Old Joy ++ Young Love

Down the lost highway at night to the girl that has come undone and approaches me with a different nature.

On being a ghost and fragmentation

I'll get this shit out of the way first. Been listening to this song far too much.

And I always find, yeah, I always find something wrong
You been puttin' up wit' my shit just way too long
I'm so gifted at findin' what I don't like the most
So I think it's time for us to have a toast

Let's have a toast for the douche-bags,
Let's have a toast for the assholes,
Let's have a toast for the scumbags,
Every one of them that I know
Let's have a toast to the jerkoffs
That'll never take work off
Baby, I got a plan
Run away fast as you can





Hiatus uplifted. That only took about two months until I felt the need to write something like this again. I was going to contextualize my boredom but I figured if you're reading this then you probably get it.

I've been a ghost. I'm a lost soul searching this world for something I left behind. I'm haunting but no one sees me. Nobody believes in ghosts. I moved a chair in my room and noticed some cobwebs between it and the wall. Dust covers the surfaces of everything here. This is where I sleep or where I thought I've slept. I must've died though, it must've been years since a body actually occupied this place. I hardly move. Nothing changes. The world only ages; slow, almost a still life. I haunt the streets I used to walk, the buses I used to ride, and the institutions I never really belonged to. I see a familiar face pass before me and in the moment it takes to register their identity I pause a moment before pursuit. I call out their name but they can't hear me. I scream and cry in vain. On the train somebody calls out to me and I face them. They're unfamiliar to me. Plus I have shitty vision. It's another lost soul, an experienced one that can take on the form of a human being but she's transparent to me. They speak like somebody I know but their identity doesn't register, they're pleased to even see me still roaming the Earth as if I had a choice in the matter. It's not that any of us are celebrities but this is just the way things go. I'll drift on by and through buildings to hear the moans of others. We can't stop and commiserate, not like in the days of life. Not even time for the occasional co-worker relationship consisting entirely of a series of hellos and goodbyes. People don't know where I'll be unless they ask me. My co-workers just presume I'm drinking with friends or conversely, my friends presume I'm working. But this I speak of is being a ghost. To text me is to look for me despite my apparent lack of existence. I am on the same plane as everyone else but if they don't see me they don't know that. It's questionable whether I'm really alive or aware of my Sisyphean search for someone who doesn't see me. To so many I am a ghost. I am only seen in impromptu visits if you don't live or work with me. Back to the metaphor. I'd be the walking dead if my existence wasn't under a spell of vertigo. I've become miasma. I can not reach out to my old friends because they will not recognize me. If they manage to spot me, they'd be made uncomfortable by the apparition I've become; an old soul without a vessel to express my yearning.

My love is more than the sum of all of my fragmented relationships. As defined by Wikipedia: In computer storage, fragmentation is a phenomenon in which storage space is used inefficiently, reducing storage capacity and in most cases performance. The term is also used to denote the wasted space itself. And furthermore: Data fragmentation occurs when a piece of data in memory is broken up into many pieces that are not close together. I've had this concept in my mind awhile now; that I have one fragmented relationship divided among various females. The storage space I've long since reserved for one person is instead taken up by several incomplete relationships. Rather, none of the relationships I have are the one in particular I'd like. So this space in my head and in my heart is wasted. In it's place I have several relationships that collectively would make up one whole girlfriend. I could have arguments over nothing with someone who lacks every other quality necessary in a lover, fortunately I don't have that part of a couple with most anyone. I do have a mostly unrequited chase; that spark that I feel that the other doesn't. Someone has been excited to see me, we hugged and held hands, in this moment I felt a little shy or uncomfortable because I didn't want to lead them on. Repeat that scenario and change the identity of the person I come into contact with, only this time I reciprocate all her affections with no remorse and walked away glowing. I'm very fortunate to even have these very occasional spurts of affection, but it's not enough. It's not what I want. I could gaze into a person's eyes and feel nothing. I can have thoughtless contact mean nothing to someone else meanwhile it's keeping me up all night. I can watch pornography or fantasize over intimacy. But none of it is reliable or complete, it's fragmented and inefficient. Somebody hopes to see me. I'm a little charmed and pleased to see someone. But we aren't the same pair excited to see one another. The space is being wasted. Parts of everyone are being stored away and forgotten. Someone I need is stored in small percentages littered across my memory. Other people are stored beside bits of the last person, completely unrelated and unable to access the parts of my memory taken up by the other fragments. I love. I kiss. I talk. I befriend but never with the same person. My lover's identity is in flux. I can't focus my love because the people who stand before me are dissected and placed together in allocations. The memory of Jane Doe is created, broken up, and divided into everyone I know--male and female.

I do wish this were about defragmentation but it's not. I can't make or fake some magical relationship that doesn't exist. My friend pointed out that I have high expectations out of whoever's to come. I think he's right and if I'm ever to achieve that it'll take time to build up. I've tried to end the fragmentation about once since March and it didn't work. I've had this progressing relationship with this girl and last night I told her I really liked her. She probably would've been weirded out had I said it while I was awake and had she actually been there.

In Vitro (Spitfire Cover)™

Do I look like the kind of guy that threatens himself in the mirror? As I write this my mind is swimming in disarray; I lost sight of my days, I have a headache, and two unwelcome familiar ills seeped into my fucking chi. Cheer up, carry on, laugh it up. Perhaps this ship is disintegrating in the atmosphere. This one will mostly be about people, mostly me, and then probably a little you.

We freebased the world like a challenger explosion.
And lit up the sky so the world could see.
That the sleeping giant sky swats it's fly.
That the farmer beats his seeds back down to Earth.

I love us best when we aren't so desperately unrequited toward one another. When you don't nag me about how we haven't hung out. When we're having carefree fun. Guiltless and relaxed. I've had two extravagant and romantic outtings, at least, this month with my friends. 1! My friend randomly invited me to drink with him and some others in Boulder. Turns out they're all hanging out in a mansion! It was pretty cool, there was an elevator. And in that place of all places I got to try DMT. (The mansion in general, not the elevator.) It was aight. The night dragged on until sunrise. It was awesome. Of anything I want to remember of that whole outting is this: after the long night around noon some of us were leaving while most everyone was sleeping in later, but! the one who invited me was saying his goodbye to us as we left. He was walking away from us, trudging up the stairs, I said, "Thanks for inviting me," he stopped with his back still facing me, then turned to shoot me a thumbs up and a gigantic sardonic smile, then continued up the stairs. It's just a snapshot I'm going to try to keep embedded in my mind. 2! Ok so my company picnic this year was at Eltich Gardens. I spent a day with this friend of mine who had been missing in action for awhile. He's getting his life together or some shit like that. Whatever. Ayway, he accompanied me to our local amusement park.

THE CATORING WAS HORRIB-B-B-BLE. 

Moving on, I saw lots of coworkers and had brief superficial conversations blah blah blah fuck you. Once again all I care to disclose is one snapshot that summarizes the evening well enough for me. We ended our date with a ride on the ferris wheel. Very romantic. It's got these cool new lights outside it too, you can see them from like Colfax driving toward I-25. Good reminder that Elitches is there. On this ride we continued picking up wherever we left off in our friendship. He even tried to start small talk with this couple in the neighboring gondola on my behalf. What fun! Ok so anyway, it was night time: being on the ferris wheel was pretty, fireworks went off and there was a lightshow we could see, as well as a scenic view of downtown, and to top it off I smoked a cigarette because I'm a fucking cowardly rebel.

Alright, stories over, back to being cryptic. I now see your bus pass in the opposite direction and I am saddened by this loss. Like the one before you, you are actually missed. A feeling I'll gladly accept for the few days it resonates. It's all for the best and it's not over yet.

[Enter miscellany]
Why I'm ok being alone
Why I continue to smoke
Why I drink
Why I get frustrated
Why I will not tell you how I feel
Nothing changes
[Exeunt mescellany]

Is it that you actually want to tell this girl she is pretty or are you just avoiding telling someone else they're an asshole?

Sigh if you must over those people dwelling on day old drama. Though you've found it in your heart to move on, I know that you haven't outgrown your day old self.

As if beneath this paragraph was one word, covered up. A name etched in my mind and buried by words. Consider anything I write an open letter to everyone I'm not talking about my feelings with. Not anymore, this outlet is nowhere near the denial of emotion it used to be. There's still some catharsis in this act but this is nothing magical. Not even for me, this isn't necessary to go on, it's just something I practice and play with. I'm not one of those people that absolutely needs to create toward some end. I do not think I'm any better for this than anyone else is for whatever they occupy their time with. I do not even expect most people to read anything I write, ever, not even if I pour my time and effort into it. At least for now this is how I feel about the matter. I am disillusioned. I caught a glimpse of the person you could be, only to realize again and again that that person doesn't exist, not for me. Run on, fuck people and their friends over without a word or a thought.

"He did not take care of her and she died alone somewhere in the dark and there is no other dream nor other waking world and there is no other tale to tell... She was gone and the coldness of it was her final gift."

The thinking man has bad posture. Stop believing you think or feel more than everyone else because you caught some professor using poor grammar. Don't rest your head when you know you can't catch up on sleep.

I recently finished reading Dune. Now I want a concubine

Life passes with a bang!!!
It blows your mind or you get the hang.
It's the business end of a shotgun.
Eat the lead
Be masculine.
Like a gag ball in the mouth of a squealing pig.
Skin is fat
muscle food.
Loose meat is dead meat.

[Enter miscellany]
I'm devoid of tact, devoid of interest. I'm curious to meet your acquaintance but I'm above trying these days. I'm anywhere I go to play the same old games with my friends. Otherwise I'll be home alone doing things like this. Letting this void absorb me. Letting my agoraphobic walls close in on me. By the end of the two days a week I'm free from employment I'm too scared to leave or answer any phone calls because I do not know how to tell a cashier I want a pack of Camel Filters without thinking he's thinking I'm coming onto him. So if you were wondering why I seem shy or awkward that's probably it.

Buy brand name products. I do! It's worth it sometimes!
Feel an awful hell realizing spendthrift investments go very little distance. I do!


I just do.

I am more premeditated than I seem. How I do it is I make a plan, start doing it, and forget it was a plan. It turns into happenstance. It turns into something I'm just doing. Then when someone questions me I shrug my shoulders and say: nothing.

It is the time for reclamation. I've returned from the mount equipped with the commandments to escape falter. The bill has been passed, despite my endless vetoes and postponings. I'm determined to end the frustration and misdirection.
[Exeunt miscellany]

A shot in the arm
a shot in the dark.
Take it like a man.
Mainline to heart.
It's over.
Just take it slow.
Go with the flow in vitro

Speaking of which, if I had to pick a theme song for myself it'd be In the House - In A Heartbeat by John Murphy or Scala & Kolacny Brothers cover of Creep (Radiohead). Not sure which is more relevant to me.

I wrote most of this sober. I just didn't really have any clear intent or direction with any of it. That and I just left the document open on my computer for days on end.

It's been a year. Abrupt endings are the best. I'm moving onto another fishing hole, surely this one has run dry. This blog is complete or on indefinite hiatus from here on out. Alright, I'm done here.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

I am not fit to take care of myself or anyone else. I buy toys in lieu of groceries all too often. Rather than feed myself I prefer more entertainment and distraction. I am not made to wear white. Everything white I own permanently looks dirty within a week of wear. A sign of apathy and disregard for the things I'm responsible for. I am made to vomit and spit phlegm from my throat. I lay claim to the common man vices, everyone's slow death, and self destruction. I am made to get dirty. I am made to feel good about, if not revel in this. I am ugly and I sincerely love few things. Did you know I am happier learning who I am and what I want?

'Was that awkward?' a frequent afterthought of mine. I find disconnection in this modern world, not all the time and not with everyone, just in general. I find it in the devices we use for discourse, most commonly texting and social networking; anything devoid of emotion really. I will hear someone--in person--express an emotion, an emotion relevant to what's going on right in front of me. I do not react. I ponder it. I meditate on what's going on. This can be an inappropriate response. The delay is rude. This common dissonance inches me in the direction of being a non-person. Me, the automaton. You can cry your heart out to me and I'll stand like a statue; still with a blank expression transfixed on my face. It's dehumanizing but it isn't so much a pressing issue for me so much as it is a basic observation. Alas it is a problem I do not care to solve, as I am--perhaps ironically--unaffected by it.

This brings me to another point: nobody is looking for me. I do not have my phone on me at all times because I have nobody keeping tabs on me. I have only scheduled meetings or the notion that I'll hang out with someone in a two day period. I exist in routine, spontaneity is sparse. It's somewhat weird having no need to check my phone to see if someone is trying to get a-hold of me because seldom they are. I do not miss it. It's just strange. I'm confronted by this fact somewhere alone and strange, or perhaps somewhere I shouldn't be. There is no one tugging at my pant leg to question where I am or what the hell I'm doing, thankfully. I am a free range creep. I do not miss the days of rampant social living, dependent friends or family. I just don't carry around my cell phone with idle hopes of being asked how I'm doing or if I'm free on any given day. I'm content like this. I go to work. I hang out with co workers. I come home. I hang out with my room mates. I have late nights and days off. I meet my friends for fun. It's easy. I prefer this to the gray area of reaching out to someone or trying to meet the hand of someone else. My world is a crowded city street, I respect everyone's personal space, apologize for the occasional shoulder I bump and I'm pleasantly surprised by the occasional, almost familiar face I run into.

Starving Monsters, Sleeping Giants
What do you work for?
Experiencing nothing but marginal change.
Know not what more you want, know not what you want with what you've got.
Know that you can't leave, know that leaving won't change your condition.
Geography is not the problem.
The absence of motivation is the problem.
The absence of momentum is the problem.

The monster has grown overfed, nothing but seven deadly sins.
It's rival, the giant, lies dormant.
No intrinsic forces compel either to live or die, they just go on eating and sleeping.






Permalinks are a myth. Not really, they probably work on some websites. I like the idea of a permalink, linking to something that will not expire. I never heard the term link rot before, but I guess that's what it's called. The above image and the below video, for instance, will probably eventually rot. Like a video a posted some months back is now just a YouTube frame with the title of that old video in it. It's just frustrating to click on a link to see that it now leads to nowhere, or an error page of some sort. Reminds me of when people used to delete their profile on MySpace then all of their comments would disappear. I get attached to the digital mementos so it's saddening to know that they're even more transient than everything else.

The story of vomit. Earlier this month I had caught some form of food or alcohol poisoning. I was drinking gin & tonics and eating a lot of tamales. I didn't eat or drink an exceptional amount of either things relative to my normal intake. But the following morning I woke up around 8am and realized my stomach was feeling weird. I laid in bed for a good 40 minutes still dreaming, but the fact that my stomach hurt starting getting incorporated into some of my dreams. I got up and went to the toilet, see if I should vomit. It was difficult at first, I had gagged myself a few times to no avail but eventually I puked a lot. The consistency was very solid. So after some of this I crawled back to bed with the comfort of knowing I still had an hour or so of rest until I had to work. A restless hour or so later I walked to the bus stop a block and a half away. At the bus stop I still felt uneasy. I sat at a curb there staring toward the direction the bus was coming from, grasping my head and feeling sick. I started walking back home, I ignored the bus stopping for the couple running past me. Past the auto dealer I felt the necessity to vomit. I puked in front of and behind a dumpster. In pain I continued on my way back home, vomiting once more in a puddle in front a neighbor's house. Around 11am I called my superior, let him know I had to feel ill awhile more before I could make it into work. He made jokes of how I over slept or drank too much. It was decided I'd make it in for the latter half of my shift. I watched a movie and puked once more in the four extra hours I had worked into my day. That puke was painful. I let out the quantity of water I had drank that morning to feel better. Then there was a lot of dry heaving, burping, and pressure on my stomach amounting to nothing. My stomach was empty but the ill remained. Anyway, I made it into work for the dinner shift and I was grumpy at worst. The point of the story was just to tell about my day of food poisoning. The following day at work I ate no solid foods. And for the next few days I lightened up significantly on alcohol. Nothing seemed appealing to me. I reveled in that feeling, like anything bad for me or distasteful actually had no appeal. 

"I'm not enthused."

I've picked up the phrase "I probably won't." lately. I like it. It's honest. Anyway, this has got to end somehow. So here's an inconclusive, incongruous paragraph.

It isn't until you microwave most of your meals that you realize just how precious the minutes and seconds of your life are. And if you've never microwaved most of your meals or ever wanted to kill yourself then you don't know what I'm talking about.

"But I will believe in me"

This one goes out to my super-ego, dwelling somewhere in the shallows of a bayou.

We'll start with some sentences for the ladies. I see her in my dreams and love it, but perhaps a fantasy relationship is not the best indication for my reality. Lest I exist in nostalgia, the tragedy has been writ, she is the oldest story in my book. I miss something we once had, what was never complete, it passed and I continue to reach for an idle hand--your phantom limb. I see fit to steer clear until the tides change. 

Time spent waiting is free time wasted. Oh precious time how you're always getting wasted.

This evening (May 30th) I watched the first 20 minutes of the movie "The Blind Side" per a customer's recommendation, then I remembered I'm not in the market for that kind of heartfelt tale right now. I will watch it soon though. Instead I watched "The Wackness" it had some golden moments but otherwise it was only alright yo, great sound track though.

Otherwise I've been listening to Trash Talk's newest release "Eyes & Nines" pretty awesome. It's aggressive and simple. They're a nicely tailored suit for my peace of mind. Malcontent songs about something vaguely poignant. I can't wait for them to come back to this city. For the former half of this month I just listened to Say Anything's song "Into the Night" and the Cancer Bats cover of "Sabotage" on repeat.

I was thinking about loud sex this past month because a friend of mine made an offhand comment about it, then coincidentally enough I overheard some this month. I was just wondering if it was awkward for people to have loud sex when they'd know very well that others would be able to overhear them. Exhibitionists aside, I think so to a certain degree. After enough thought I just resolved that it's probably like masturbating, urinating in a sink to save water or any other normal bodily function. It's awkward to be heard doing one's animalistic deeds but it's not altogether uncomfortable. After all, shame is learned. I guess I'd also have to put aside those guys that grunt in the stalls of public restrooms before they make a splash. For myself, I think I'm comfortable enough with it so long as there's a closed door separating myself and whoever I'd be with (purely hypothetical, I know) between the prospective audience. On a related note, it's not at all weird to shave your face in front of people, but it is entirely deviant behavior to shave your balls in front of people, what's the deal with that?

I finally got some recognition for my efforts at being funny and likable. A sergeant from the Denver Police Department contacted me directly. Apparently RTD's transit watch had been receiving texts from my phone. Someone was reporting false suspicious behavior. The sergeant seemed dismayed to even be speaking to me, much less reading back part of a text to me. I told him it was probably one of my friends. By the way, I really need to work on my improvisation skills, I've been slacking on that shit since November of 2008. I'm immature, but it's toward an end I swear; this town's missing something.


Besides that, it was much more enjoyable than writing RTD a complaint letter. Counter productive? Perhaps. The conversation ended with me giving the sergeant my word that the texts would cease and a "Yes sir." The worst part about all of this is now when I really get tangled up with the gays and minorities in public transportation no one will believe me, I'll be just like the girl who cried rape.

Buyer's remorse. I am far too open to the power of suggestion. I've recently picked up the habit of rolling my own cigarettes. I am not good at it yet, but it's easy enough. Anyway, when I get into silly consumer hobbies like this, I like to buy nice things to start with. I planned on buying a nice little case to accommodate my cigarettes. There was a cool spring opening thin case, but because the guy at the counter suggested a different ornate case, that was wider and not spring loaded, I thought it didn't matter. But after thinking about it, I definitely should've bought the other one. It doesn't matter, I just bought something I didn't prefer. Second case of buyer's remorse; Skullcandy® headphones. I bought a pair of low-end ear buds for $25 dollars roughly a month before one of the buds stopped working. There's probably a warranty I could cash in on had I not tossed the receipt and packaging. The last pair of decent ear buds I bought did the same thing, probably just product of wearing them all the time and not taking good enough care. But I certainly don't overly abuse them. It's just shitty products. Why even put out worthless products? I know it's low-end but I didn't think it'd stop functioning within a month. Point being, I get mildly frustrated at the way I waste my income, and to a lesser extent shitty consumer goods.

Well shit, now I'm left to talk about myself and my month. I've had a resonating frustration since one night of unbearable heat and moaning but maybe the scales were tipping prior to that. Fortunately for me I've armed myself with some reference material; a new personal journal. I had stopped writing personal journals back in December and am now back at it in a different way. I'm handwriting, which is something I didn't do much before. When I hand write--I'm shorter--more impatient to get ideas onto a page. I'm slower and don't think things through, at most I can scratch out words, I can't just backspace my work. I'm liking this because rather than explain myself to myself more thoroughly all I have to do is jot down whatever the fuck I feel like writing.

Glad I took up so much space hypothesizing about what loud sex is like so I could avoid talking about my month. As always thanks for skimming my devil worship blog, see you in hell.

LUCIFY CRUCIFER

There's a word for that. Is this necessary?

I cheered a glass of wine to myself this month and revisited me. I've been on the internet since 2006 doing shit like this. It's weird hearing things without saying anything. Being connected to people on the internet without having any irl relationship. I know so much random shit about people without being their friend. It's bittersweet. Some people would be fun to be closer to, others I'm happy to appease with internet friendships and no irl contact. I'm the only one entitled to say how crazy it's been that we haven't talked in years.

Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share  

-Simon & Garfunkel (knew what was up.)*

It's saddening to see myself repeat my old problems of which--despite any growth I might see--is always the case. I'm still conning myself into thinking a higher education is right for me. I still buy cigarettes. I still lurk randoms on the internet. I'm alright with these things. I drink a little too much wine and realize the truth of the matter. I've always been making promises to myself with the hope that someone else is is listening. (Credit: This Is Hell - Prelude (Again)). I'm done with that, at least publicly. As far as you're all concerned I'm content with things until further notice. I'll be done with this narrative soon enough.

I'm an old man. So the other day I went on a couple day bender. One night I got sloshed at a show and gashed up my shins and knees after falling when I was running in circles--well worth it. The next night I went out to a party with my friend and met a bunch of people, it was a late night but I didn't drink any hard alcohol. The night ended with an entertaining attempt at trying to retrieve my friends roommate's car from somebody he had lent it to, that failed, but we still got a ride to their place just the same--again, well worth it. The next morning I had to bus to work from my friends place. It was difficult to get up, but I've been that way since high school. The first thing that weirded me out was that as I was getting seated on the bus, as it was starting to go I lost my equilibrium twice. Almost stumbled into one guy and then another. It was funny but usually I have a better grasp on my faculties to handle standing up on a bus. Granted, I was hungover I've just never had a hangover wear on me that much. And the strangest thing that same evening happened, I was taking a nap in the shower, right? And I got a cramp in my side. I never have cramps. Cramps are for women. And since then the back of my thighs have been sore. It's all very new and strange to me. I don't think all of these things are actually signs of aging, just that I probably should take better care of myself.

It's funny thinking about my same sex relationships. I never know whether they're waxing or waning. I never know when an estranged friend will make me happy. I almost never see it coming. I also never anticipate their leaving. I generally am not saddened by it either. I'd love to keep certain friends around, but they come and go, no matter; even the best of them. It is very few of them that I'm always fond of, even fewer that I write off for some period of time. Idc

I have inadvertently began the past four paragraphs with alternating 'I's and 'It's' now that I've recognized the pattern I have no intent to stop. I read things wrong. Other people read things wrong. Messages aren't communicated. Messages are lazily put out there. It happens. I will think you meant one thing. I will think you were hinting at something. I will be wrong. You will hint things at me. I'll acknowledge it in the most nonchalant way possible. That's all. Idc.

It's been a month of some releases of bands I used to love more. Three to name: Blue Sky Noise, Goodmorning, Magpie, and We Were Exploding Anyway. Check 'em out if you want to confirm with me that she ain't what she used to be. Idc.

Scratched out a note I wrote for you
to wake and read
to know that I was there once
I knew that there was nothing that I could write to assure you
of my return
But all the paper said when I was done is
‘do you still want me?’
because I’d be terrified if I had to leave this place today
We haven’t saved the baby

As I said
my darling
spring is constantly calling me
and there’s no place that I’d rather be

I won’t be angry
if you have to leave,
but I won’t be waiting
for that day
So don’t say you’re sorry because
I won’t believe you

At the end of writing this (formerly midway through writing this) I lost interest. Go figure. I'd apologize but...idc. Fuck you. Fuck all of you. Jk. Ily ttyl.

*quote addition 20100622

My Father's Son

One of the things I have in common with my father is the tendency to annoy people I like and feel comfortable with to the point of them being legitimately angry at me. My father recently had a friend of his die. Apparently my dad lost a lot of sleep over it, so I heard from my mom. My father seemed to try to put his friend out of mind to avoid all the ugliness dwelling on it brought upon him. In all of this, the only words I've exchanged with my father were whether he'd heard from his friends' family since last we talked, he hadn't. This to me is a reminder of my inability to be closer with my family. I'm not sure what to make of my father's coping mechanisms, or in how many more ways than one I am like him.

I'm not going to lie by saying I haven't done anything to cope—as if that bullshit didn't bother me. The most extreme example of this was trying to con an ex-girlfriend into a sleep over, to be fair I usually want to sleep with her anyway (and I do mean sleep). I succeeded but I didn't get much degree of comfort out of it. It's a little funny she can't stand me these days. Mainly to cope I just surround myself with friends I love, and occupy my mind with more positive things. It's tasking though, a lot of my friends—no matter how unrelated—caught this contagion from a new found acquaintance of theirs, I've been curing them one by one after being surprised by who all caught it. At least I got to feel heroic for a minute, like I had a purpose. When something bothers me, I get monomaniacal, I hate it. I feel better laughing it off, I'll laugh it all off. I'm over it.

I love the people I surround myself with. I can't help but think about it these days. Everywhere I go there's someone I love for some reason. I can get fucked up on wine, I can stay sober, I can be nonchalant and noncommittal, slightly different things for the lot of them. Point being: I've got friends. I can hang out with them on late nights, I can talk at length on the music we love, on very rare occasions we can sing along to the music we love. I can speak with 'em over the phone for hours. I can discuss books, ideas, movies, anything. These people are my family, coworkers, and above all else my friends. They've been here through the years, despite coming and going, and all changes considered they're still here. We choose who we stick with, and I'm pleased with the results of that. This is a bit ridiculous, but I felt the need to say it. This is one major difference between my father and I, he doesn't socialize much whereas I get obsessed.

So I still have a job, as unfortunate as that sounds it's not all bad I assure you. This job is enabling me to playact an adult. I never intend to mature in certain ways but this is all a lot of exhibition. Though this thing consumes so many hours of my week (38) and then some because of the commute, it's alright. There are hobbies I wish I had more time to pick up, but that's alright. Work is enabling be to: live away from the nest, pretend I care about my education, and buy nice things. It could lead to all sorts of other money related things, which great because everything is money. Everything has a price tag. Worth is measured completely in wealth! It's great. ½ jk. After six months of dishes, they finally promoted me to a full-time server. While this of course is not my passion, I enjoy this. I like my bosses. I have met interesting coworkers. I've gained a friend who without fail will kick it with me while I work, and he bums me so many cigarettes. Work keeps me connected to my mom, I only spend like a half an hour a day with her so I'm forced to actually update her on my life or ask about hers. I'm content with where I work, it doesn't suck.

I'm weirded out that out of all the music I've been listening to lately nothing is my favorite. I've even found some gems. But going to concerts is just sort of a checklist activity for me, if not an attempt to get back into bands I've stopped caring about. I'm still excited about a lot of the upcoming shows, and a lot of albums that are getting released, but it's a safe bet that I won't be blown away by anything. Lame.

MY HAIR IS THINNING. I CAN'T AFFORD ALL THE THINGS I WANT AND STAY WITHIN MY MEANS. A DROID PHONE, AN IPOD TOUCH, AN STD TEST, A NICE CAR, A POCKET WATCH, SOME PIERCINGS AND A NEW TATTOO, A SLEEP NUMBER BED, AND SOME NICE NEW SKINNY PANTS; I WANT IT NOW, DADDY.

“Complain! Complain! Life sucks anyway, if it's all so hard let them take it all away.”-Youth Brigade
It's eerie, I don't hate my life, (not even 1/3 of the time) though I still really like that song. I'm going to have fun with this while it lasts. I feel untouchable, and there's no way I'm letting go of that; aside from all those times I fall in love and get all vulnerable-like. Ughn!