Substitution

That was one long nap. I will probably go back to sleep soon. I get to sleep in until 4 a.m. tomorrow. Woo? Heh.

There is a little desire to do something superstitious now. This is making me feel like I'm backsliding into my fantasy world. Magic, dreams, the god represented as the sun, the goddess represented as the earth, and all the other stuff still swirls around inside me. It is mostly just a distant memory. Sometimes, though, I long for that ritual aspect. Sometimes I give in to it. It's been many months, but it's lurking in there. Comfort doesn't mean truth. I know this. I'm not sure how to proceed without it, though. The fact that others would just laugh at my need for it makes me want to crawl back into myself and do what feels right, and fuck them all. Derision and shame tend to make me want to rebel and do whatever it is all the more.

I didn't leave all of it behind just to go back to it out of spite.

I didn't leave because of bad emotional reasons. I left because the results were exactly the same whether I did ritual or I didn't. I left because all the evidence I had pointed to it all being just plain imagination. I liked paganism. It didn't make it true.

My attempts at Christianity left me hating myself and thinking God hated me. I also never could actually take it literally. This pagan stuff was easier because it was all symbolic. Mental links to how I interpreted the world. Of course, I felt that one could change one's life by meditating on symbols and getting my mind to align with a new way of being. Well, the results were exactly the same whether I framed it as spiritual or not.

Leaving paganism was a lot harder than leaving the cultural push toward Christianity. As it isn't really very organized, it doesn't yield the toxic level of sludge that Christianity does. It has potential. In groups, it was easier to see how it could become just another way to hurt people. As an individual way of thought, it was far more pleasant, though.

And some part of me picked up on the idea of reincarnation as a toddler. I never seemed to be able to let that go until this summer. It was a really hard habit to break, too.

But I do feel the need for something along the same lines, without the superstition, to mark the passing of the year. The need in me is really strong, tonight. I don't know how to cope with this, yet.

I don't want to enter 2017, I'm terrified of it. I wanted to hang on to this year forever. Stay in this limbo as long as I can. The year ended well for me. The world hated this year, but I ended up loving it. I'm having a very hard time saying goodbye. So, yes, I want some kind of marking to help me ease the pain of saying goodbye to it and embracing the fear of this year we're heading into. I need a substitution for what I used to do.

Penultimate, But Close Enough

The fact that I work at 4 a.m. on New Year's Day, and that things might be stressful means that I am somewhat celebrating New Year's today. I haven't really gone to a party for years. It's been much longer since I did any of the things that used to mean so much to me, at the turn of midnight. That old superstition that how I'm doing at midnight will be a portent of how the rest of the year will go has faded away.

There is still a little sadness that I will be alone for it, again this year. Valentine's Day will follow on the heels of it quickly, too. Oh, I know full well that I am okay on my own. I prefer to play my Sims on their own, because it is so much easier to see how one little being - even a digital one - can be good alone. I would rather be alone than with "just anyone" as well. I've been through enough bad dates to know I prefer loneliness to being with anyone that would make me feel worse.

If I were to spend it with someone that brings me joy, it would be the best thing, ever. However, I'll take no one at all over miserable relationships. I am just kinda sick of being alone every New Year's Day. I suppose that is why I comfort myself with the fact that the day is a random event that is much like my birthday. Life goes on, with or without a partner, right?

I've been taking it out on writing. I'm glad I can do something with it. In time, things will change. That is the only thing that remains true. Even if my workdays all seem exactly the same, right now. Change is bound to happen.

So, happy new year to everyone. I'll raise my cheap moscato for you all. Penultimate day of 2016, but close enough for me. ;)

On Caving In

A few days ago, I wrote, "I guess this entry is me trying hard to keep myself from buying it." Which was about the Nine Inch Nails Fragile Deviations 1 album. Today, I caved in and bought it. There was just a little more money than I expected in my account, and instead of a really large drop on something else that I want but do not even remotely need. $90 total for the album and the shipping is better than anything I'd spend on an iPhone 7. I seriously don't need a phone. When the hell did I get this materialistic bug stuck in my head?

Also, I bought a new journal to open and use on January 1st. The ones I'm using have entries that go back to February 2015. The things going on in my life at that time embarrass me now. I want a new, clean book to start over again. I will put up those books and ignore them for a while.

Listening to the polish on the older songs and the new released material from that era has me feeling the need to review 1999, myself. What a crazy time that was, for me, but with a different result than whatever the music means to the artist. As it hits my ears, it converts into something outside of the artist, and becomes a part of me. Not only due to memories, but because I have a sort of synaesthesia that converts sounds to touch, in varying ways. Music is the most intimate of this phenomenon. My brain doesn't just emotionally feel music. It is just like touch to me. The sound and touch intertwining in this album is all sorts of euphoric and pleasurable to me.

It took about three months to remember all the different parts of the songs. I have no idea how long it will take to incorporate this version into my brain's memory landscape, totally.

I am so very glad I am in a completely different life with different circumstances than I was then. I'm glad I get to make new memories of listening to these songs, now. Life now is genuine and whole. I had sold myself out to try to be happy according to what other people told me to do, because I didn't trust myself. Trusting others to have a handle on what will work for you in your life is a recipe for disaster. I began to untangle myself in 2004. It would be three years before I fully unraveled all of it.

Not everything now is perfect. I've made sacrifices along the way that leave me lonely. However, when I go through all those years, I know that I am healing, and getting closer to true contentment. I am definitely authentic. I do not lie anymore about the important things. To myself or anyone else.

That actually makes me feel so damned good. The music is darker. The themes are darker than usual. And yet I am uplifted. All the feel-good chemicals are being released. My purchase is vindicated.

We're Not Here Forever

The deaths this year were devastating to watch, even if my truly emotional connections to artists are with people who are luckily still very much alive. One thing I keep feeling smacked upside the head about is the need to get my writing back on track. Some of it has been taking place. It needs to be structured and refined, in many, many ways. However, after nearly a decade without writing, this was a big step for me.

I need to get the stories that are still rolling around inside me, out of me. They need to be out in the open air. Even if only a few people ever get around to reading them, they need to be told. I don't even know why. Does any artist ever know exactly why they do something? Beyond believing in nebulous, unproven concepts like being chosen by something invisible to do it, I mean.

When my mother often pointed out to me that I was drawing simple objects before I could say the words, I feel I was trying to do exactly what I have done, since then. Just get the thoughts in my head out into the world. I drew a fish on a chair before I could properly walk. Whatever my toddler brain was trying to do, it seems I'm still trying to do.

I need something to get me back into the world of writing, though. I'm so rusty, I'm surprised everyone doesn't cringe at the sound of my grinding hinges as they read my words.

No one makes it out alive. As long as there are no accidents, I've probably got a good two and a half decades to go, at minimum. That doesn't sound as long to me now as it did when I was 20. Thankfully, I am holding on to every day, month, and year with all my might.

Now, to get myself prompted into a better structure - resembling what I once had when I was much younger. Now, before it's too late.

Despite

There appear to be some weapons my brain still possesses to terrorize and hurt me. In most cases, the numbness and pointlessness bind me. Movement and thought are too slow to be useful. I'm not even sure if I have some sinus inflammation or if I'm just bogged down, mentally. The physical symptoms of un-sad depression mimic those of other illnesses, sometimes. My muscles all ache, there is pressure, there is lethargy. I slept when I got home and rested, even after a whole lot of caffeine.

There is a struggle to type anything. The words are pointless, too. Yet, I keep going, because I must. I keep asking myself why I need to type these things out, day in and day out. Other people can go on through life without expressing a thought in their heads. I'm not one of them. While there is plenty I keep hidden, with a secret life no one will ever see, there are parts of me that long for exposure. So I plod on through the writing of these things.

It's been a habit since I was at least 8, with my little Hello Kitty notebooks. At this point, answering this question or not answering it is moot. The result remains the same. I write whatever I can get out of me. It just happens.

Sometimes I look for prompts. Sometimes I just start writing "I have nothing to say" until that's a lie. I have erased variations on "Nothing is happening in my head" so many times, that motif alone could fill volumes.

No matter the little exposure the words get, they come out. No matter how little value assigned to them, they get written. No matter if I want to do it or not. It happens. There would have to be a massive change in my social status to deter me. Until then, I don't mind that there are only a few views. I didn't mind when I was on Open Diary, Livejournal, and before all that, Geocities. I had a few internet friends there. We've all moved on. The same will happen here. I don't mind. I just keep writing.

As my brain and perhaps my sinuses and muscles ache me into solitude, today, I feel good about it. It's all good, today. The quiet feels nice. The lack of presence of other humans, now that the kids have returned to their father's home, is a good thing. I have a very quiet playlist in the background, so as not to drown out the roaring wind. It all feels right, today. I feel like all of the different parts of me are in alignment. It's good, even if I'm not all well.

This Is My Personal Journal

After 42 other New Year's Days, the only thing I know is that I, in my own life, regarding only my own experience, I need to stop hinging all my hope on New Year's. The oldest superstition I have that I also find I can't let go of is that whatever I am doing at midnight will portend what the rest of my year is going to be like. I know it's not true, but it sticks in me. For me, and in my own world, alone.

I cannot let myself place all my hopes on this one day. Last year, I did, and I paid dearly for believing this was the signal of truly better times to come. In my own life. Not yours. Not your world. Not the rest of the world's year. Mine.

There was a new department coming. I was going to be in it. I was going to take a step up from where I was, too. I had the biggest optimism I've ever had in my personal life. The new year coming in was a little too huge to me. When things began to fall apart, and I spent the better part of half a year failing and being miserable, that new year optimism made me feel like a big fool. I can't do that, again.

As I enter the 43rd New Year's Day, I have to keep myself in check. When I write publicly about my experience it isn't supposed to shame anyone else. I hope you all have great years ahead. As for me, I've got to be more cautious this year. I can't go through what I went through last year.

I understand it is arbitrary, rationally. My mind focused like a laser on it for many, many years. I used to perform a ritual and read tarot at midnight, for many years. This night had too much significance to me. I have to dial it back. I have to. Disappointment is even more intense nowadays than it was when I was younger. Because I ain't gettin' any younger. 43. I've done this 43 times, now. It is in only my interest to remind myself.

And though maybe I've read too much into something said publicly, I needed to make this clear, just in case one of the 7 views I got yesterday was someone I certainly would never want to hurt. I'm sorry if it hurt you. I'm still not convinced it has anything to do with me, personally, but a collection of us all writing similar things. I just want to make it clear why I needed to remind myself that the day isn't to hinge all my hopes on. Not yours. Just mine.

*But I really want a new journal with fresh pages to start over again, from scratch, even though I have almost half of my Tardis journal left to fill. I want a new, blank slate, damn it.

Season's Greetings

Although it has been better in recent years, Christmas still opens up a lot of small wounds. I can't skip it, with the way the split family with my kids works. They've been brought up with the traditions, and would probably be upset if I skipped it. I have poured work into it, this year. I was doing well. The day is here, now, though, and it's eating me alive.

I know what I don't have. I can't erase the knowledge.

And another year is wrapping up, with a week to go. The randomness of the new year date doesn't seem to matter. I want each year to start over, with promise of renewal and potential. I know, rationally, that it's just a continuation of what has been going on. I know that there's no significant change due on the day of. As we were unafraid of the end of the world on January 1, 2000, I know that January 1, 2017 won't bring salvation.

With weather like this, it only hammers home the point.

May your day be better than mine.

(I'm going with the true neutral "Season's Greetings" to be Switzerland in the War on Christmas. :P )

Music Geekery (NIN edition)

There was an email this morning, with a link to the EP I bought a few days ago. Nine Inch Nails noise greeted the day. It came with a warning that is was unfriendly and impenetrable. I doubt most people read about it before watching the Youtube video of "Burning Bright" and the reactions have been as harsh as expected, from the people you expect them from. The welcoming of the music-noise came from the expected places. (Me, being one.)

There's enough familiarity to know exactly who it is. The thing isn't catchy at all. There's not much to cling to, from that side of the band, though. A part of me was expecting some of the kind of noise on remix albums such as "Further Down the Spiral" so that I wasn't too shocked by it. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's just like that, but there's enough there to remind me.

I've been picking at the artwork since it began to emerge, as have others. Why the official download should look exactly like Still remains somewhat of a mystery, since the two albums couldn't be anymore radically different, unless given to another writer, altogether. There is the message that accompanied the release of an album released at the same time, based on music that was never used on The Fragile. Still was the first attempt made after the public disclosures of all that could go wrong having gone wrong, and the struggle to get and remain clean. Perhaps in revisiting the wounds from that era released a new set of sonic expressions as a cleanser to the work done on this new Deviations album.

I wonder if this is what happened when he tried to remaster and release an anniversary edition of The Fragile. A whole new album based on what got left on the cutting room floor, and then a cleansing EP? Either way, I cannot bring myself to pay $80, even though I am definitely the target audience for such an LP. I am not struggling, by any means, but I have plans for the money I've got coming in. Passports are not cheap, by any stretch of the imagination. Touring Europe won't be cheap, in any way, for me. I still have to regulate my budget.

But don't think I'm not struggling not to go back to the site and make a few clicks. It's pure torture, really, for me. Unless you are interested in something to the same degree, it's hard to explain why this is difficult.

To say The Fragile is my favorite of their albums is an understatement. It competes with The Cure's entire collection, for me. That's a really big deal, for me. If you watched me and my behavior over The Cure, then it should be apparent that this is something of a compulsion for me. Not buying the new Deviations is just torture.

I guess this entry is me trying hard to keep myself from buying it. Passport. Plane tickets. Hotels. Transportation. *goddamnitall I want that album*

Reminders of Shame

Today was an odd day for me. The younger of my two children was invited to "shop with a cop." He spent the day participating in their activities, and they bought him some items. One was a drone. An expensive little machine that I've secretly been wanting to get myself for over a year. It will be something we will work with together.

Also, where I live brings with it benefits to holiday presents and food. I received wrapped packages for the kids and myself, as well as the traditional food for the meal on Sunday. These things are welcome additions to my life. They make things easier, all around.

It reminds me, though, that once again, if I were still making half of what I now make, people would not expect me and my kids to have the things we are getting. The idea that poor people are given gifts such as a drone, nice clothes, and a decent meal flies well over the heads of many of the bigots I encounter on a regular basis. The idea that I didn't cash in on some illegal side economy is foreign to them. I've heard the rhetoric far too often. Poor people with nice things just doesn't compute in their heads, as others wanting to give them gifts.

Perhaps it is because these people would absolutely not, on threat of hellfire and damnation, ever give gifts to the poor. The poor are people who got that way because of bad morals and worse decisions, they themselves could never make. Perhaps they are truly ensconced in a bubble where they've never been dealt a blow that took months or years to recover from. They've never had to use any service they've paid into, or that others benevolently offer to them.

I don't know what their thinking really is. I've never been there. I was born into poverty. My life was a stream of using the safety nets and charity. I pay it forward when I can. I know that side of life better. The memes that come around shortly after the holidays, when people notice someone who is struggling financially has a nice item they could not have afforded on their own salary/stipend, is foreign and abominable to me.

In defense of those who have been offered gifts beyond our own means, please try to do a little bit of research before you throw your fellow humans off the cliff of benevolence. Your cynicism is a lie. Your brain is lying to you. Listen to the stories around you, from people who have been there or have worked with enough people who've been there. Try harder. Be a human, for once, before posting that garbage meme again.

Curious

Sunday is over, that leaves Monday, Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday. Four working days left. The two off days don't count. I'm not going anywhere near businesses on Wednesday and Thursday, if I can possibly manage it. It really isn't worth it.

I've avoided as much stress as I can, this weekend. There were minor rough patches. There was a lot of pain that suddenly went away, yesterday. Either swelling receded enough to relieve me or my nerve endings gave up. Either way, I'm okay with it. As long as I'm not in near tears anymore.

The dramatic, storyline style dreams are happening in force. Two nights ago, I had a great dream. It was full of love, security, a house to attend to, and comfort. Last night, I had a dream about making a decision to sacrifice myself to try to change things in a better direction and wake people up, which was thwarted by a co-conspirator. There was a time, before these last few months, when I didn't remember my dreams. Or the dreams I did remember were literally mash-ups of events of real days - work, arguments, driving, and the like. The vivid movie-dreams are a welcome change, but only once I've shaken the feeling they are real, and leave me upset, when they're not happy.

It isn't that I put a lot of stock into them. It's just how powerful and consuming they are to me that amazes me. My imagination never lacked. There isn't a moment I don't have actual pictures and "movies" playing in my head. Even as I watch actual shows on a screen, there is another whole world going on, inside my head. The dreams have just taken on an even more realistic quality that I was not expecting after so many months without them.

I wonder what the catalyst has been? My personal life smoothed out tremendously. The rest of the world upsets me. Strange ratio. The more turbulent my personal life, the more realistic and forgettable the dreams. The more peaceful my personal life, the more vivid and turbulent my dreams.

Soon, it'll be time to head to sleep again. I wonder what my brain has in store for me, tonight.

One More Week

Today, it was warmer and there was thunder. How I do love me some thunder. Oh yes. There's not the high quality of enjoyment there should be. It's going back to being in the 20's and teens starting tomorrow. Though there are some 40's in there, too, in a few days. The extremes annoy me, a lot. This sort of weather makes for some aggravation.

This morning, the roads were odd. All of the smaller, side streets were just wet. There was no ice on my car. Then, when I hit the first five lane major road, it was a sheet of ice, for the duration of my drive to the highway. I had to go pretty slowly. I was already late when I reached just a few stop lights away from my workplace. There was a police cruiser blocking the two lanes on my side of the road. No cars were driving down the opposite side of the road, meaning they'd blocked it down some ways I couldn't see.

Luckily I got there before there was any real backup. I managed to dip into a subdivision that led out to the back road to the store. I managed to get in just two minutes after my shift officially started. It was within my seven minute grace period, that the time clock uses to break down the quarter hours. It will go unnoticed. Others weren't so lucky. There were some who had normal 20 minute drives extended to 45 or more minutes. Apparently many people slid off the road.

Black ice might not look like much, when you compare it to those shots of four-foot blizzards, but it is deceptive. There always seem to be far more accidents when we can't see the ice than when we can. No, we don't get the massive blizzards that are photographed each year. We don't dip lower than a -20 degree weather now and then. The ice will kill you, though, if you're not prepared for it. Tornadoes and ice are the two lethal things here. (*I'd like to take this moment to remind you 4x4's won't do you any good on ice. And yes, your brakes will work the same as mine. Tailgating in this fucking ice is fucking stupid.)

I managed to avoid those who willfully ignore the dangers. I also crept along safely in the areas that were slick, and I am safe. My car is safe. The world continues to turn. And more cold is expected. Just in time for the worst week in retail employment. Yikes. This week is going to be hard. I do get three days off next week. Including a Sunday. We'll be closed Christmas. By default, I get that day off. That will be nice. I just need to get through this week, right?

Morbid

Today, it was imperative that I work outside in the cold for a few hours. When I did come in from the cold, the back room where we are stationed was very little warmer. I'd forgotten exactly how much I detest the cold. I don't particularly like being in the sun in 90+ degree weather, but I recover far easier from that. It's been four and a half hours at home, under covers, and I still feel a little numb. My fingers are not fully recovered.

Then the news of the day made its way into my life. I really wish I could tune it out. It all seems so overwhelming. I need to take a break. Survival instincts are kicking in. I mean, China took one of our drones, because Trump is breaking the major rule about Taiwan. They're showing our dear, fearless leader that they mean business when it comes to their one China rule. Trump won't listen. His blind and deaf followers won't listen.

Maybe they'll listen when death comes.

This is the only thing that ever makes a dent. I don't want this. I don't want to see us get destroyed, but it looks like this is inevitable, now. I had such terrible dreams in October. Then they resurfaced after my few weeks of optimism were nuked. I'm sorry it has to be this way. I really thought progress was inevitable. Looks like war and total annihilation is actually the only certainty in life.

I made my predictions on a Twitter rant. I still hope I'm wrong.

Until that day, I will continue to live as well as I can. No one can take that from me. Also, no one will take away the only, small voice I have here. I'm not going to live in terror. It all comes to the same conclusion. The only uncertainty is when.

Wow, I'm morbid. I will stop here.

More Rest

The body is a feat of survival. It was not designed, however, and therefore functions poorly in several areas. My body is not functioning very well, at all, today. It started yesterday, in all honesty. I know it's been doing its jobs as best it can. I just can't see how these things have to all happen at the same time. None of it will kill me, and none of it is truly brutal, each by themselves. Added all together, I just want to hide out away from the rest of the world for a while.

Strangely, this was after my sinuses cleared up as well as my mental outlook having improved by leaps and bounds. I can't blame it on stress. I'm pretty relaxed, this week. I can't blame it on anything I've eaten. I haven't had any alcohol. Unless I was getting hooked on allergy and sinus medicine, and now I'm going through withdrawal because of reducing my intake.

Though the promise to myself to do something enriching still stands, it's going to be something here at home. I don't feel like getting out the foundation and blemish cover pencil just to go to the woods. Seems a bit of a defeat to do that. The idea of running into other people has set off a wave of anxiety though. I'll just continue to rest and treat myself at home, as if I'm still sick. After all blood vessels in delicate regions, intestines, pores, and lip membranes need help healing too.

Wonder what there is to watch on Netflix. Supernatural is on a hiatus for the next month, after all. Maybe something funny, without viciousness, will do, today. Otherwise, today is just a terribly cold, terribly boring day.

Keeping Busy

Now, the major presents have been ordered. Smaller items like stocking-stuffers can be bought after work. If I actually have time. There has been a lot of mandatory overtime. I'm not going to complain. As I said, it's eating my time, and leaving me with less free time to brood. That's a win-win for everyone. My finances are doing very well because of it, too. No need to worry about that, for now.

Today, I spent most of the day cleaning. Not really organizing or trying to sort through what needs to go and what can stay. I still need to do a lot more of that. I have no idea why I have so much stuff. Blankets, towels, craft supplies, mementos, tapes, CDs, CD-Roms, floppy disks, boxes, bags, totes, a suitcase, camping supplies, board games, shoes and boots, etc. There are a lot of clothes I never wear, too. Also, the remaining toys that my 11 year old will never touch, again, must be sorted into donate or toss piles. There is just too much stuff in here.

I understand that my years and years of poverty have made it difficult for me to part with things, but I need to do this. I need to downsize my stuff. It's just clutter. It's driving me crazy, too. After I washed a lot of my 11 year old's  winter clothes, and some of my necessities, I still have three hampers and two baskets of laundry to do. I have a lot of towels, sheets, and blankets. I've been ignoring most of that all summer and fall. I need to go through those things, too.

There's no rhyme or reason to this utter urge to purge. It just is.

As far as this snow coming down, all I can say is "Yuck." It's not sticking, at least. However, it's going to be super cold for the next three days. I foresee ice. That means earlier fucking mornings and pain in my hands and toes. Yuck. It will be 50 on Saturday, though. I can't wait.

When my two days are split, even with just one day between, it feels like I can't do anything but necessities. Thursday, though, I will make an effort to do something that I like. There was a reason I had to clean today. Once I started, I just couldn't stop. Thursday, it'll still be good in here, and I will be sure to do something that enriches me. I promise me.

Stasis

There is a part of me that has become addicted to work. I don't do it because I like it. It isn't the money. It isn't the stuff I get from it. I don't like being there. I don't like doing it. However, it occupies me. I don't have to actually think about anything else. I don't have to worry about anything but getting the crap done.

When I get home, I'm faced with way too much I don't want to think about. In a way, it has taken over where all the articles and books I used to read. It requires almost nothing as far as real work on myself. I get to ignore me.

I realized I was not doing well, and I only worked the mandatory one hour overtime. I didn't stay longer. I think this was a little breakthrough. I allowed myself to think about me, and to actually take care of myself. It's been weeks since I actually sat down to assess myself.

As I said, I've become an expert at ignoring me.

Now I guess I have something new I need to work on.

Aside of not saying "sorry" anymore, I mean. I only said it 4 times, when in the midst of stress. It's just a fucking placeholder word. It means NOTHING to me. I want it gone. I want to only say it when I actually feel it, now. There are plenty of other things I actually mean in the circumstances I'm using it as a placeholder.

I guess I have to figure out who the fuck I am, now. See if I'm really on the verge of the next big shift in my life. See if I can work something that gives me meaning into my life. Figure out what I actually want to do besides go to work and come home, make dinner, help with homework, etc. Who is this person I am now? I've got all this time on my hands. I don't want to spend it working, just to keep from thinking. I'll add that to the to-do list.

Short

Obviously, I don't even know what to do with any free time I get. All I want to do is curl up in a blanket and pillow cocoon and sleep. It really was a pity that my body had all the energy in the universe when I was a teenager. I had no freedom and no money. Now, I have freedom and money, and all I can manage is to sit here and rest. All the punishments when you're young become your greatest rewards as an adult.

I really ought to try to do more.

I really ought to get out more.

But the electric blanket over the microfiber sheets is too nice a place to leave.

Beyond Pessimism

The difference between the end of this year and the end of last year is in attitude.

Last year, I was so optimistic. Changes in my personal life were coming. I believed they would be better. I thought it would make a significant dent in all the mundane struggles I had been living with. I also believed the world would shift upward even more significantly. I truly thought we'd crossed a threshold to a new mindset. I though we would push even harder for a better world.

This year, the changes in my personal life with work look bleak and hopeless. This alone would be enough to send me into a tailspin. Add to it the fact that all progress is about to be snuffed out and repealed, and my outlook is far more than pessimistic. I'll fight, as always, but part of me wonders if it's worth the effort, anymore. I'll do most of the work I need to do out of habit. Not because I actually think it'll help.

Where most people are going to mark the end of 2016 with some major symbolic gesture of "good riddance" I feel like it's worthless. The new year will just be a continuation of this year. Everything that's been happening will continue to happen, and snowball into something so massive we can't escape. Why bother marking it off? It's an arbitrary day, anyway.

I'm not sure what comes after pessimism. Whatever you call that stage, that's where I am. This is one hell of a huge difference from last year.

Distract Me

What I need are better distractions. As soon as I think there's going to be a small plateau and rest from some unnecessary drama, something else comes in to smash the peace to bits. In order for me to forget the job and focus on anything but the job, I need to look into other areas of life. The same track might be safe, most of the time, but right now, it is not. It's actually become a danger and impediment. It's time to move forward.

I'll have to figure out how to find new interests to keep me busy. The last time I found things I loved, it was through Stumble Upon. I wonder how that's going. My circles online are just too narrow. I must broaden my range. Stagnation leads to feeling trapped.

I've spent far too much time online for 21 years, and yet I still have trouble branching out from sites once I get set in a routine. Although I suspect that happens a lot. After all, we should have migrated away from Facebook and Twitter by now. I can't believe we've stagnated on those sites. There has to be something that will usurp those thrones.

If nothing else, maybe I'll start reading more existentialist works at bedtime. It'd be a good headspace to get into before heading to work in the morning. Just remembering that, in the end, none of it really matters will help keep me calm when they're trying their best to fracture my psyche.

I cannot detail here what is going to happen. I can predict, internally, that the changes coming are premature. We are not ready for them. They were done out of order, and the ivory tower managers who decided these things are going to blame us when their *brilliant* (not at all) plans cause more headaches and unhappiness than help their sales.

Seriously, whoever's playing this game of The Sims with me as the character is an asshole.

Maybe I should play my own game, and torture my own character. That might help.

Brighter

The day looks brighter. Both the weather and my mood. I really did get a lot of rest yesterday. I guess I needed it.

 It is getting colder. It will be very cold in a couple days. I should probably do something, but my sinuses are still annoying me a little. My ears are still ringing a bit, and I feel a little dizzy. I took some Sudafed, had some coffee, and then ate chocolate covered donuts.

No matter what, I keep living. I feel really good, too. Like I can make myself better than I have been. Optimism is returning to me. My sense of humor is back. It isn't just black humor, either. This is progress.

I still need to wash the last of my winter things, my work clothes, and towels. I need to do a thorough cleaning of the litterbox. I would like to sort through my closet. I would like to sort through the toys. Every time I sit up, though, my head says, "Not today, Satan." Well, that's how it's going to be, I guess.

I finally feel okay, mentally, and my head makes it hard to enjoy. :P

Bitter, Yes

The day was rather misty and cold. My head felt better, but I stayed mostly in bed. I made a few French press carafes of coffee. I had microwaved vegetables with beans. I ate a lot of other snacks. I took a generic Sudafed/Advil thing and stayed in bed. I think I feel much better. The exhaustion is still present.

In mental spheres, my head bounced around in a bitterness that I, once again, had absolutely zero support through this mess of an anniversary week. I'm trying not to take it personally that even the one post I made about it on fb went virtually unnoticed. After all, I am always the only one here for me. Mostly, people just bounce their thoughts off of me, and run off. The more people I know, the less I like people.

This is something I'm working through, today. So what if the only contact I seem to get is for someone to complain about someone else to me? That's all people ever do. Bitch about someone else at me. So I just do the same back at them. It doesn't matter. I still have me. That's why I write online so goddamned much. Since no one gives two shits about how this week affected me, I'll just write it out where I can get it out of my system. I care about me. As it was when I was fucking born, so shall it be until I fucking die, I guess.

Tomorrow, I'll feel differently again, I'm sure.

Looking Ahead

Yesterday was the last round of the anniversary days for the year. Granted, the funeral was on the 7th, but that day doesn't matter nearly as much as the 4th. Whatever process my brain used to filter it, all of the pain resides mostly in the 4th. Especially with this many years between the event and now.

There is a huge worry about next year. I will be 44 and a half. My mom was a little tiny bit older than that when she died. Her birthday was in March, and mine is in June. However, it will be close enough for me to worry. I look like her, I have the same mental afflictions as her, at times, and I'm pretty close to feeling like she must have felt, from time to time. When 2018 rolls around, will I have outlived her, or not? Time will tell. I can't answer that, right now.

No matter how I fill up the time, the fact remains that it doesn't have any real meaning. The things I have done to make it all feel like I am actually alive are so temporary. All that has happened in the last year feels ephemeral to me. Wisps of mist evaporate quickly. The veil of joy dissipates quickly.

The fact remains clear to me that I must fill up my time, even more. Activities, events, and work will be an even larger concern for me, in the coming months. I keep hoping for life to feel good, again. I have worked on ways to fill it all in, but I fall short. I'm terribly restless.

Another Goodbye

Most of the time, it's not possible to travel back in time. Then a memory so intense returns as if you're reliving it. As with all scenarios of time travel, there is no way to change what is happening. Only witnessing history is possible. With that in mind, I am witnessing my own history. The time folded in on itself, today, 24 years ago.

I haven't mastered future time travel, but I am a professional at going into my own history. Today is a day that will always live in my head as if no time had passed at all. I close my eyes, and the traumatic phone calls, the angering relaying of information into the last moments of my mom's life, and my first drive through a snow storm in the mountains is right before me.

When the tractor trailers gathered around me, and drove in formation around me, while blinding snow blew at me, I was just numb. As I came into the Ohio Valley, where there was just a meager rain and wind, and had very little washer fluid left, the world looked more grim than ever. Little did I know then that this would be the constant in my life for several years.

Had I known, I wouldn't have come back. I'd have cut the ties, as I was trying to do. Hindsight is better than glasses for correcting vision, though. Everything was a blurry mess, to me, then. There was no future time travel for me. Only living in the moment, trying to survive. As it would be for years. If only I had known I'd cut the ties just a bit more than two years later, I could have perhaps evaded so much pain.

Coming back to the here and now, I am glad that this is all the past.

No grave stone can give me comfort. I've only gone a few times. A name engraved serves no purpose to me. So I look back in my own mind, and I do what I couldn't do, in the midst of an anxiety attack far greater than any I've ever experienced.

Believe me or don't. I'm fucking done with caring whether the shitheads I cut ties with believe it was true panic, and not just "for attention." Go fuck yourselves. I'll keep saying that until I die. All of you, go fuck yourselves. I spent every day of my life with her for about 19 years. You didn't. I had every right to feel what I felt and to panic.

Now I get to the end of this day, again, as I have 23 other times. As I close my eyes to sleep, again the safety of distance that comes with the passage of time comforts me.

I look at the picture and I can say "Goodbye" now.

After Rest

It's a new day here. The sleeping one next to me was having a hard time, and so ended up in my room. He's still so young, and he's like me with a face that looks childish, still. He'll be out the door in a few minutes. The heater, the clock tick, and perhaps the cat tearing up a box or bag will be the only sound for a while. There are dishes to do, again. There are still decorations waiting to go up. The floor needs a vacuum.

On the other hand, there is no going to work, for me. There are no major repairs to attend to. Later, my fifth grader will be free and without homework. There is no school tomorrow. We can just let it all go. Relaxation and rest will be my priorities on these two easy days. The more rest I have, the better my brain behaves.

I feel so much better about myself once I've actually had rest. I see so much more clearly how my world is becoming a better place for me. No, I don't know how long that will last. I don't know what hellish nightmare is in store for us. That, though, I'm going to leave to the future, today and tomorrow. For now, I know I did all I could with close to zero resources at my disposal. I am going to be okay, for a while.

It's all I have to hold on to, now. As the world burns, the rain falls, the blizzards start to form, my own world has not yet changed. I cling to it as I did that damned pink blanket I had until I was 8.

Vagueposting

There are still a million thanks to give you. In a million little ways that I hope to convey plainly and without even a note of irony. As the last month of this strange year dawns, it is the beginning of the end. When it ends, I will keep all the things that were good in higher esteem than the things that brought me down.

My fear of the coming year remains a constant. How could it not? My subversion will be to love and to remain alive to see how far I can push myself into this new path. Though there are days when my brain cannot seem to operate, I will remain. I'll be the constant, but only if you let me.

Would you like to know where it can take us? Let it take us, then. Let it consume us. We'll be a part of something else, now. While the world is on fire, we can take this one thing out of it. If you want.

Maybes

The tree is still bare of ornaments. There are still dishes in soapy water. I ordered delivery for dinner.

Maybe not doing so well?

Maybe.

Can I get through this?

Maybe.

Will I feel better if I sleep?

Maybe.

Will I have more nightmares?

Maybe.

Ugh.

Maybe that too.

Where do I go from here? Is there anything left, or is this it?

Maybe.

Today's Self-Report

Another day, another hour and a half of overtime. I need the money. The work is tedious, for the most part. It isn't great, but not horrible. There are just so many other places I'd rather be. I feel like the biggest accomplishment was getting up to the break room to re-enroll in insurance for the year. The rest that I did is standard. Only 18,255 steps, since I didn't work quite as long as I did yesterday.

Now, I've come home, my feet are throbbing. It's strange how I don't notice it until I am resting. A perk to my body not aging all that badly. Of course, this means I'll be letting the dishes soak in soapy water, and ignoring the now two bags of garbage. I really don't think I'll make it down the steps. Hopefully I'll remember them in the morning, this time. Yes, I know, forgetting two days in a row is kinda bad.

Oh and yes, I'll be up at 3 a.m. to cover the opener for the next three days. My days can end much shorter, barring anymore surprises like today. Really, that was probably 15% more than I hoped it would be. Let's hope that the tradition people have of not ordering mid-week continues. As young as I feel, I know I can't go full-steam for the next three days.

Also, let's hope I sleep.

I haven't had any meltdowns. My life has become more evenly distributed. However, the last two weeks have been hell. I hope this subsides. Today is a good day, though. I just want it to last.

Long Week

A lesson learned this month, along with a few other months this has happened, an extreme negativity and depression that strikes early is followed by an extremely physically painful cycle. Fact of life, for me. Not everyone. It isn't enough to keep us all walled up at home, all the time. It's just something that doctors might want to take a gander at and solve. They could make some good money out of actually trying to alleviate this in the minority who suffers this much.

Also, I find it sad that I've heard people accuse me of wanting to set women's rights back a hundred years just because I'd like this affliction someday receive some kind of effective medication. Nothing I have taken or tried to do or not do has helped. Citalopram and fluoxetine and risperdone and lithium and... you get it. Nothing touched it. Midol, ibuprofen, aspirin, naproxen, etc. did nothing for the physical symptoms to follow. Absinthe remains the one thing that actually numbs me for the time I need to get through. Sirene Verte and Lucid, specifically. I have no idea why. Bourbon and wine just give me headaches on top of it. This inconvenient time isn't enough to put women back in the home. Pointing it out doesn't have to mean doing that. Pointing it out should mean that we look into ways to combat it, altogether. Instead of ignoring it because it isn't a majority problem.

Anyway, I'm still on the coattails of the shitshow that is my uterus' terrible behavior. I should probably not write so freely. Maybe one day I'll cringe. Then again, maybe one day I'll be glad I was so honest. Never can tell with me, how I'll review my past writing.

I worked 11 hours today. I walked over 6 miles, or 10 km. I lifted a lot of weight. I bent, squatted repeatedly, pushed and pulled heavy objects. I dealt with customers, many who are really, seriously grumpy right now. Trying not to mirror them is probably harder than any other aspect of my job. I'm not exactly a good actress. No Hollywood for me! It's fucking exhausting. If you haven't tried it, don't even talk to me about how easy my job is. Shove it.

I'm working straight through until Friday. It's going to be a long week.

Strange Optimism

The last few days have been a vacuum of terribleness. The end result is a day of pain. I know it'll be over, soon. I'll be fresh out of the horrible ideas and feelings soon. Maybe it'll be replaced with the sense of wonder I had for the season as a kid. Stranger things have happened.

The description I find best fitting for the last week is to compare it to when you're driving in the middle of the night, through something like Kansas or Indiana. There are no lights, the stars aren't bright enough in the sky, and even the moon hypnotizes you. There are no rest areas or exits for another good 25 miles, and you have to try to stay awake. If you know that fight, you can somewhat empathize with the struggle through depression that wanders into suicidal ideation. No matter how you try, your eyes just keep trying to close. Your brain is crying to be taken out of consciousness. It physically hurts.

Imagine that for a week or more.

That's close. No metaphor bears close examination, though.

I did the dirty work of making myself get through it. Let's hope it lasts.

Now, I need to get through the physical torture of the next day. I will be rearranging the living room, getting some garland and new lights. I'll try to warm up the feel of my cold living room. Solstice and Yule will never quite leave my heart. Christmas with all its stories of lost souls finding their way to the light must have dug in deeper than my mom's refusal to let me go to church. Take away the layers of fiction, and the message under it all must have stuck.

I don't care for snow and ice. Luckily that is an unusual thing here, at Christmas. I'll take the small drop in temperatures that haven't hit freezing, the decorations, the songs, and such, though. Maybe the memory of comfort will win the day.

First, I have to get through this week.

Practice

It appears that words are beginning to form, again. Writing is happening. I'm not going to say it's good. It's practice. I'm starting with something that's been bugging me for a long time. A story with two endings. One ending is the socially-unacceptable one. The other is how I wish things would turn out.

The wished-for life fantasy lingers, but know that my life keeps proving me wrong about everything. So I indulge in the other ending, and it is cathartic. The fact that no one will approve of it makes writing it more fun. I've gone with a mediocre ending once before, because the story just wasn't turning out well, and my life was really mediocre to begin with. It was how things always fucking turn out, anyway. I scrapped all of that writing and started again. Which was actually my third attempt.

I lost the entirety in the crash of my computer in 2006. I have what I'd written up until a few months before that on disks. I had a 3.5 floppy drive, at the time. I also had a toddler, and I can't even use those disks even if I got a floppy reader somewhere.

So I'm writing it again, because it won't go away. And it's good practice, for when I finally get around to the real things I want to write, that may someday come out of me, again. I have CD-ROMs of those stories and books. Well, extremely early versions, anyway. I'll start over again.

Some day.

24 years

Very little to do at work. I stayed three hours and went home. I have napped on and off since then. I had a little more food in between naps. I see my kids are occupied at their grandparents' house. The day is nothing much to me. I guess it means something to other people.

There's not a whole lot to say. It's just been 24 years of muddling through this holiday. Sometimes it feels okay, and other times it feels like hell. Whether spent among my family, other families, or on my own, it has been a reminder of times I wish I could forget. Maybe not forget, but at least I could just not feel anything when I think on them.

The downward trajectory begins now until December 4th. After that, things should feel more festive, again. As I sit here, I just wait for the day to end, while the rest of the country spends time either dramatically dealing with horrible families they'd rather avoid, or swallowed up in familial bliss. I tend to be thankful that I am not dealing with any drama at all, anymore.

That is the good I wish to focus on.

I hope the few of you who take the time to read this have a good day. I'll toast you with my glass of white chardonnay. From my heart to yours.

...

Bah.

Fuck Thanksgiving.

Fuck this whole time of year.

Fuck my hormones.

Fuck all of it.

A Bit Better?

In regards to my future, at least I know I have one.

The past doesn't interest me like it used to. I certainly know what I was going through, but it isn't taking up space in my brain. There's a slight inconsistency to my feelings, now and then. When I settle down and invite my feelings to come in, everything else comes in, instead.

It's good to feel like I have freedom. From my own invisible prison. It actually feels pretty good.

I've got a couple months left. I'll use them to the best of my abilities.

Pure Pessimism

I've begun to wonder if "Chuck" wants us to hate the world and each other so much, we'll be relieved when some disaster finally strikes, and we're done.

I know I won't feel this way all the time.

It's just a phase.

If 2016 sucked this much, I wonder how badly 2017 will.

This was the series finale, right? What godforsaken spinoff is going to take over next year?

All the people out there doing a good job of proving our system will not catch the people who want to destroy it. Instead of our NSA, CIA, Pentagon, and FBI going after real usurpers and enemies, these have all been a fake system to become everything they kept telling us to fear and hate. But now the "right" people are doing all the things these agencies and all the conspiracy theorists told us Democrats were doing, so it doesn't matter. Law and order is for other people, not them. Like people who go 85 on the highway and run red lights who then go on about the African American people who get shot after being stopped for more minor infractions than that - "They shoulda obeyed the law." They only say that because the laws are for them, not these people.

Every day, the evidence showing semen stain elect is part of another thing Republicans have been pointing at Democrats for doing and never having evidence. Every day, the right excuses it all away. It doesn't count, now. Your true colors are showing. I can't believe I thought anyone was honest about this shit. Disingenuous be thy name.

I keep hoping I'll wake up in a different time stream. This one is going to suck. No two ways about it.

I have no fire left. Not right now.

Better

No, there is no great rejoicing, right now. Everything still looks like several dumpster fires. People are already beginning to suffer. Loss is in store for us. In 2000, I kept my mouth shut after the election was halted by the Supreme Court and Gore conceded. In 2004, I cried for a while. I let it go, though. Things were shit, but I was getting myself untangled from a worse life. It could have been worse for me.

This time, I'm not just mourning the loss of a little hope for progress. This time is different. People willfully do not see what they've done. Or they think it's funny. All the stories of emboldened hatred and intimidation just sail on past them. Talk of internment camps being a precedent, talk of purging Silicon Valley of "too many Asians," appointments of people with dominionist and fascist ideation. Right over their heads, at best. Part of a heart-warming future of purging and genocide they dream about, at worst. It's different. I'm not sad Hillary lost. I'm fucking brutally angry that Trump won.

"When someone tells you who they are, believe them the first time," Maya Angelou said. Instead, people are going to turn their face to the walls and hope it isn't true.

Yes, I'm furious. I'm not apologetic about it. I am not a pacifist, either. I come from a different background. I am not a strawman people create of liberals singing "Kumbaya" or whatever. My background is one of fight over flight. Those talking about empathy for anyone who envisions genocide and purging aren't going to ever get through to me. My rage is squarely centered on them.

After all is said and done, though, I am through the grieving of a future that has been aborted. Whatever twisted manifestation is in store isn't here yet. I will use the time allotted to me to do the things I still love, while I still can. I realize that before this, there was no promise of a new day. Death comes. It is our only truth. Each second that ticks is mine, as long as I can breathe. When dementia comes for me, I hope that I've sucked every last good bit out of my life. I hope to skid into the pine box and the crematorium having used up all I can.

Nothing will take that from me. Certainly not a hollow, orange egomaniac.

A House

There is a house that appears in my dreams. It has appeared in my dreams as long as I can remember. It has three floors, an attic and a basement. The halls are narrow, the rooms a bit small, but with very tall ceilings. What I remember most, though are the basement and attic.

The attic starts out like a normal floor, with sloping ceilings. The room is small, and there are walls on either side of it. I walk through a door to the back part. It gets smaller, but it is still livable. There is one more door, much smaller, which was probably once a secret passage, but is no longer secret. It leads to a tiny closet, where you can just sit up and stretch your legs. It would be a perfect place to hide, if needed.

The basement is enormous. It has a dirt floor, for most of it. Some of it was paved with concrete, but not all. There are storage units in the basement. They have no light, and the doors stick. In my dreams, I'm terrified to go near them, lest someone close me in, and I can't get out. There is only one hanging bulb, and the place needs to be cleaned. I always start planning to pave the rest and get in an expert to dry it out. The stairs also need to be replaced.

In the attic, there is a wooden rocking chair of some hard, but light colored wood. It is as light as pine, but as hard as cherry. It is ornately carved, and I don't touch it. There isn't much in the way of furnishings throughout the house, and that is the only thing that ever stands out.

When I wake up, I miss that house with the force of heartbreak. I have no idea where I saw this house. I know it well, and I want it, a lot. I find myself homesick for a place that I'm not even sure exists.

The Way

Many people don't know all that much about me. It's okay. I've moved on from wanting to be understood and valued as I am. I'm content in my own skin, now. It's something I fought long and hard to have. After all, there are over seven billion humans. You're likely to understand very few of them. Hell, probably more like none of them. Not even yourself.

The way in which I navigate each day is my own to choose. The things I choose to keep me alive are mine, alone. Though I'll probably always adhere to the common phrase "an it harm none" for the rest of my life, it isn't due to anything outside of the fact that this is how I wish to live. No one's going to punish me. No odd magical energy is going to force me to pay for anything I've done wrong. I live to the best of my ability and with the hope that I can improve the lives of others in small ways because it's the best thing to do. We're all we have. We've got to do it for each other. It makes everyone's lives better to improve others' lives, too.

There is a selfish goal on top of the rightness of doing the best we can to improve each others' lives. Humanity is definitely held together with a web of social necessities. No one is really their own island. Our brains are not built to be isolated, and we survive because we interact with each other. If everyone turned into an antisocial person, our species would die out. The genetic bond to life keeps us together.

My goals are similar to most other people's goals. That's the one good thing left about humans. No one really thinks they're trying to actively harm other people, unless they have antisocial personality traits. Luckily, that is a small portion of the population. The social need to better as many people's lives as I can, in the limited means I have drives me more strongly than others. Perhaps not as strongly as others still.

I'll do far more good than bad with my life. That much I can promise. No matter what happens. This is my guiding force. You don't need to understand if you don't want. I've got this.

Purity and tightropes be damned. I'll do what I can, for as long as I can. You can keep slashing away at my attempts. You can yell at me all you want about my lack of purity. I'll keep trying to be the best version of me as possible. You just do you. I know it's easy to fall into looking for ways in which you are better than me. I don't really care about that, though. You're not my new priests. You don't get to minister to me, either. I'll do the best I can with what I have, and if you feel better about yourselves when I fail, then maybe that is me helping you, too. In the end, I've done more good than bad.

As I come back into myself and the present I live in, I'll hang on to this.

Where Now?

Today, the question is "Am I going to make it through this alive?" The secondary question is "Do I want to?"

I don't know.

Back to the Present

Frustration and irritation abound. There is a big hole inside me, and the rest of my brain has to dance around the hole to function. Yesterday it was easier. I didn't feel like I had many steps I had to take around it. Today, it feels like I keep forgetting, and I've tripped into the hole, climbed out, and fallen right back in without thought.

The vigilance is really getting old. I want to go back to dreaming the world was going to remain as it was, with maybe even some incremental good steps. I want to go back to pretending life was safe for a while longer. After all, I just got my footing after the downfall of the early 00s and 10s. There was a plateau for me, here. I was looking around and healing things I've neglected while merely surviving.

When I say I don't want to start over again, I am talking about this. Job security isn't real, in economically safe times. When things get precarious, as they will, that security will be even more dangerous. Since I've been through it before, I fear going through it again. There is no sense of certainty that since I did it before, I'll make it this time. Perhaps this time I won't. There is no way to know.

I could very well be okay, in time. I mean, that's the point of uncertainty, right? Could be.

The best things I can do are the things I was taught. Touch something, smell something, taste something, listen to something, and look at things around me. Bring the focus back to now. Not the past. Not the bad times of the past. Right now. Things are stable right now. It has to work for future anxiety as well as past trauma, right? Becoming present.

Nothing right now is bad. Most of what is going on, in my own little oasis, is good. I've got to bring myself back to these things.

I have a candle that smells like sandalwood, and will burn that now. My cat's beside me, accidentally scratching me as he grooms himself. I see the dark purple, microfiber sheets with the same color, shiny thread embroidery at the edge. I love these sheets and pillowcases. I am listening to The Twilight Sad on Apple Music, by suggestion of the playlists catered to me. I have Peppermint Ghirardelli, filtered water, and have had a good dinner with both kids. This is my life, right now.

After this, I will need to settle down to sleep so I can wake up at 3 and go to work at 4. That will be the best thing. Sleep, even when it isn't full and robust, is my favorite thing. Maybe because I don't ever get enough. I enjoy it all the more when I do get it.

I gently tell the worries coming up they are not needed right now. I treat them like the children who are scared inside me. No need to fight them. Just reassure them. Look around, see the world as is. Worrying about it won't help us. A plan must be formed. It must be done without worry. Fear is not going to help.

So begins a new experiment.

Thank You

Something has changed. In the space of a year, so much has changed for so many people. Everyone thinks this year is nothing but shit. However, I've had a change, too. One that isn't quite complete, but it's so much bigger to me than I can really express. There was a time, some years ago, when someone else who was important to me let me know that he was paying attention to me. It wasn't something that was possible for many reasons. However, when I made the choice to leave my ex, I held on to the idea that this person I felt was important to me had told me I impacted his life, and it helped. Now, there is something going on like that again.

I need this, too. It's been something that has brought me through a dark night or two. It continues to be something that pulls me through some very trying moments, this week. In time, I hope that this blossoms into something I can discuss more specifically. For now, I just want to note that something bigger in my personal life is growing and flowering and whatever else you want to associate with it.

It's the only real thing keeping me from faltering. I needed this. I need it. My life goes on, anyway, and this just keeps me fighting. I could only wish that my few words here might offer the same in return.

Stage: Anger

All manner of of things are turning me into nothing but a ball of rage. One of the biggest is the call for showing empathy and compassion to people who are backing a world filled with hate crimes. Already started. All over the news. It's out there. It's begun. They're bold and they're vicious. There have been suicides.

TW, suicidal ideation. The night of the election I went to sleep when it was still looking okay for Clinton, but starting to fall a bit. I hoped to wake up to news that the rollercoaster ended with Hillary Clinton as the president. However, I dreamed that I was watching Trump's victory speech. When I did wake up, I was in a panic. My computer was so slow to start. That last few seconds of hope was quickly dashed, and I was gripped by fear. My first reaction was to plot out the seven gun shops within five miles of my house. (There are more places to buy guns here than that. Those were just the closest ones.) There is a part of me that has lived in fear much of my life. I've kept it behind a wall until recently. I was very open with many people within the last few years about my bisexuality and my atheism. I'm still not sure which one of these has caused me more grief. It is established. I can't hide any of it, now, because I felt so safe. I no longer feel safe. And like a cyanide capsule in the tooth, this is what I thought in panic.

Today, I want to stay around. Not everything is grand and not everything is resolved. I'm still a single mom, still bisexual, more of an atheist than I was even a month ago, as I've resolved the last bad habits of reincarnation floating around my brain. I'm not going to join a church and renounce my feelings. I refuse to live in terror, because in the end, whether it's next year or in forty years, this all ends the same. If it makes people feel discomfort and anger, all the better. My presence was always merely a dire warning to others. Now it can also be a thorn in their sides. I'm good with that.

I don't know how things will be in a year. Two. Four. I'm guessing worse for me. The emboldened violence and threats will probably be astronomical. I'm going to strive to overcome every one of my impulses to Go, though. Out of spite, at this point.

I look at my childhood. I know I can do this. I don't fucking like it, though.

Aftermath

This is the aftermath day. The world looks bleaker, scarier, and more doomed than it did yesterday. There was a moment when I watched "Threads" again a couple months ago. In that moment, I feared this would happen, and felt sure it would. As the weeks rolled by, though, I began to feel as though this country wasn't just a breath away from dystopia. I began to believe we could roll through to a new day where we could push Clinton into a better vision for everyone.

Instead, the votes of the electoral college go to a person who only lives for himself, in the now. His vision of this country is one I never thought would be embraced so passionately by enough people to win. My blinders are off. I'm sorry I didn't trust my intuition two months ago. My fear grew and exploded, but I will not live in terror. I will not hide and I will not lie. I may cry in anger today, but I know that all life ends, and it's how I lived the short breath I've been given that matters.

Until the moment comes that the guy you assholes elected proves he has no idea what "mutual assured destruction" means, I will continue to live and try to improve things for all of us. We're all we have. There's no guiding, invisible hand that will help us out of this. We have to help each other. If we don't have the backing of the government, and the majority of people around us are trying to stomp on our faces, we'll have to form tighter circles of resistance. One day, this has to stop. And we have to do it.

Divinity has not blessed the fart masquerading as a leader. There is nothing up there guiding this. All of this is on us to fix. Our fellow humans need to be reminded they are part of us as much as we are part of them. We have to address this web of life aspect to their selfishness. They're not going to listen to reason. They've proven this.

As much as I want to run away from all of you, and just not be a part of life anymore, I will stay just to piss you all off.

This Election Must End

I didn't sleep well. I was plagued by anxiety all day long, and had to suppress it at work.

Then I drove straight to the polling place - the senior center. It was for the popular vote, because my vote is total shit in this state. Every two years, I'm reminded just how little I belong here. Yuck. This year was the worst, ever. Period. And these people think a guy who is going to court for raping a 13 year old girl is someone to fucking admire. Nope. Going to be a long time before I look the other way on this. Even if you pretend like that case actually going before a court is nothing, there are a million and one other things to look at. But no. Orange Cheeto Dust Fascist is your savior. (And I'm a dolphin and this is all a dream.)

Watching the numbers unfold is wrong. I should go to sleep, and wake up to the aftermath. I can't sleep at all, though. The headache, the stomach ache, the receding buzz, and my watering eyes can't convince me to look away. I might miss something.

There was already one shooting with a death and injuries near a polling place, this year.

2016 just needs to become history. Fast. No repeat of 2000. NOOOOOO. I say NO. Weeks of bullshit about Florida and hanging chads have been exacerbating the anxiety. I can't go through it again. I just can't.

This has to be over in the morning.

And the rest of the world can laugh at Kentucky, as per usual. Not all of us are heartless fascists who pretend he's not up for rape of a 13 year old girl charges. But there are too many who are. So laugh. I'll laughsob with you.

One More Fucking Day

There is a new app that is still imperfect, but keeps me alive. That might sound odd to other people - especially in my age group. The images are imperfect, but the sound is getting better, all the time. I love the future. Without this, I don't know that there would be much point in ever doing anything, at all.

I love technology.

When

It

Works

Anyway, so yes, there was some vicarious living, and there was a little more cheap wine. My feet hurt beyond all compare.

Tomorrow, I'm going to vote. It's good old boys' world down here, so there was no early voting. If you work during the open polls, tough shit. This state is so anti-democracy and pro-fascism, it's ridiculous. The lies people tell themselves about "freedom" or "patriotism" are phenomenally huge. This election has created a huge divide and most people land on the pro-fascist side.

Some people are more equal than others...

The things I've heard during this election cycle have made my jaw drop. All my worst thoughts have been realized, most of my optimism has been crushed. These people want people that aren't like themselves to die. And many of them harbor fantasies about being the people to do the killing of the "Other." The only thing I know for certain, this year, is that I am definitely better than many of them.

I'm not even going to feel bad about thinking that way. God, Guns, Gays. Those three issues are even more the defining issues they care about. Nothing else. Conform or die. I never will.

Anyway, back to music and sleep. This election can't end soon enough. At least my illusions of people being mostly good with just a little bad have been destroyed. I can see the truth, at last. So many people are just bad with hints of good every now and then.

If I Go, it'll be because I can't run away.

Yeah...

Perhaps a bottle of very weak wine wasn't the absolute best way to handle the day. It felt good. It tasted fantastic. Some fizzy, sweet white Riesling thing that was on sale. Not Boone's Farm cheap, and maybe slightly more alcoholic, and all I really wanted.

The physical pain is hitting me, now. Had an hour and a half overtime. I opted out of breaks, because I didn't want to have to go twice as fast after returning. I kept a nice steady pace. Then the store was packed with people. I have no idea where all these people come from. How can there be that many people in such a tiny little area?

I'm not thinking now. That's the beauty of this. I'm just not thinking. It's great. I recommend it.

Breathing

It's been many years now since I used the words to "Sentinel" to try to boost my optimism on a Facebook post. Lena wrote that she really did hope there were better days to come. Within a few days, her cancer finally took her life. It was her last message to me. I still catch myself with tears in my eyes when I think about that. I don't really believe in an afterlife, so there's no comfort in thinking she finally found better days.

So I try to remember the pep talks she had with me about how she turned her life around later in life, like I had to do. She had harder steps to take than I did, but she also had a support network. I'm balancing everything very well, it's true, but that support network is thin and distant, now. I get some nice gestures from people encouraging me, but I find the words of people who went through bad or worse and came out the other end better off always made the biggest impressions on me. I need to know it's possible. I don't want to be that person everyone else looks to and uses as perspective in their lives.

I sometimes joke and use a variation on the saying "If I can't be a good role model, let me be your dire warning" but honestly, right now, I'd just like to lay down and not carry on with this fight. I just want to take a break from life for a while, and come back refreshed and willing to do more dirty work. Even breathing just needs to be something I don't have to worry about for a while. All of it, really. Just let it float off for a while, then bring me back when I'm rested and refreshed.

That's what I want, not death, just a long vacation from being a human animal on this planet. The closest I'll get is this extra hour of sleep tonight.

Staying

Learning how to stay alive required many experiments. It requires still more to keep punching at shadows. At times, it was a kernel of an illusion I held firmly that should I take my own life, I'd live a similar life, just to keep getting to the same points, so that I could eventually win a fight. I never claimed to know of a purpose for this concept of reincarnation. It was just a habit of thought. There may or may not have been some meaning in it, but I didn't believe in that part of it. Call it more of a superstition.

When explored, it makes zero sense. I don't actually have faith in it. Sometimes this habit of thought still happens. I don't know exactly why this is how my brain works. It is enviable that there are people who never have to examine weird beliefs. I have other weird beliefs. Those are readily examined. The ones that society accept, to some degree, are harder to scrutinize. Sometimes these ideas are given rewards. People accept me in a way I'm not used to. Even if the majority of people around me are Christian, there are enough people who have learned to respect any other version of faith, as long as there is some faith.

In the end, because I couldn't accept a "higher power" behind it, I had to accept it as a superstition. And I admit it still creeps up in my thoughts. Over time, though, the comfort in it has disappeared. Perhaps the comfort was illusion. However, I could also expound on the many other illusions that I have protected myself with to stay alive.

Right now, some figment of a quote is floating with me. It is the tragedy of a suicide who doesn't believe in an afterlife who also wants to know how everything turns out. The only way to see the result is to stick around. I live mostly to see how this goes down. A witness to life events, and a deep curiosity of life seem to be my new experiments in survival.

I want to know what happens tomorrow. The only way to know for sure is to stay.

However, this is tenuous. In time, the nothingness will crawl back in, and I won't know why I ever wanted to see how things turn out. Maybe. I mean, interesting things do happen. They are far away, but maybe they'll keep happening. However, I can't rely on this. I guess I'll start looking for a new experiment soon. I have to plan for the winter.

Achy Bitchy Moan

I've been fighting some nasty sinus thing on and off for a week. Usually, it lands in my ear, but right now it is in my upper sinuses. I also have cramps. And my feet hurt. My brain isn't behaving well. I am not choosing any of this. I'm tired of feeling guilty for not being able to control it, too.

So I'm sulking and suffering the post-concert blues. Everyone knows that feeling. All the good stuff that rushes through wanes, and the brain doesn't like the loss of the rushes. Call it chemical or hormonal or a combination. I already miss my live experiences. Unless there's something within an hour of me, though, I'm out of luck for a while. Oh yeah, and I really want to rebuild my account. It's not exactly where I need it to be. It's tons better than it was a few years ago, even with all the concerts and travel. Man, remember the shittiness of 2012? Fun times. (No, they were the worst, actually.)

I made it through that. I can make it through this year. It's just not going to be my favorite.

AGAIN.

Another Passage

In time, there will be more to say. The light will come back on inside, and the fire might even burn brightly for a while. The smoke and ash will clear away from this last time. The haze of detrimental infatuation will fade away. Life might even seem soft and comfortable.

Until then, what I have is a big pile of words that no one really wants to hear. There are the words I've already said a thousand times. There are the things that appear only in private. There are broken snapshots of times that were better, but long gone. It's loneliness again, for now.

Though I attempt to keep the best of things in mind, often all that I can concentrate on are the things that are so broken there is little hope for replacement and less for repair. I see the world isn't getting better. There is no steady climb up into a better world for everyone. Sometimes, we stumble into something great, but more often, I find us creating huge mud pits of despair for too many people.

I'm angry that I have to live with all of this. I'm angry that my own life doesn't progress, either.

Circle, circle, round, round, circle round, circle round.

It all just keeps repeating. The old chant once used for focus on bettering things now just comes to mind when life is repeating its stale and numb patterns at me. I seem to find that chant creeping up on me a lot, just not for anything good. It's just a reminder that life keeps going, and the changes are not always good.

An illusion of my past haunts me. It's the eve of a new cycle. The day in between living and dying is upon us. It doesn't mean anything now. Not that it meant much before. Just an excitement born in my childhood that I embraced. Especially when my peers and some adults were accusing me of Satanism. Call it reclamation. Call it rebellion. Call it Blugritin. I don't fucking care. The day had a feeling about it that I loved. I never let that go. I just can't assign anything bigger to it. It's just a day that makes sense to me.

We live. We die. We either face that fact and laugh at it from time to time, or we get sucked into the nothingness, again and again.

I miss laughing at it. I miss being able to poke fun at it. Right now, everything seems pointless. But I am trying. I am.

Last Travel of the Year

Well, there is a new band that I will never miss live as long as they hit somewhere I can drive. Marillion are even better in concert than in the studio. The videos don't do their performances justice.

This show was a completely different sort than any I've been to. Steve Hogarth is a great frontman. The audience is a bit older than even my older favorites. As he is called "H" I may as well go with that. H encouraged everyone to sit, because none of us are getting any younger. Which was the opposite of Ronan Harris, on Sunday, telling us to keep moving, no matter how old we thought we felt. I laughed pretty hard at that difference. Opposite genres bookending the week. We sat except to cheer at the end of songs. Which was difficult for me. I suppose I could have joined the people on the edge who were standing and dancing, but I didn't want to lose the view I had. I just bounced where I sat.

The guy next to me was a talker. I wasn't feeling overly talkative. I divulged this would be my only Marillion show because I pretty much spent all my money on The Cure over the summer. Yeah, I did have a little leftover for Morrissey, VNV, and Marillion. It's been a very good year for live shows.

Marillion started with "The Invisible Man" and moved into "Power" which satisfied me greatly. Wonderful performances of wonderful songs. A huge chunk went to the new album - which was opposite all the other shows, since no one else had a new album out this year to promote. (Though The Cure did debut two unreleased songs this year.) The guy behind me was lamenting the setlist, because apparently it was cut shorter than other shows. Had he not said that, I wouldn't have been any wiser, since I have not followed the setlists the way I do with The Cure (also NIN when they tour.) I guess other fandoms have issues with setlists, too, after all. Not just Cure fans.

"Afraid of Sunlight" and "Sugar Mice" topped my list of favorites, aside of the first two songs. I'm glad I heard the a lot of FEAR live, too, because I know in time, it'll be etched into my brain as classic. Right now it's settling in. I find things in it I didn't hear the first dozen listens. This is something The Fragile did, too. Layers and layers that I'll need time to process. And like The Fragile, I guarantee it'll end up in my top album list, in time. I like it well enough as is, but it is too dense to take in immediately.

The trip was quicker than I thought it would be. Apparently going to Northfield is easier than navigating downtown Cleveland, for me. Plus the Rocksino had lots of free parking. I'll take that any day over paid lots or finding a gentrified area to park in. The trip home was easy until  I got to the bridge that connects 75 and 71. I am sure it was less than 2 minutes, maybe even less than 1 minute that two fast cars who were ignoring lanes all along crashed into each other. Three cars in front of me came to a halt out of nowhere. Some pulled over, got out and began attending people. The car in front of me and I decided to drive on. I still saw a woman in the face turned facing us. I haven't heard, but if she lived, it'll be her little miracle. The image is stuck in my head.

I started to panic, so I had to get out, once I knew other people were on top of the accident. As tired and inexperienced as I am, I would have been no help. I didn't see anything that happened, anyway.

Please, people, remember these things are lethal weapons. Please don't add to the number on the Artimis signs.

One Bad Place to Another

There were plenty of entries in the journal I used to keep in the early 00s that had advice and maybe some platitudes. Mostly, though, the thoughts that consumed me were about the past. The words I dedicated to the old days seemed to never end. I reviewed it all without reservation, to the best of my own memory. I'm not saying it was all accurate. The brain distorts too easily. However, I kept writing until it was finished.

None of it matters to me anymore. The dedication in exploring all those things led to finally feeling like it was done. It didn't happen quickly. The time it took was considerable. The amount of digital space I took up was lengthy. It's over, now. Whatever I might write about the past is a glancing blow, in comparison.

Only occasionally do I think beyond the last few years. The prison of my youth has ended. The bars I constructed with the words and deeds of other people that were in charge of my life as a child and adolescent finally vanished. It is possible to see it go away. It happens.

Of course, being an adult, I have a whole new set of things to focus on. A whole new segment of my life that could have been done better or different has been plaguing me, instead of the distant past. It appears to be a cycle. I was busy cleaning out those other places in my brain, while a new segment of my brain cluttered and burst with issues I can now focus on.

None of this has been pleasant. None of this seems worth it, right now. I only hold on to the fact that the old memories were finally all ousted to hope these will clear out soon.

I keep hoping I'm getting to that promised land of age that allows for comfort and stability. I read so much about how we've got it backwards, and age makes things seem better and we get happier as we get older. We think age makes us worse, but it's supposed to be better, according to some studies that were done. I wonder when that will be.

My mother warned me that the teen years would be hell and to just get through them and things would get better. However, just when I should have been settling down, she died, then everything from my youth opened up in my head, and I exploded in rage and despair. Then found myself in a sham life with a sham marriage that I had to fix. Now, all that is over. When does it get better for me?

How long am I going to wait?

What Doesn't Work.

When I actually start thinking about anything that might be causing all this pain and anguish inside me, the list really brings to light just how pointless my life seems, right now. When I list the things I've tried to do lately that have resulted in failure, that only increases my sense of pointlessness. The list of things I've tried is getting bigger and the things I can try are getting smaller.

Cornered or boxed-in. Those are the two terms I'd use to describe where I am, right now.

And this won't improve when the world turns to ice.

I'm beginning to panic about winter.

This will be one of the hardest I've ever had. It won't be the hardest. And there are harder yet to come. Neither of these facts bring me any relief. Neither does trying to look for perspective about my life compared to others' lives. This world looks so unfortunate to me that I don't want to be part of it, anymore. So perspective isn't going to help me.

Also, there was an account on Twitter than followed me. Their platitudes and pointless posts about the Things Happy People Do or Don't Do made me very angry. Like I haven't spent 43 years pretending to be happy and trying to suppress all my complaints and pain. That got me absolutely nowhere. But hey, I get it, you're uncomfortable with the idea of people experiencing pain. If people hide it, you get to ignore it. Congratulations. Some of us still have to cope with it, though. Pretending or not.

An incident occurred a couple days ago that also angered me. I can't even publicly write about it, because someone will use it in a solipsistic way and create even more fucking drama. I'm done with drama. So, let's just say it pissed me off, and leave it at that.

Anger is the only reason I cry. So yes, I cried today for the first time in a long time.

I hope this passes very fast.

Remnants

(I'd like to write a flowing review of my favorite band. I'd like to talk about how incredible it is. Right now, it's a miracle I can type this. And it's not pretty.)

Maintenance time for my brain. Things in there are not looking as pretty as they could. Things that always bother me are bothering me. The same cycle of thoughts, the same physical manifestations of the pains that never quite heal and go away. I've been writing this out for a long time. There's no end. There's no cure. There's simply only management.

Safety mechanisms in place. Preparations have been made. All the tricks of the trade that I've learned and memorized. Yet it doesn't change the cadence of the horrible things going on in my head. The same lies are repeated on a loop. My fear of dreams keeps me from sleep. Or some audio hallucination snaps me out of the first moments of sleep. This is the same as it's always been.

The trigger of the gun was pulled. I won't satisfy anyone by telling them what that was. Just know that sometimes, my loaded weapon of a mind can definitely be detonated. The big red button flashes, someone pushes, all the "why bothers" creep back in. How long is this going to go on?

Another day is threatening me. Another sleep in fits and starts to precede the waking trudge through what feels like very thick mud. I'm not sure how to answer the "Why bother?" this time.

I just keep doing the same things I always do. Habit and routine. Without those, I'd be gone, by now. There is literally nothing else tethering me to the world. Plodding on into the world without a goal, without a hope, without a why.

This is it. That's all there is. It doesn't end up better. It just keeps cycling through, plateau or not, this isn't thriving. It's barely living. Coasting along on momentum that is dying. That's about it.

Traveling

The drive I took up to see Niagara Falls in person, for the first time in my life was wonderful. My week-shy-of-11 year old son loved the trip, too. While on the road, I felt real and free. It was quite a relief to me.

Niagara Falls isn't the hot point of destination it probably was when my parents were young. The town seems desolate and struggling. The horseshoe falls are gorgeous and inspiring. They are power and it's terrifying to imagine being unaware of it as you float down the river - long before we had it all mapped out. The vapor cloud rising high into the sky was lovely. The sound was calming. Most of the tourists that were there weren't American. I don't think the ones speaking English were, either. Pretty sure they came over to see the other side, because they were talking about how the view is better in Canada.

It was cold, the restaurant was closed, so we drove for a while, trying to find food. I didn't want to go back on the toll road right away. I took Buffalo Avenue/River Road for a while. The entire region is mostly industry and some family parks along the river. Even the marinas look empty now. It was kinda depressing, actually. All that great real estate, and it appears no one can live there, anymore. There was no business. There were no signs to any businesses. Just a bunch of Trump signs in yards. Something about that struck me as very stereotypical. I got off the road and back on the toll road just to avoid thinking too hard about it. This was my vacation, after all.

We stopped at a service area and ate crap food. We stopped in a pleasant hotel. I could tell they were struggling, but they were immaculately clean, had everything we needed, offered continental breakfast, staff was nice, and better than others in the $65 range I've ever tried. I'll keep America's Best in mind for next time. (This was the first non-Supernatural-reminiscent skeevy motel I saw on the road.)

I wanted to stop along Lake Erie, but after agreeing to it, when we were in Cleveland, he decided all he wanted was to go straight home. We turned around, and drove on home. The only snag in driving I had was when Siri detoured us around one mess in Columbus right into another. The second mess had just begun, so I can't really fault her for it. I got out of it quicker than I thought I would, though. Otherwise, the driving was easy and restored my love of it.

There is still nothing like traveling to help me navigate the down times in life. It will be something I must keep handy as I struggle through these days of being ensconced in a "nothingness" feeling.

Magic Sleep

I slept on and off most of yesterday and last night. The world looks so much better today. Also, I am off work for the next week, and that helps, too. The feeling of being trapped has dissipated. The invisible bars vanished for a moment. This keeps me going.

There are other jobs out there. There are other things to do, but they're the same. Since I didn't manage to get into the original field I wanted - education - nothing I do will ever make me feel better. Many people leave my company for Amazon, and end up quitting. Some have come back, others have gone on to other things. Their stories keep me away from that place.

I know I have to make phone calls tomorrow. I know many people don't understand my extreme anxiety over phones. One call I must make is to UC to have my hold taken off. I paid off the defaulted loan years ago, but their system still says I'm in default. I panicked, and clicked to see what they said I owed, and it was $0. Apparently paying off your debt isn't good enough. Go figure. Nothing about college is easy in the country, why would paying off a loan be good enough?

I'm not sure what I'll end up doing. If I can go to Gateway undeclared, at first, then begin to steer myself in a direction, that would be most helpful. The credits are guaranteed to transfer to NKU, once I've shown the system that 23 years is long enough to prove I want to do it right, this time. The lack of a degree is probably the single biggest thing I beat myself up about, now. There are people who beat themselves up about their degree, but I've seen the alternative and trust me not having the degree would give them way more fuel to the self-hatred fires. There's nothing like knowing I should have gone back before someone ELSE did. Especially since I knew, instinctively not to trust Brown Mackie.

I wanted to take time off before entering college. I needed time to just live. Had I not gone at all, as I wanted, going to college would be far easier - not saying it's a cake walk, but damn, is this harder still. I wanted to go after a break. I was 18, at the time. I should have just gone with my suspicions. Done is done, though.

Now, I have to make phone calls, and that's just about as bad as any anxiety I have ever felt.

It's my first day of vacation, and a Sunday. I'll take the day off, first.

Droning

There are seven days ahead of me without going to work. I don't have to get out of bed if I don't want to, because there's no school, either.

Yet I can't feel any joy. I don't feel much of anything.

This part needs to end, now. I want to feel good, again. I want to feel anything but the dull ache of being trapped.

There are no words I can offer. There is no bright light in store, it seems.

Please let this end, already.

Looking Ahead

I'm pretty sure this is as bad as it's going to get. It could last days. It could last weeks. My hold over my head is strong right now, but it's going to take rest and recuperation to keep holding strong enough. The "why bothers" and the "what point is there in me waking up every mornings" are damned strong.

Adrift in this tempest of my own teacup brain, trying not to fight. If you relax in water, you float up to the top. If you fight, you push yourself down. Letting go, and allowing myself to do what I need to do. Distractions and momentary glimpses of entertainment help. However, I feel trapped. It is that which leads to my depressions and my sadness. Anger and despair battle for the rights to the land. I'm hoping if I let them battle, they'll kill each other, and leave only a few soldiers for the next battle. The rest of me might be strong enough to take them, after they nearly decimate each other.

There are only two more workdays until I am off for seven days. I must remain long enough to see those days. Music will be my safe haven a couple weeks after that. I fear the winter. What will I do with myself then? I'm not sure. I'll need to work on a plan. This is just the start of it all. The pain of the cold and cramped quarters alone will make it harder. How am I going to last this winter? I've got to figure out how to manage it.