Okay- I made a pact with myself-- I'm going to write until I finish this second beer. Hang on, i'm *almost* done with my first. Two-- thats all I have.

I wanna say that I feel soon, something great is going to come from my two typing fingers. I feel something around the corner-- cant touch it yet. Maybe I'm just shitting myself.

Things fell apart in Las Vegas. Came to a point where there wasn't anything more I could do- I left myself open to being screwed, and I was. Roger, half of the couple that has been putting Jenny and I up while we get our shit together, just came out. He can't sleep either.

Has to do with what we, as people, as employees, as humans leave ourselves open to just to try to have a decent place to live and enough food to eat.

I got my own problems-- I dont play *nicely* with others-- I cant work or thrive in the corporate world. I see things the way I do, I cant apologize for that, which puts me at odds too often with the "way things are."

I'm not so cocky as to think that I know everything, but fuck you-- you hire me to do a job, I'm going to do it as I know best. Tell me different, tell me to do something anyways, and fuck you. I cant do it.

I trust people, even though I trust no-one. You have to. I have to. Money is such bullshit. But what choice do I have? I have to believe or trust the people I work for or do work for that they will live up to the standards they profess and that I will be paid for my time and effort.

It doesn't happen.

I've been screwed many times.

My dad's been screwed.

Nearly everyone I know has been screwed.

I miss my babies.

Back to the beginning. Always.

I wrote something once. The beginnings of a novel. It's called Bone-Setter. The few people I've shared it with have told me to finish the fucking thing. Email me if you want a copy. If you say the same, I'll prolly ignore you too.

Thank god(s) (desses) that Drop Dead Fred is on. Just watched before I started this brain vomit an episode of Law and Order that kicked my ass. Drop Dead Fred-- Christ-- when I first saw that movie on video, it was like the first time I read Vonnegut. Or Cummings. Or Miller.

No, I didn't have a pretend friend/psychopath as a kid. But christ, I had everything in my head. Imaginations and horrors and alternate realities that sufficed for the time.

So much of that has gone, almost all of it. It's all been tidied up into two things that I'm pretty sure happened in my life, as preposterous as they are and unprovable.

One- That I was molested as a child.

Two- That I was abducted by aliens.

Perhaps it was the aliens that molested me. That would make everything real nice and neat, no?

I'd let Drew Barrymore abduct and molest me now...

But I digress.

I feel something coming.

I just wish to all hell that I knew what the fuck it was.

This page hosted by  Get your own Free Home Page