I've been pacing the floor for about an hour now, waiting for my main system to finish doing whatever it is that it's doing with it's virus ridden self. I pace and I look and I grab at the wall and come back with a hand full of nothing, appropriately. And when I see my empty hands I realize the two things I want the most in life.

Firstly, I want to do something. I want to start a project and finish a project. I want to care about something again. About finishing something, about making something. There is a person I want to be who I am not, and I don't know why. I want to blame everything around me but I don't, and I can't, because that's not fair to me since it's my fault. Sure, I try to paint something every night on the Cintiq, but I find myself more frustrated with it and myself than anything else. Out of 12 nights of painting, I finish one thing. One thing that isn't even that good.

I'm discovering things that appeal to me more and more, things I think I really want to be a part of but am not. Things that quite literally just make me a filthy hipster but I love it, because there is something raw and appealing about it. To it's core, to mine. I want to try but I'm not sure where to find the energy. Days I go to work my day job are 'wasted' in my mind because I 'already did work today'. How the fuck is that viable in any sense? Why can't I just do like I tell myself I will and do?

I'm not the only one with this problem. I know two others who are just as desperate for purpose and place, finding a way to feel like we fucking belong here. And I want to help us but I can't and I don't know how because nothing works. And the cold hard fact that I, and we, will just sit here and die day after day and the only thing stopping us is ourselves doesn't seem to make a difference. What is happiness and fulfillment, and why can't we seem to find it?

And secondly, I just want to love again. To miss and be missed.

One of two will suffice, but both are probably necessary.

"If we could both find a way to do the things that we say, we might not sit our room and drink our daydreams away"

Intermission

The next person to mention Fallout 3 New Vegas to me gets a swift punch in the balls. It's not that I have any hate for the game or series, it's that from time to time a sequence of personal events will jade my judgment. Such is the case with Fallout 3.

The act of being able to finish a game in my company is something that people who do not know me ('know me' meaning in a face-to-face context) seem to find exciting. My level of frustration when I'm attempting to do even the most basic of actions in a games tends to cause amusement to those around me; it's not that I am intentionally entertaining them as much as me being mocked from the side-lines. It is a common theme that seems to run through my actual relationships (see: girlboy and redfail) that pressing through a game with me apparently falls apart. My charms, they ain't much.

I never finished Fallout 3 because I was always acting under the impression that I was playing it with Jeremy. It was unfortunate when I realized he was playing the game alone behind my back in an attempts to do and be better than me in everything he could. That's a trend that seemed to stem into the rest of our relationship too I suppose, but I'm only bitter about the Fallout thing and not the.. falling out thing. I would love to be excited with you guys about Vegas, really I would, but it seems silly for me to get worked up over an expansion who's base I didn't even finish proper.

I would also like to mention that I'm pretty sure I don't like you at all. It is pathetic and I expected it, but that doesn't make it less upsetting. I think the words "will be taking care of me" were what set me off as 'time-waste', but the complete disregard for yourself is what really made me realize you aren't good enough. It is unfortunate that you're both too stupid to realize that, but doesn't make me feel any less ill, so I pop another pill and go on my way.

Um, lol

You're not better than 'that'. That's why the harsh light of reality beams so brightly on your face. It was impressive when you fought it, now it's just pathetically expected.

The good news is that you're just like everyone else now! (:


The bad news is that being different was the most amazing thing about you. ):

frank m. ahearn

The stress won't go away. It's constantly here now and there's not a fucking thing i can do to stop it. it's getting worse and it's killing me in more ways than one.

i've never really felt like a failure before. i really thought i'd never honestly give up hope. i'm at the very end of my rope, and i'm tired of this constant stomach pain. i'm sick of vomiting. i can't sleep or eat without feeling ill.

i don't care anymore about things. i just want to feel ok again. it's all i want. it's really all i want. and all the ways i know how to feel okay and get by are gone. i feel like i get in the way. so i'm going to move out of the way for awhile.


pat, i trust you and i believe you, even though you lied to me. if you don't think i'm worth knowing or worth being around, then i think you're right. i'm going to go fix that.

(and btw, i was working on a comic for you. i lie and say that it's only for myself, but it's really for you. only the first part was going to be about you though, the rest was about my grandma. she said she really really wanted to meet you when i saw her last and told her about you, and i told her that i thought you guys would get along great but she got sick two days after and then died. i kind of haven't been able to forgive myself for that, even though i know it's not my fault. she was the only one who was really OK with me being a faggot. she was my secret best friend. anyway i'll never finish it because no one is really going to give a shit about it, especially you. the sad part is, i think working on it was the only reason i didn't do this earlier.)


i'm going to go try and breathe again now

I'm sick, tired, a little lonely, and still mange to maintain my disdain for married women who hyphenate their names.

And ugh, Carlin is still dead.