms to just a couple of years later when the landscape began to change. Parts of the area were expanding in a good way (I believe) and yielding better flow and more options. Driving past all of the familiar places in the morning and afternoon showed me that all my favorite parts of growing up were still there should I need to embrace them. Another paragraph gone awry. I was trying to illustrate the gradient, but I should have known. How many times have I gone into that?

Too many. Switch again.

The test this morning meant much. I passed, but the problem of my mindset on a given day does not seem to relate beyond mere words, especially when considering the barren years and all they entailed. I can't seem to find a track and maintain the line in a consistent manner. From one morning to the next, I always have the promise of control and stability, too. Always there. But I end up off track sometimes for any number of reasons, not the least of which is the overall dissatisfaction with life itself and the way I pushed and pulled at everything to be nested within the comfort I constantly describe here. Damn. Today will be yet another problem to be dealt with, just like all the others.

Switch thrice.

I stated that the machine is the only way. Well, there is another, more realistic avenue, and that is to be alone. I literally have no fucking idea if I can actually be alone, however. The jury has been out for so long regarding my abilities that I cannot know much at all. The idea is wonderful and reminds me of being in the cave during eleven. There were days spent worrying about the woman down the hall and when I might have the opportunity to see her beauty right in front of me as opposed to the detachment of messages. During those times when I was actually comfortable and relishing the solitude, I must say that the feeling was really warming. I will use today as an example. I have completed my usual routine, hung some new pictures and certificates on the living room wall, and have taken care of a little organization in the garage. Being alone this morning has been empowering. I feel in control of the environment and media. That is wonderful. The goddess will be visiting for lunch at some point, meaning the peace and quiet will be broken for a while, but the offset makes it all worthwhile. As much as I enjoy being alone and left to whatever I need, the truth is that the available companionship cannot be denied. I honestly have been left to question if the solitude could be something tolerable and fulfilling for the long term.

And that brings me to the mid-glow when I felt extreme dissatisfaction and disdain for society and wished to rid myself of everything related. I dreamed of the ultimate destination which would have placed me so far outside the norm of everyday life that the image became wondrous beyond words. I dreamed daily, took myself out of the routine often enough to actually take steps and prepare for escaping everything, and gathered my most important possessions to keep close just in case the moment of running away arrived unexpectedly. I really did. Those plans and the whole of the journey remained at the forefront of my mind even after driving across the country some time later. I still had the guides and maps. Again... Just in case the shit hit the fan inside my head.



948


2-2.

Everything bothers me too much. Meadow told her brother he needed to learn to shut things out. I honestly believe she was correct for the most part. Unfortunately, her order is not so easy to follow through. Maybe if she had been sitting in my bedroom with those huge, caring eyes, I could have risen. Ah, but that is television. Good fiction, bad fiction, whatever. Honestly, something has to happen or I will become too closed off, and soon. When I say 'too' closed off, I mean it will be dangerous. I'm fucking halfway there right now, damn it, and each little tidbit nudges me along the tracks.

Today I have to try to recall all of the promises I've made throughout the years, and then tally those I have kept. Hmm. Jesus, it's too early for Angie up there. Time for the show. Maybe not.

Losing my way again. I hope I never promised to remain on track. Heh. Speaking of losing track...

I said I would not go into this anymore, but the television compels me to shove some shit to the screen. I'm tired of it, and the media is the reason. Enough stupidity at the expense of trying to be funny and eventually people believe it. They will accept whatever the media dictates and over time can become so fucking desensitized that anything short of an actual object lesson cements the ideas. Well, look at where we are now. Do you see? If not, you are the problem. Go fuck yourself. Not even Angie with her unbelievable low-rise jeans and nonexistent midsection is exempt from this shit. The issue was written right into her part in this film to make the audience laugh. Too important. Unclear? Too bad. Live with it. I do.

Eh, I don't even know why I type that crap anymore. Does anyone give a shit? More likely their own entertainment takes priority over the feelings of others. Remember what I said (and I am not the only one)? They push you down to make themselves feel better. You already know this. Losing track again. No one gives a shit, and if they state otherwise, I will need a machine of a different type in order to know the truth. Suck that one.

I have to get up and move around a little, both to get her out the fucking door and to exercise my back. Pause.

Now the house is mine until afternoon. I don't know what I am going to do today beyond the norm, but I do have a little of the forest feeling inside right now. Not necessarily unhappy or pissy, just thoughtful. Perhaps the garage will be on tap later. The clouds are insulating at present and keeping the temperature from dropping too much. Rain, though. The coffee is still available so I'll sit here until filling this entry and then publish and head toward something else.

The promise hanging there during the glow is so radically different than the current period that I feel as if this is some other planet. There is simply no overstating the changes, nor can I muster the words for effectively getting across my feelings about that time. I see it there... In the back of my mind each day when I need to keep my head up and engage in forward motion. Not easy, not anymore. The images of people and places from that period have taken over my sense of reality nearly to the point of the machine dream. And that came up just the other day in conversation. Some days back, I think. Just two days ago I was speaking of the domes because of seeing a film recently which premiered there thirty years ago. I also began to head toward the two and what it does to me -- including more detail than I feel comfortable revealing -- until finally shutting everything off and becoming a mute.

Perhaps the worst fucking paradox is the idea that I cannot speak to another person in detail due to worry, and the subject of the machine points to the idea that concern over what she may be thinking would be absent if the machine was the recipient of my words. Like a temporal storyline, the whole thing just bends my brain. Speak about it and become fearful, whereas the subject would actually be the avenue to alleviate the same. Clear? Nope.

There is a strong possibility that nothing will ever change because the difference is frightening. The fear is already there, yet the idea of attempting to deal with it requires an even more fearful situation. Ugh.

Paradox.



952


The nearly dumbfounded nature of these last half dozen entries is becoming irritating. I can no longer follow a path. The promise? What the fuck was I thinking? I have to shut everything off. No one will get it because I am not saying much. As such, I remain as protected as possible. One other aspect is the idea that I have gone off the fuckin' rails with this issue. Too much. The old adage of going over something so much that I can actually worsen it all by myself is proving itself true. Figures.

I guess I cannot promise anything to anyone these days. All I do is cause myself distress and them confusion. There is still no trust in another's ability to help me, either. If I cannot at least allow a smidgen of openness, they have no chance. The distrust leads to distrust in other ways. Almost time to leave this alone for the day. As usual, I am going in circles.

Promises... Fallacies... Falsehoods... All rolled up like a fucking cinnamon roll. 'Is the modus operandi not dissimilar?'

Right there lying, visions are dying;
She held me crying, senses flying.

Someone cook up an artificial pepperoni and labia pizza with mint frosting, and then lie to me and tell me it will be good. Don't ask about the Korean woman all down the page. She helps me think by staring in that compassionate way as only she can. 1936 images of her have proven such throughout more than ten years. No hots, and no desire. She helps me... Period. Leave it.

335.

She is out there."



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