Nothing quite like being 9000 miles from your family and home when a category 5 hurricane is going to land on your neighborhood. Didn't I do this once, already this year?
Your Penis Name is: Meat 'n' Potatoes |
You are |
Your Daddy Is Bill o'Reilly |
What You Call Him: Dada Why You Love Him: He takes you to Disneyland |
I just reread my last post in this here journal. I think I came off as whiny and sounding sorry for myself. That was not my intent. It just happened that way. That was written in as a stream of conciousness dialogue. Basically, it's me thinking out loud and letting you in on it.
I did not write that to sound sorry for myself. If I was fealing sorry for myself I wouldn't write about it for all of you people to read. There is enough of that crap coming from the kiddies around here.
1) I don't hate my life.
2) I love my parents because they DO understand me.
3) I don't alienate my friends
4) I don't cut myself, and if I did I wouldn't tell you people about it.
5) The inkblots look like urinal cakes, DAMMIT!
Go back and reread 5 and picture Nicholas Cage, in "The Rock" saying that line. (snicker) Now that's funny.
Where to start? Some say to start at the beginning, but that would just take too much time. I'm not really sure where the beginning is. Months ago, I came to this website and found like minds who (whom?) I enjoyed communing with electronically. I met a lot of people who I would eventually grow to call "friend." I met others who became more than that. Lately, I feel detached from all of this. I don’t feel the sense of community that I once did. I don’t feel as though I really belong here. I feel like a spy.
Let me pause a minute to state that this is not a rant about the general populace of the site. It’s not a “kiddie” bashing session. It’s me musing. It’s me brain-farting “aloud.” It’s mental drivel that is finding it’s way through my fingers into cyberspace. About half of you who read this will take it personally because that is the way you are. You all know who you are. Don’t take it personally. Guess what? This isn’t about you. It’s not about anyone. It’s stuff from my head. Get over yourself.
Anyway, Stephen King , in his excellent Gunslinger novels, writes of how the world has “moved on.” How it’s forgotten itself and just wandered away. You sort of have to have read the books to understand that, but even if you take it at face value, you will get the idea. Take it literally. I digress.
I feel as though my life is “moving on.” Not just with this site, but with life, in general. I feel the substance of my reality slipping through my fingers like sand. All of this takes place in my head, of course. It’s not so bad. I can go barefoot and pretend I’m on the beach. In my head. My reality is just wandering away without me. That’s kind of the way I feel just about every day. It doesn’t help that I’m 9000 miles from just about everything and everyone I care about. I’ve hardened myself to that part, over the years, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. There are a lot of people who just don’t understand that, about me.
Part of this moving on process seems to involve losing touch with people I care for or that I usually keep in regular touch with. Then again, I’m in better contact with some people now than I ever have been. It’s that damned yin/yang thing again.** Maybe there IS entropy in all of this. I don’t know. I say that a lot, don’t I? Too bad, so sad, my journal. Deal with it.
Maybe life really is like chapters, and this is just the end (or beginning) of a one. Possibly, this is the beginning of the dawn of a new “thing” for me. Gods know that this is year is going to be one hell of a ride. Maybe my psyche is just starting to put up the mental shielding that I’m going to need for the future. Shielding is the wrong word, but I’m finding it hard to dredge up snazzy vocabulary, right now. Shielding is close enough. Maybe I should have used “reactor control rods” instead of “shielding.” Yeah, that might be more like what I’m talking about. I do know that my thoughts tend to wander. I am not focused. I think I know how kids with ADD feel, sometimes. I have a bad habit of starting on something then “OH, LOOK! SHINY!” then pursuing something else, leaving the last thing uncompleted. I have a lot of uncompleted stuff left behind me on the road that my life is “moving on” along. This saddens me.
Some shrink would probably read this and say “Do not vorry yourself, Jason. Zis is all qvite normal.” Some people who think they know me might think they know what this is all about. If you do, then let me in on the secret. I, personally, don’t think there’s and answer. I don’t really want one. Again, it’s my journal. I’m just opening up my mind and babbling. There’s the slight possibility that getting this down “on paper” is therapeutic. That would infer (or imply) that I need therapy. Maybe I do, but I doubt it. Besides, I’d probably spend the sessions telling the therapist that the inkblots look like urinal cakes just to mess with him.
I digressed, yet again. It's all probably a crock of shit, anyway. Move along. There's nothing to see, here.
** - The word is NOT “ying”…too many boneheads think it’s YING. It’s NOT “ying,” it’s “YIN,” people. Take note.
Well, I'm rating profiles, trying to get my status up, (heheh) and realizing that people need to be more creative.
Come on folks, 25 quizzes in your profile doesn't really say shit about you.
By and large I don't dream. Well, I know, everyone dreams every night. It's part of being "sane." But I usually don't remember my dreams. For as long as I can remember I only recall my dreams once in while and I very seldom have nightmares.
Over the last week or so, I've been remembering my dreams. Two nights ago I had no less than 3 nightmares that woke me from a dead sleep. It was getting so bad with the nightmares that I was beginning to avoid sleeping. Trying to stay awake as long as possible. Doping on coffee and soda. But, you can't avoid Morpheus forever. Eventually, he's gonna get you. (Anyone who thinks I'm talking about The Matrix can stop reading this right now and google "Morpheus." So, sleep would overtake me and the dreams would start again.
Another important thing to note is that I've never had a reoccurring dream that I've remembered. Again, I'm assuming that I have had them but never, upon waking, remembered. Anyway, I haven't. Until this week. I'm having the same dream every time I sleep. It's an odd one, too, but I'm not going to go into it. It's not a nightmare. It appeals to my sense of the obscure and humorous. I find it funny. It's mine. You can't have it.
I feel as though someone is messing with my mind and making me dream. Lighting candles or casting spells or projecting bad wah or something. I feel like I need to wear an aluminum foil hat just to keep the bad thoughts out. Maybe hang a dreamcatcher over my bed. Or glue it to my head. I'd have to burn the thing every morning though. The things caught in it would be frightening.
So, anyway, last night I didn't dream. Whoever has been running through the hallways of my mind and spraypainting on the walls either took a night off or had something better to do. Whoever you are, thanks for at least one good night of rest.
At least I'm not seeing 6 foot demonic rabbits.
28:6:42:12
Well, it's August. Big, fat, hairy deal.
July was pretty much a bust. I had to go back to work. I found out I'm going back to the Persian Gulf (which is why August will suck, too), I turned 35.
There were a couple of highpoints to the month of July, but nothing I want to write about.
So, yeah, let's just shelve July and see if we can salvage the rest of the year.
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