Something wicked this way comes. Again.

Or perhaps it is already here. I'm not looking at this as if it were a bad thing, I see it as more of a cleansing. Of course I do worry that there is nothing left to cleanse; that other than the anger, bitterness, and general darkness that mull about inside me, well, there really isn't much left. It has all been pushed out or into hiding.

So I think that I've been trying to separate me from me. Which of course, is not easily done and is typically handled with a mixture of antipsychotic drugs. Not really what I'm going for. Maybe I'm trying to separate me from what has led up to me becoming who I am since I happen to be so fucking miserable of late. That makes sense, doesn't it? It's like I'm trying to start again, but being the person I am, I have to get rid of the things around me that only serve as reminders.

Interestingly, I feel that every item I get rid of must be thrown away. I'm referring to things other than clothing - decorative items, personal items collected over the years. Reminders of vacations long past. They cannot be donated, they must be thrown away. I can't explain why, but I think I'm close on that. I'll know why soon enough.

There is less and less around to show that I even exist. In a way that bothers me, seeing that my imprint here is disappearing. For as apathetic as I've become in one sense, I can't even bother to care. In another sense, I'm on the border of panic and seeing the things most important to me in the trash really doesn't help. It's like I'm punishing myself for not being able to be the person I was given the tools to be.

Is this about failure or beginning anew? How different are they, really? Is there some sort of hint at mutual exclusivity there?

Do other people do this shit?

I have to solve every world crisis, fix every wrong, help those who won't help themselves - all with a smile. And that really pisses me off.

I mean, why should I have 90,003.2 things to handle while my dippy-ass coworker (family member, neighbor) gets to live a life without all that shit? My Life: The Shitfest... catchy book title? If I had more hours in the day, those hours would undoubtedly be filled with somebody wanting something from me or just taking it. Suppose they might be right when they say you'll rest when you die.

Yesterday, I explained to someone that the reason I keep so much in and just pretend it doesn't exist (and in turn end up sick and in need of medical attention) is that I am so fearful of really letting go on someone. Not a stranger - I do that enough, but someone I know. Someone who has spent many days pissing in my frappuccino so that my anger is built up. If I start, I am afraid I wouldn't stop. If I start, I truly believe that without realizing it, I could hurt someone. Or worse. Could I kill someone? Yes, in a fit of rage I most certainly could. In a last desperate attempt to free myself of them and the frustration they dole out. Unfortunately I am prone to fits of rage and compulsive behavior. I could not plan such a thing no matter how I felt about a person. But if circumstances were right, they were pushing and pushing and I'd lost the last gossamer strand of patience I had, then yes. The rage would drape me in a pall made of anger, tears, and too much time spent suffering for their stupidity.

I think I scared her.

As with everything, there is a duality. For as sweet, pleasant and friendly as I often am, no one knows that although there is a genuine spark there, it goes out almost immediately. It used to be there, so I know the role and can go through all the motions unflinchingly. But somewhere inside, I've been scarred and frightened. Smiling through the chaos just to keep my life. Anger and fear have blended into a toxic amalgam to fill in the remaining cracks. I've just come to the conclusion recently that I really have nothing left to give that isn't based on a lie. So I can be nice. And sweet. And I do it because people need others to be that way toward them. Just because I lived through a deluge of disappointment doesn't mean I have to push another person in that direction. Part of me still lives on the echo of it, that good feeling. But it never stays long. What resides in me is not too dissimilar from a Tool video (minus the meat grinder crap). It isn't pretty. It is harsh and dark and truly a place you'd not want to go for any length of time. And so I keep going, protecting the part of me that I really don't want yet nourishing it because I know that harshness is all that keeps me alive.

Sometimes I think I scare myself.

Once upon a time in the land of...

well, truth be told, who gives a shit where it is, right?

There are always tales to be told. For example, I am telling you one now. Some tales purposely evade truth while many are filled with it. Sometimes enough that you don't really want to delve into the meat of it all.

In some lands, life is pretty. On the outside. Smiles are a mask that mock those that were once happier. A sham of agreeability on the outside that doesn't let the inside out.

Behind eyes that have seen and heard too much, it presses. So hard, in fact, that internal corneal abrasions begin to scar once clear vision. Anyone qualifies as deserving prey.

Pretty fucking smug for prey. Oh, that's right; you don't really know you're prey yet, do you? You found me relaxed for a moment, riding on a second of peace. Your introductions were kind and sweet and.. oh, wait, I forgot how you were seeing me.

Your eyes tell me your initial pleasantries only had you in mind. A self-serving shift in gaze reminds me that you don't care who you're speaking to; only what.

After a couple chance meetings, you seek me out. I want to cover what you see. Perhaps you would see me for me? Speak to me because I just might say something you want to hear. Your eyes tell a more lacivious tale.

In a moment of anger I make it crudely clear that I don't need you. Yes, right there in front of everybody: my hands granted access to places yours can only dream of.

The sickest twist of all is that I can see in your eyes that you think I'm doing this for you. No, little boy. I do this to mock you. To show you that I have no need for you. And to remind you of the power I do have over you. Our next encounter will not be nearly as pleasant for you. There has been a shift. You are now my prey.

This. This is a tale of truth.

Built in my nightmares and using my name

You're stroking my cortex and you know I'm insane

The time has come for me to kill this game

Now open wide and say my name

(Monster Magnet - Space Lord)

A Happy Halloweenie indeed! Hmpf

All I wanted to do was make a few comments about my Halloween thus far. And include a pic or so. But for some reason my lovely Blackberry Pearl Flip refuses to cooperate. There are days I want to stomp this phone to beits. Only it will most likely be like the scene from the Scorcerer's Apprentice where the broom comes back in mass numbers. If that happens with this phone you can find me atop a tall building.

Be back for an update tomorrow - hopefully. Or I'll be jailed for cell abuse. Meh.
Til then - Happy Halloween!

I am soooo in the minority

Really, I need to say this. Ok, I've had several cell phone issues over the past, hmm, 3 months or so with the new carrier. The phones all got turned in and replaced. All four of them. Squeaking hinges (couldn't hear), software issues, you name it. Thing is, I LIKED my phone. Thankfully they kept replacing it with the same one, just changing the color if needed. (Only red ones squeaked.)

Anyway. I've replaced too many although not by a fault of my own. They said my replacement would be basically the equivalent of the one I'd had. They lied. Oh, how they lied. And so began my quest for justice. I contacted as many people as possible and each one told me the same thing. They kindly explained why it had to be a different phone and although I liked my original phone style, I do understand. But if they think the phone they sent me is the equivalent of that little number, they are sadly mistaken.

The fuckers sent me a Blackberry Pearl Flip 8220!!! Christ on a bike... I can barely make a simple call on it!!! This phone is a data device. I don't email, load music, or even text, let alone merge Excel Spreadsheets on my friggin' PHONE. That's right... I wanted a PHONE. Gah!!! How can they upgrade me so far, especially against my will. This is not what I bought - not remotely close. I have never used a more complex 'phone'. Everything has hidden menu options, but only sometimes. When my contacts transferred, it fucked it all up. My cousin was listed as Jess & Scott in my old phone. On the Blackberry it changed it to &Scott,Jess1. Now just HOW in the hell does one even get the lobotomized idea to look up a person by searching by an ampersand!!!!!!!

Ahem. So you can see the stress involved. I've had it for about 3 weeks now and am justthisclose to saying I hate it. One tech told me it took him 3 months to learn to use his. I told him I don't want to devote that much of time in my life to learning a phone. It's a phone fer crissakes... I shouldn't have to "learn" much about it... dial, talk, hang up.

The funny part about it is that I'm sure the techs that I've called are sure I'm crank calling them. I mean, who would turn in a ~$160.00 phone and then bitch endlessly about getting a ~$360.00 one in return?! They absolutely cannot fathom that. They keep telling me that I've got such a great phone now. I told them that a replacement is not an all-purpose thing. What if I would be a 90 year old woman? You'd really think it fair to her to force her to use this thing? Really?

I am in a very small minority here. Of that I am certain. My life is complicated enough and I prefer to simplify, not get an ulcer over attempting to use a phone that does not suit my needs 96.5% of the time. They think they are 'wowing' me with such an upgrade because of the multiple difficulties with the other model. I don't blame them for the other phone issues - it's an electronic device, shit happens. Maybe other customers get impressed by their immense upgrade, and I do understand that, from both perspectives. I am just not one of those people. Funny thing is, their tremendous upgrade may be the thing that undoes my contract. I doubt I will renew when the time comes because of this.

See what happens when you try to be nice to me, damn it?! ;)

Too cold, amigos.

I am not dead. I have not been, since my last post, dead. I never even played dead on TV. Of course it is always a viable option yet somehow I offer myself up to the suffering. Yay, me.

Rodents gone, I think. Halloween coming - yay. I am sick, tests galore. My cat is dying; difficult times. We all fight like we want each other dead. My stress response gets worse. After years of practice you'd think it'd get better. The PC was out for a while getting a check up and memory. Wish I could get more memory that easily.

Must go sleep - starting my day with lots of phone calls. IF anyone thinks to check here, thanks! This is going to be a very busy week+ for me but I'll try to be back with at least something that is not total gloom and doom. Ooh, I know, I'll keep you posted on the progress of the petticoat I am making. With no machine. No pattern. No sewing skills. And no clue. Just alot of determination. Which some would call a stubborn streak. Or a waste of time. Or insanely pathetic. Meh, I'm ok with that.

I'll be peeking around very soon! Be well!

Could my eyelids cover what I did?

Twofold. The reason for the title, I mean. Personally I think it's one of the best lines from a Buffalo Tom '98 release called Sodajerk. You know me and my love of semi-obscure 90s music. Anyway - that is on heavy rotation. Oddly with Paramour and SilverSun Pickups. But I digress. I've been looking for that song for years but I refuse to pay for a download lest I end up homeless.

Unfortunately that line is just killing me right now and kicking up the guilt level to new heights. I am one of the few people you will ever hear profess this in your entire life. I guarantee it. The rodents wanted to take over and my no-kill methods were not effective. We had bait traps set today by a professional and I am literally sick. The drug will lead to an internal hemmorhage ending in death. And it will be my doing. Then, if they make it outside (which they should as the drug makes them seek water), anything that might eat them will also most likely die. Christ on a bike... I'm a fucking killer. I don't want to go to bed because if I hear them, I'll know they are on their way to dying. So I sit here downloading songs with headphones on full blast, fighting back tears - which sucks because my typing needs visual aid, dig?

Don't misunderstand - if one ran over my foot I'd scream like a sissy and try to beat it with my keyboard out of shock. Somehow this is all different. Genocide usually is. Yes, yes - I know it was them or me but I just never liked these methods. Barring the fact that these rats (Norwegian browns /blacks in some areas) were responsible for the plague - I feel exceedingly guilty. My chest hurts, I think I'll lose it if I hear one and to be honest, I'd rather plunge a blade in my own flesh as a trade. Perhaps to show remorse.

I'm really not handling this well, am I?