A New Year.

Is it time for change or just relive another year differently?

I started this year wallowing in depression and unemployment. I end it like the beginning, minus a bit of depression and a tad more optimism.

Jesus, what a waste. I can tick off 2009 as a waste, what I learned can be counted on my fingers. I have to hope 2010 will be something better, but it is entirely up to me.

I guess I'll make up some resolutions on the spot here, for the next two days I'll be drunk and hungover off my ass and then I'll be moving to a foreign town with no plan.

1.) Get out there and be more fucking social. Meet someone that means something.
2.) Drop to 180 pounds.
3.) Enroll and go to school. It's irrelevant what I take, as long as I go.
4.) Be happier. Try and take a positive outlook for a change, fuckface.
5.) Win an amateur fight? (This is being really optimistic and along the thought process I'll keep boxing.)
6.) Get within spitting distance of going or be in Russia.
7.) Learn to be more of a social drinker then a sloppy drunk.

That's pretty good for winging it on the spot I'd say. I think I can do all of it too, amazingly.

Well, the escapade begins. Cheer bros and hoes, hope you all have a great New Years party and get laid.

This year I'll live like I've never lived before, Yeah this is my year for sure.

Here I am.

At home, I'm starting to feel obsolete.

I said goodbye to my buddies at boxing and shook hands with the Coach for the last time in awhile. As I walked out the door I felt my chains fall down and make a clatter on the cold ground, my optimism high. By the time I walked in my front door I had already crashed, my sights set on walking into the night and not coming out. The whole drive I screamed along to The Lawrence Arms, "Criminal," so I feel like my feelings may be justified.

My anger is a sign of disgust with myself, A stewing serenade I hear the sirens on their way. The chemicals inside of me just kept on swimming through my veins, Maybe I should make a move and try to leave this all behind. I listen to the absence of noise, Dead summer breeze, I’m inflated with suspicions. Seems I’ve identified again the criminal of my intent.

I don't know man, when the fuck did I really become such a fucking baby.

I've got harsher mood swings then a cow in heat in the middle of a desert in the summer with no water and a guy trying to suck its tits.

I've got to try and go and upgrade my fucking grades, I've got to make it to University. The plan is to upgrade whatever the hell I need and then go and major in History with minors in Slavic and Physical education. That's just what I spun off the top of my ass, I don't know if you can do that sort of thing, but it's what I want. But then again, when's the last time that fucking counted for two cocks.

I started writing this all pissed off but I've already turned it around to my sarcastic ego. Jesus.

When I get there, asides looking for some sort of job I can tolerate, the first thing I'm going to do is try and find another affordable boxing and squash club. I'm actually into that scene now, which is kind of cool. I never, ever pictured myself liking them and to go out and do it is kind of a thrill in a dull sort of way. Good boxers don't make good writers, so let's hope I don't get too deep. I already feel stupider.

The other possibilities are Ju-jitsu, wrestling, (Maybe. I'm not that gay.) Muay Thai, or kick-boxing. Who knows? Between squash and boxing I've managed to carve a decent body out of my jello mold, so if I really go nuts deep who knows how fine I could end up.

It's up to me in the end, which is the scariest part. I want to go back to being able to trust myself.

AND! I have a follower. Holy fucking shit. The pressure to pump this crap out is intense. So this post is for you, chicky.

Horseshoes for Toilet Paper.

So here I am.

I'm sitting in my kitchen close to midnight writing about my woes. Again.

University said fuck off, I need better Grades. Why didn't I have said grades? I was skipping school for the fun and rebellion of it. I'm stuck with a place in a foreign city with nobody I know, no job or school, and only several days to plan it all because I left everything to the last minute.

There's really no excuses anymore. Where I am today, my looks, my intelligence, my way of living, life choices and self image are of no direct fault to anyone else.

I am a spoiled Western Hemisphere child with nowhere to go because I squandered my talents and opportunities. It is nobody elses fault. I am 100% to blame because I am lazy and took the easy avenue out whenever I saw it.

I see the people around me out having fun, living life and enjoying everything they have. Their hard work in High School paid off and they're in school having a blast, enjoying all there is to enjoy that they earned. I can see this from my vantage point in the gutters.

I have to look at this like some sort of opportunity, to finally turn my shit around and make something work on my own. It is like a fresh start, but I'm not going in with the right mindset right now. I feel confused, beleaguered and out of my league already.

This ride is ending, my luck is finally spent and I'm stuck at a crossroads looking at the forks I have to take.

Where the fuck am I going to end up?

You can have it all, I ain't got the heart to fight total exhaustion; complete breakdown. For the asshole I am, apologies in full. Please, leave me alone. Pull over the van; let me out.

Let's fucking fuck you fucker.

I can't count how many times I've gotten sex as a Christmas or Birthday present.

The sad thing is, it's never any better. The other individual never makes much more of an effort to please me or do anything really awesome; the best I might get is a corset with some stockings or a longer BJ.

Seriously, I can those any time I want? I'm not complaining, but if I'm going to be getting "it" as a gift, I honestly do expect a little more than a casual fuck where I end up getting myself off.

I remember two years ago I had sex for Christmas with an ex and it was bar none the best I've ever had. No questions.

Having sex with someone you care about deeply is such an expierience and it makes every other girl look so bad. When you care and the other cares for you it's a crazy thing, you go into the bedroom wild with passion because you know the person opposite you want's you just as bad as you do them. I remember having sex for hours on end, only stopping for drinks of water and laying into each other twice as hard afterwards. I remember being breathless, sweaty, but above all craving her touch at the end of it.

I remember the foreplay being unimaginable, BJ's that would make your skin crawl and your legs go numb. Going down on her and giving her orgasm after orgasm as you went, finding new and exciting things to try on her. And the sex that followed was just so incredible, she didn't have to try to be sexy while you fucked her, she just was. But when she tried and took control of your body, you lost all function and just did what she said because that's what you wanted more than anything in the world.

Her looks could stop you and you would know what to do to her in a heartbeat, you could feel her desire and skin from across the room. She wanted me to cum as bad as I wanted her to and wouldn't stop until I was satisfied.

This was two years ago. What I've been doing now is just so unsatisfying and boring.

I've been having sex with this girl for nearly three years, give or take on and off between relationships. We know each other. I know what to do to get her off is like understatement of the decade. Yet she still doesn't know how to satisfy me.

Clumsy, awkward dirty talk. Stumbling over positions and what to do. Not being sexy or sexual, we just basically have sex once in awhile whenever we feel like it. We're not a couple and I want to quit this, I'm so very bored.

Sex is sex, but I want someone that wants me back. Wants to feel me like I felt her. The very worst part of that is that the relationship was loosely based on sex it was unforgiveable, in fact if we never had sex again (Which is looking good right now.) I wouldn't care whatsoever. I cared about her so much it didn't matter, I'd do whatever it takes to make her happy.

Instead, I'm alone, cold, bored, and craving attention. Maybe I should go out and find someone.

Merry Christmas. I'm so glad this whole rush is over.

What's my age again?

Today has been ridiculous.

I've already phoned two banks about accounts and payment inquiries, my phone company, a fitness line about an undelivered product and a full refund for it, the Government of Canada regarding my EI cheques and as to why I would be denied for them, and had to go over my Visa statements for errors.

Jesus, I'm not even twenty years old and look at this fucking checklist? My shoulders are tense and sore, my neck is irritated as shit, and I'm sure if I had any sort of problem with my blood pressure I'd be dead.

To top the list, all of a sudden my University dreams may come crashing to a halt after I've gotten a place and paid my admission fees simply due the fact they haven't processed me. All this time I've been waiting for them to call me back they've been waiting for my High School transcript, but not bothering to tell me. Now I'm in a mad dash trying to make sure everything goes through as planned and calling every couple of hours making sure things are rolling.

Fuck my life. This is absolutely crazy, if I don't make it in I'm fucked. What the fuck will I do? How am I going to pay rent now? I'm going to either be ridiculously in debt or just out of luck buttfucked waiting for another semester to start away from home.

Seriously, fuck this. When did I get so old and have all these ridiculous responsibilities?

A day late, a buck short; I'm writing the report on losing and failing. When I move I'm flailing now. And it's happened once again, I'll turn to a friend. Someone that understands and sees through the master plan. But everybodys gone, and I've been here too long to face this on my own. Well, I guess this is growing up.

When did intelligence stop being sexy?

I'm tired now. I thought about this entry and in the process of opening and rebooting my Laptop, I suddenly became tired and then exhausted. This is happening more and more when I go to write, as if my body is somehow trying to prevent me from doing so.

Yeah, well fuck you Bitch. I'm staying up until I do this half-assed.

Do some homework for me. Go find twelve guys online dating profiles or just profiles of themselves on Facebook or Myspace, I don't care. It doesn't really matter.

Now look at what they put about themselves, is it anything that is relevant or useful?

It seems that writing less and giving the person you're trying to intrigue more 'mystery' is the thing to do. Not writing about who they are, what they believe in, or anything of remote relevance usually. It's not just guys, it's everyone. It's like a global fucking plague.

Since when did letting a little bit of yourself go out on the Internet become such a bad thing? I'm not an idiot, I understand privacy is paramount, but let's be honest: Pirates can't get anything out of how much you Love Brad Pitt in fight club for his sculpted abs. You don't have to give your SIN over the 'net, nobody is waiting on the day to come.

I'm sure it's because people are reluctant to read anything more than a few lines about yourself, but if you're introducing yourself to someone you want to make a good impression: you don't often introduce yourself without a few words that you choose carefully.

Why has it come to that? Why have people stopped caring what someone has to say and instead rely on a picture of the opposite to make the difference before conversation can start? Where did intrigue go? Where has falling for someone for what they say and do first gone? It's all so skin deep.

This is, of course, basing everything on meeting someone online and having a description and picture laid out for you to make your move on. I haven't been out and social enough to actually just try meeting someone, but where do you do that now? The bars are full of horny and wasted guys looking for a quick fuck, with enough girls to take care of their needs. Where do you find an honest, good looking and moral girl these days?

Another issue I really have is making yourself seem smart, but not too smart. Acting too bright makes you look kind of like a nob who has nothing better to do then sit in front of your computer screen, where if you act too stupid you might push someone special away. My inner self is a mix of ridiculous immaturity with underlying streaks of passion and interest in odd places. I never know which side of me to bring to the table, or which the person across from me will bring out. It's a rarity when both show up.

Why can't people just be up-fucking-front with you when you meet them and there's a spark?

I'm taking suggestions on how to pull off a sexy nerd or schoolgirl. Send pictures for the latter.

Damaged Merchandise

Another Sunday evening of insecurities. I could have my period around my mental weaknesses.

As I sit and watch TV after a workout (Which, keep in mind, usually puts me on a plateau of arrogance.) I find myself analyzing my own behaviour. I'm watching a show on sex addiction, something I feel I have struggled with at times in life. The show isn't half bad, the characters in it varying and none share any sort of connection with myself. I have every reason to be feeling pretty good.

It's when I start realizing what I'm thinking to myself that I grind to a halt and start turning over the rocks in my mind and come to conclusions I don't like.

As the women on the show break down and discuss the horrible things that have happened to them it dawns that I'm drawn to this. I feel the need to comfort them and think of how I would never do the things mentioned, I seem to think they would want someone like myself. Someone deep and thoughtful, someone who could help them through addiction and the internal pain from the demons that plague them.

It isn't just this show that I've noticed this, I've seen my own behaviour from afar in other things. I feel like I'm just Mr. Right for everyone as they bounce back from depression or addictions, as they move on from that guy that told them he Loved them before I did.

There's another word for what I want to be. A rebound.

I hate intellectually weak women and intelligence and interests are first and foremost in establishing a friendship with someone. I could never date a bimbo strictly for her looks and the sex, I have to see something past that before I even get close to them. I admire strong, independent women who have their own state of mind and beliefs. Coinciding isn't too important for me, music tastes and personal followings are something that I can't ever expect to find someone identical to me.

But at the same time strong women frighten me. A truly strong women with a Heart full of passions and strength is someone that would have to approach me; I simply don't have the sack to make any sort of move or strike up a conversation.

However, if you give me some poor broken down girl who's at the end of her leash and looking for someone to sweep her away, be sure to get my number. I'll be there until she tires of me.

And as I roll around sleepless for another night, another thought comes. I think again of Evelyn and her beautiful personality. I remember her ex that mistreated her and jerked her around forever, her desperation to find something and someone meaningful, and my own timely arrival. Was I just a pick-me-up until she was ready to keep going with her life? I can still see myself on the ground and the faint outline of her as she moves forward.

I do want a strong women, and I do want to try and Love again. However, until I sort my own shit out and clean up my act a little, who's going to come for me? I'm not going to make it on TV for a botched suicide attempt and a broken heart. I really doubt there's someone out there looking for a broken man as I do, women get men for their personality strength and masculinity.

As I wrote this, I panned through Myspace pages of Eastern punk bands, rekindling my desire to experience this scene several years back. I was born into the wrong generation.

Twenty days and counting.

Lie to me, like you used to.

I'm just a man of words.

I hide behind what I say and what I make myself out to be, but when it comes to being me I clam up. Freeze, look away, show disinterest.

I'll portray myself beautifully and accurately, I can flirt with the best of men. I'll make you think whatever I want you to think of me but when it's time to meet I'm just another nobody.

It's time I really started becoming truly happy with myself and and 100% comfortable with my own body. It's been far too long, years too long.

Because in the end it never matters what I think. And I can barely tell the sky from the shoreline, and I can see myself reflecting in your eyes; and this was all a dream. And it's coming back to me.

All my ex's say heyooo

I have such a strange relationship with my ex-girlfriends.

I'm going to have to toot my own horn a little and then blast my character shortly afterwords, so bear with me.

As far as shit goes, shit being life, I've got it pretty good. I live in the western hemisphere and come from a Loving and financially stable family, so I have little that should bother me. I get enough to eat and drink, go where I want to for the most part, and have never really had to fight for anything in my life.

But where shit suddenly hits a brick wall is my relationships.

I'm a good guy. I'll be honest. When a drunk chick asks me to take advantage of her, I tell her to fuck off. When someone needs advice that potentially hurts, I give it anyways. I'm up front with people and rarely lie about pointless things, and when I'm committed to someone, I'm committed to telling the full truth with said person. I've never cheated, and I've never actually broken up with a girl. I've been dumped like...Oh who cares. I'm polite and for the most sensitive to other girls feelings, and when I need to make a change, I do my best.

But as soon as a girl hits the ex list everything seems to go drastically wrong.

I suddenly think that this person has somehow wronged me and needs to either be fucked or abused in various ways. I've been having this totally bullshit on-off thing with my first ever lasting girlfriend for years now, and it's totally ridiculous. I don't treat her all that well, lie to her, have had sex with other girls while we were still fucking, and eat at her house and eat her food at least once a week.

So much for a gentlemen. I'm just as much of a fucking pig as every other loser out there.

As for the rest, it's all shitty. One I pushed so far away with my snivelling and total emotional breakdown after we split I'd be surprised if she ever gave me the time of day again. The others get random drunk texts asking to hook up or just whatever is on my totally inebriated brain.

So what is it? Why do women suddenly just become such...objects to me once they're done with me? Am I really that petty and bitter deep down?

The next gal' I find that I care enough about to be with I may just have to propose to her on our one week anniversary. Lord knows what will happen once she gets tired of me what I'll do to her. I'm tired of doing that to women, and it needs to stop. I'm making a stand, even if it means cutting ties with a fuck buddy and some idle chit chat friends.

Going back to school is presenting more and more opportunities.

Let's keep this like sex and make it quick.

So my nose is broken and may need surgery-My first broken bone!

I found a place to live near school but still haven't heard fuck all from school about my courses.

I lipped off a two-hundred and fifty pound dude at boxing. I'm back, sweetheart. Bi-polar or not, I am not going anywhere without two dozen scornfully sarcastic words and middle finger.

I had a really awesome weekend and I was totally cool with being single and not having a soul close to me except my buddies.

Invented a new drinking game. Needs at least three people. Text a person a voice and style and text to say it with. The other person has to guess who it is, then switch who you text. All three participate and text at the same time. If you can't guess, you drink.

Example: *Chinese Jabba the Hutt* Ah harro Princress Reah, I rike your boob-butt! Rub preez!

Lastly, I haven't been hammered for...Nearly a month now? And it's by choice! Go healthy living me.

We got it, got it going on! It's going, yeah, it's going, the next minute, it's gone.

What the fuck happened?

I didn't even see the right hand that sent me to the canvas.

I think my nose is broken, the inside twice as swollen and bloody then the first time I got beat up.

I didn't cry from the pain, or the shock, or just losing another sparring session. I came close to tears thinking about it.

After it's done, that glove that breaks and destroys the cartilage inside your nose isn't that. It's every failed relationship, every lousy grade you know you could have done better in, every setback, every lost dollar on shit you don't need. I became so emotional from it and I don't know why. I was a basket case, looking around the gym for anyone to stare at me so I could go over and lose it on them.

Scream. Rage. Take out all my insecurities with a verbal lashing followed by a stiff right hand to the jaw, beg them to hit me even though I knew I couldn't handle it.

Less then a dozen guys actually spar in a gym with over thirty regular attendees. Of that, at least half have been doing martial arts or boxing for more than a year. Two are actually the BC champions, but I didn't spar them. I fought someone younger, in better shape, and quicker. It is nothing to be ashamed of, I realize it myself, but it doesn't make me any less bitter.

It seems no matter what I do I'm never good enough. In writing I was always shouted down or second best. In sports I never had enough competitive spirit to push me to the very top. At work I've never had the desire to be the best I could be.

Now that I'm going back to school, what happens? Will I make it? Will I finally be able to sit down and study after more than six years without doing nearly a shred of homework? I can't defend myself, I can't literally fight.

Two phrases stand out to me now and I'm scorning them and myself.

"A fighter is only as good as his last fight."
"A Lover, not a fighter."

With my nose it'll be awhile, potentially until mid December, before I fight again. I have to live and train with the mentality that I've yet to damage anyone and have only been hurt over and over. I'll be stuck doing heavy and speed bag drills in which I'm unable to improve my technique or learn more about the art of fighting. I won't know what works and what doesn't. I won't realize how dangerous it is when I accidentally drop my right hand after a punch until I get drilled in the ring doing it. All the while my competitors will be getting better, faster, stronger and learning all the time.

I have nobody to Love. What does this make me?

My insecurities are eating me alive again. What women wants that?

As much as I like to believe in Darwinism, I'm not even on the ladder.

I've lost fifteen pounds boxing, so there is one bright side to it all.

School can't come soon enough.

I didn't keep my hands up last night.

My nose is so busted up it's incredible, I've never took a beating like that in my life. Mind you, I was raised in a sheltered Christian school, so it's not like I ever had the chance or the skills to even bother in High School. Taking your first ass kicking when you're nineteen is no fun. All you young 'uns, go out there and pick a fight now. You'll be better prepared and one step up the Darwin food chain.

The inside of my nose is so swollen up it's touching the outer wall of the other side, to breath through it I have to suck up a bunch of air then snort it out like some sort of handicapped pig. When I touch it or move it around I can feel my sinuses throughout my head, my upper lip feels like it's numb and swollen all the time. Whenever I move my nose around I can feel the canals in my ears tinge and ache.

Like no joke, it fucking sucks ass.

I'm going to go back and all, but I don't feel like I learned a hell of a lot. I knew what I was doing wrong, I wasn't moving my head enough and my hands were on either side of my head so I kept taking punches right down the middle. However, I was landing less punches then ever.

I'm improving and getting in better and better shape, but so is everyone else. Everyone else is getting stronger and figuring out strategies, I'm continuing to stick with what isn't working because everything I try tends to end with me shaking off little chirping birds.

I just don't think I'm learning quick enough and at the rate I'm moving, I won't have enough brain cells to learn anything past not shitting my pants.

On another note, I got accepted into University! I'm nineteen turning twenty so it's about fucking time, even though my course load is...different. Everyone I've told just asks me why, or what the hell I'm going to do with it. And truth be told, I don't honestly know. I'm doing it because I'm passionate about it and hungry to learn and start taking my life where I want it to be. Even if I don't know where this may take me or what I'll come out of it.

I'm taking Slavic studies, going to be studying all things Russian; including the language. Apparently it's the hardest language to learn so I've got my work cut out for me, since I'm a bad bad Canadian not knowing french. Fucking Quebecois.

My excitement isn't coming through as strong as I'd hope, but honestly my neck is so sore from getting hit and I'm having trouble breathing, so I'm going to cut this one short.

I saw a picture of me and Evelyn sitting together at graduation. I hadn't seen it in nearly a year now. My heart still flutters at how strikingly beautiful she is, I wish I had made the day more special for her.

I dreamt all night of sailing into nothingness and staying there.

Resumes of old.

There's nothing more pathetic than looking down at the resume you're writing and the lies you scribble all over it.

Why doesn't it say what I'm really trying to hide?

Uneducated, no direction for a future, too young to know much.

I can smother the truth with a wealth of whatever I can dream up or fake well enough to make believable, but for what? Another shitty job? Slim amounts of money so I can pretend one day I'll make it to college?

I'm not upset or disheartened by losing my job, but by doing so I'm thrust back into thinking of what I need and want to do. At least I could lose myself in the monotony of work and punch my troubles out with someone else standing in front of me. Now I have to get up knowing I'm stuck again, just looking around for fuck knows what.

Because when I stop and start thinking, that I realize all the people I'm missing.

My face is nothing but broken blood vessels and liers lips.

What a fucking week.

I can officially tick off getting fired on my big list of things to do.

So here's the scoop ladies and jerks. I know you're just fucking pissing the chairs/ benches by now, so I won't wreck the furniture or mood anymore for you.

I work(ed) for a company called the Nanaimo Marine Centre. The building is a ship chandlery for boat parts, fasteners and stainless/brass/galvanized parts, as well as anything else that would appeal to the market. Right below the store is the Nanaimo Shipyard, which gets parts and supplies from the NMC. Whenever they need anything we didn't have, they would order from the purchaser in the yard (Del) and then when it came it would come to me.

When stuff came to the store, I would do several things;

1.) Check the shipment, ensure everything they said they shipped is actually there.
2.) Make sure the stuff they shipped is right.
3.) Check for damage on the items, anything bad had to be phoned in and I would get a number to return the stuff for.
4.) Check ours and theirs paperwork, ensure the cost we listed is correct and make sure they didn't overcharge or change pricing.
5.) File said paperwork and write received on it, then move on.

When stuff came for the Shipyard, I would only do steps one to three. Now it doesn't seem like much, but keep in mind I would be receiving boxes with literally hundreds of items, most of them different. Also, prices dip and change on a daily basis with certain companies, so you could spend a lot of time on the phone negotiating and haggling for better pricing or trying to get a reason so you wouldn't get shit on when you ordered paint for stock that is now overpriced.

So on Tuesday I went to work, unhappy that I was still getting underpaid and moody because I had a new jack-off to boss me around. I was told that I would now be doing steps four and five for the Shipyard as well now, with no pay increase.

That just does not fly, and here the fuck is why.

For starters, they have someone down there to do that job. She is part of the Shipyard union, therefore she makes a cushy twenty-three dollars an hour doing the job she does. Secondly, they're laying her off saying they don't need her and can't afford it.

So here's where I in.

When I asked why I would get stuck with it, they said if I don't like it I can leave. I replied with something along the lines of, "I'll do it, but I want in the Union and Shipyard pay. Besides, you can't tell me to do it anyways, I don't work for you; I work for the Marine Centre."

Apparently that's insubordination and not being cooperative.

When the new faggot fired me, he paused after I asked him if he was going to indeed fire me. I think he was waiting for me to back down and change positions in the face of losing my shitty job.

I'm proud. I stood up for what I believe in (As always!) and lost something I didn't care about. Chalk two points up for me.

In other news, my forehead is pull of red marks, lumps, and zits. I'm guessing sweaty headgear for half an hour and getting punched in the nose, chin, and forehead are the culprits. I'm really enjoying boxing now that I'm getting better, I actually beat the fuuuck out of another kid today.

Primal, brutal, whatever. Try it and deny it.

I've got a decent amount in the bank, a full paycheck coming, and I'm finally free of my chains. Maybe it's time to look further then just a regular clock punching job, whatever that may be.

My dreams are returning to previous nightmares again.

What are you doing here?

When you sleep, she's standing there with open arms; and one night could last forever. And if you asked her, she'd never let go. And you'd stay forever.

For the first time since we separated over a year ago, I thought of Evelyn in a sexual way.

She didn't come in a nightmare, or a fleeting dream of the past; she came seductively and with a wicked smile on her lips. She promised me things I couldn't imagine anymore, told me things I had forgotten, and left me breathless as I woke.

It was three AM, I was wide awake and the image was burned into the back of my retinas. She laughed gently and told me what to do, so I did.

When I finished, I was exhausted and rolled over back to sleep. She stayed on the outskirts of my mind, becoming a spectre that was always in my peripherals, but never in front of me.

I don't know what it means, or why it happened. I haven't been able to think of anything save heartbreak or a nauseous stomach every time she comes, or if I'm lucky; begging for me back only to realize it was just another sick twist.

Halloween is dead, people.

This about sums about my friday night, all it needs is the empty sixty of Jager next to me.

It seems all I do is work so I can drink and forget the week I had. I box to get my agression out and leave with lumps on my forhead because I'm not very good yet. This Halloween all I did was have a meagre fireworks fight and stand around.

I'm so frustrated! I need some options to do something, anything! Tommorow is a slow day and I'll sit around waiting for my inevitable work day to come crashing down over top of me and swallow my patience and optimism.

Forced to wake, eat, and sleep in a routine.

Stuck in trances doing something but not really doing anything at all.

Trapped in an illusion that two days can make up for five lost.

Living a life that’s not living, simply biding time and the courage to die.

Hoping, dreaming, wishing, then suddenly pulled back to the reality you dwell in.

Seeing ambitions and hopes fade and rot, the world slowly crushing and squelching them shut.

Living alone, living without Love.

Waking each day with a hangover of misery from the last.

Falling short in preferences, choosing shortcomings.

Seeing the light from the pages of books, only to surface underground.

Never, ever having enough.

Is all there is?

Is this the life you lead?

Buttsweat and Tears is amazing though, folks. Go buy it on Itunes or the vinyl from Fat. Favorite song by far is 'The Redness in the West,' and I'm absolutely stoked for the DVD. Maybe I'll get around to writing an actual review soon.

Ten signs you might despise your job.

1.) You say "Fuck this goddamn place," more then "Hello," in a day.
2.) There's not a single hour of overtime on your pay stub.
3.) You arrive five minutes late and leave two minutes early every day.
4.) Every other employee has "Useless prick" or "Asshole" at the end or beginning of their name.
5.) The highlight of your day is signing the time sheet.
6.) You dream of serving/ misserving people.
7.) When someone asks about your work your mood swings like a pre-menstrual gorilla.
8.) After asking a question twice to a co-worker, you simply drop the matter and never bring it up again.
9.) Shrugging your shoulders is a more common then a straight answer.
10.) You're too mentally exhausted by the end of the day to even write anymore.

EDIT. 11.) The top three reasons why you might be fired: Laziness, theft, or potentially grand arson.

Goddamn.

I need to get into modelling or something. A hiney this shiny needs recognition.

Coffee!

One giant cup of coffee and one giant dump later I'm back up!

Now if I could punch that old faggoty Kejll right in the nose my day would be complete. What a fucking weiner. Go get a real job and maybe sell something at actual retail price instead of us losing money. The fact he bitches at me is astounding.

I can't wait until he dies. Useless prick.

Fuuuuuck.

I'm so goddamn tired this morning.

I had boxing last night and fought a six foot five guy. It sucked, and my forhead still hurts. Everytime I tried anything he would just chuck his jab into my face and stall anything I was trying to do.

So now I'm stuck at work, reading a bunch of teaser posts for the new Lawrence Arms album. I've heard all the teasers already and my heart started to pound, I can't believe how excited I am over it. I find it taking priority over Against Me!'s upcoming "White Crosses," the latter being my ex-favorite band. The new one? Well let's see how good Buttsweat and Tears is.

My biggest worry right this second:

How is anyone supposed to regain confidence and get out to having a fun and regular social life working at a Commercial Fishermans paradise? More importantly, how do you get out and meet the ladieyzz?

Fuck it. I'll go home and beat it again. Then fall asleep by ten.

What a kick in the dick.

I'm officially on the injury list.

I've strained my rotater cuff in my shoulder, almost popping it out and coming close to tearing the muscle there.

The dumbest part is I think I overtrained my pecs, so when I go to do pec flys or even bench press, the muscle in front of the shoulder is stronger so it does all the work. Instead of a balanced, comprehensive workout I chose to blast mostly my pecs and arms. So now all the pec excercises I do are being focused on my weakened shoulder. It feels like a twinge, a pulling deep in my shoulders. It's starting to become a constant now too.

Luckily boxing keeps my workout routine regular and active, I still feel like I'm losing weight but am lacking in the results column. Boxing strains my shoulders, but the soreness fades quickly and I recover twice as fast then I would at the gym.

Ironic. I hurt myself from doing excercise too well and too often.

Chuck Liddell got eliminated from dancing with the stars. Bummer Iceman, good luck with future ventures.

Another night out.

As the morning wraps up and the fog fades from my head, I stop and look back at last night.

It's probably a dumb subject to write about, but right now it's all I've got. Between a job I hate and a uneventful nineteen year old life, the town and the alcohol pumped into me is what I'm living every other weekend. And the scene is changing.

1.) The people.
The group is ever shifting, but if there is a constant it's me and Carey. We are out there, making new friends every time we hit the pavement, sometimes twice in one weekend. The group always shifts and we cut people out and in as we see fit, whether it be because they physically and mentally abuse their girlfriends, or simply because they can't keep up with us. Which brings the next point.

2.) The pace.
The night always starts off rowdy, with everyone getting in each others faces with lots of wrestling and play fighting with whatevers around. As the night goes on, we settle down with each other and start to share everything, whether it be alcohol or the women and people around us. It's like the pre-party activities are just there to get the blood flowing and in the mental state needed to hang with us. I've noticed that nights that I would usually class as superb wind up in the normal pile, while a crazy off the hook night is almost impossible to find. Our standards and consumption is going through the roof every week.

3.) My attitude towards it all.
As short as a month ago I could honestly say that every time I went out my head would be on a swivel for anyone who would even grant me a smile. At this point I'm happy to say it's reverting to my older self, the independent lone wolf who's only looking out for number one and keeping vigil for his buddy. I don't care who looks my way or who crosses paths with me as long as they want the same things I do, a good time and a few cheap laughs. I Love to make people laugh, and am not afraid to cast whoever and whatever aside once the night is over if it hasn't made any impact on me. Which is, again, getting harder and harder to do.

I feel like myself of old. I'm not looking, I can just simply say I'm single. Nothing else. Sure, I'm a huge flirt and if someone bats an eyebrow I'm not afraid to wade in chest deep. But once the night is done and I'm home, I can promise you won't be there or have my number. I sleep alone and only keep a few friends close and am damn proud of the people I surround myself with.

It's hilarious, it seems as soon as I do this, I get swamped. I've had three girls in the last three days looking for my house and wanting to just "swing" by. The crushed, post Evelyn me would want nothing more then that. In fact, that's all I went looking for for nearly a year. Now that I don't care and am just acting for myself, compliments and people are nearly throwing themselves at me and drowning my poor ego in lust.

And I'm not even acting on it. I just laugh it off, let the roving hands go wherever they want, and finish my beer.

I'm down nearly ten pounds, from boxing I would have to assume. I can't wait for every session, and after the fifteenth of this month I'm able to step into the ring and duke it out with whomever wants to cross gloves. I get fidgety with excitement every time I think of it.

What a way to enter my favorite season of the year.

Sunday mornings.

I'm feeling insightful and reminiscent on this quiet and dull Sunday morning.

After again seeing a grown man pretend to be semi-retarded and fake a crying spell over a plastic tombstone, all thoughts to turn to mush and Evelyn again. I truly believe she'll forever be associated with that show, but that's not really the point here. The point is, she is stuck in my mind and to banish the thoughts for a short while, I figured I'd go over what the fuck went wrong. It won't really make me feel any better, but it will at least give me a chance to maybe give a silent explanation to an audience with no background in this twisted tale. The best I can hope for is this might save someone else a heartbreak, but let's not get too hopeful.

Ahem.

Obviously it's extremely important to work in any relationship, but how easily something like that can be overshadowed by a stupid thing like a comfort zone is astonishing. One day you're comfortable showering and sharing a bed with someone, the next you're spilling your guts on your innermost feelings and thoughts on God. Things tumble quickly from there, little things that start as comforting and a feeling of perfection turn quickly to laziness and oversight.

Taking things for granted in long term relationships happens all the time, but the realization of it only comes after it's gone. This comfort zone you've established takes the wonder and magic out of little things, like spending time with someone and having someone to just listen. The comfort zone you establish with a spouse, girlfriend, or even just a fling can't get too large if this person means something to you. Soon when someone says they want change or is unhappy, this zone puts you as unbreakable. You may start to think that what you've got with whoever is for good, that no matter what things will work out.

Guy or girl, this is not true. You have to work, if your relationships easy and there's never any fights or disagreements I honestly think you're not that close. You may say you Love them, you may think that because you don't fight it's just a blessing and you're probably just perfect for the other, take that person aside sometime and give them a polygraph. I would put my life savings on the line that you would be blown away by some of the answers, and that in all likelihood, after this test any relationship without fights would be over.

Anything worth having has to be worth fighting and working for. No matter how many fights or bickering matches you get into, in the end you have to evaluate if this is working or if you want to keep going. If it is, you have to find a way to stop fighting and get things back to the way they were. Even if that means biting a bullet and saying what you never do, moving out of your moms basement, or just staying silent when you know you should.

Anyone reading this and in a relationship would, I'm sure, disagree with me. As tough as it is to believe, in all likelihood, you're in the zone. You think that this can't happen to me, only young, dumb asshole punks like this loser get dumped on like this. The sad truth is, no matter how good things are, this can happen to you. Wise up.

The other important thing I've realized over this last year and half apart is what really happened. (I think.)

When I'm together with someone I'm always hoping and wishing for some sort of test. A physical challenge, some guys ass I can kick, a show of endurance, the opportunity to say just the right thing and sooth away all pains and trouble. Just to solidify things, have that person run to you in amazement and hold you close as they cry into your shoulder about how proud they are.

What's even more amazing is the fact I had the chance to do so, I just didn't see it.

I'll never be one to use a breakup as a way to get the other to step up or prove something, I think that's horribly counter-productive. However, this is what happened to me. Evelyn clearly wanted more, wanted me to step up and show her what I was really made of. Wanted me to listen, wanted me to show something more than I had been the last little while.

I really, really did not understand this at all.

I went into a total tailspin, doing everything I could to sabotage and make an asshole out of myself. I cried, I whimpered, I stalked, I went to her over anything and everything I could.

Amazingly when a women says she wants space, you might be best to actually give her some room to breathe.

I collapsed on her, and instead of the strong, independent guy she had fallen for I became some quivering wreck of a human being. Dependent on Facebook status updates. Sitting at home crying all day. Jumping across the room to read my phone whenever I got a text. I didn't give her anything to want back, just a hopeless mess of emotions.

It's easy to sit back and pick away at my faults now, I'm sure I've overlooked so many things in my absence from my own stupidity. The point here is you have to look and listen to every movement of the person across from you when they start to push away. If they really do want to leave and it's clear, it's in your best interest to let them go. If it's meant to be, they will come back and you will have to make things work. And the worst part is if they don't come back, that's it. The final curtain. The last hurrah. And even if she/he was the best part of your life and your universe, you have to realize it's over.

I really should just read my own blog. She's gone and things may be too late.

But this hasn't really been about me, it hasn't been for awhile. If I could spare just one person in the world from what I did to myself, I would. I would take that blow myself, just because I'm that much smarter and if it happened again would have the tools to deal with it and not suffocate myself and my partner.

I hope you're that much wiser and all the happiness in the world to you.

My names Forrest, Forrest Gump.

I watched that damn movie again, cried again at the end.

"I'll be right here if you need anything, Jenny."

I still think about her all the time. I still miss you.

Whadda fuck.

Work drags on, leaving me ditched and still punch-drunk on the curb.

Dan's leaving. I know I already mentioned it, and I know I'm sure I've also said I have no huge amount of Love for the dude. But him leaving officially puts me in the drivers seat, or at least the co-pilot, and that's not comforting. I still know little about the product I sell, don't understand the workings of a Yanmar engine or what makes it run best, and am still so underpaid I have little care if the places goes up in smoke or turns out as one of Canada's best run companies in fifty years. (Trust me bro, it's not going to be anytime soon. Chaa.)

I put in a half hearted but well spoken job request to a collection agency for taxes and debts, but even after I got a reply from my Hail Mary I've already turned it down. I honestly could not do that, no way in hell. I get pissed off and put in a sour mood when somebody gets personal with me here, I can't imagine trying to be a hardass and taking money from people who obviously can't afford it.

For example, some guy phoned today looking for engine parts. He gave me a list at least a page long, no part numbers (Which mind you, is the ONLY way you can find and order stuff.) Without them, you have to look through a parts catalogue which is enough to make you cry.) and then told me to get them for tomorrow.

For starters, this guy has already done this. Twice. Mid July he literally blew up an engine doing fucks knows what, and then again last month. When he orders, he orders anything and everything he can think of. So after he was done, he comes back with a bucket of stuff, saying it needs to go back and walks out the door.

So when someone phones who owes us ten grand and is some sort of Inbred moron, I tend not to try and let things go his way.

He actually had to leave wherever he was just so he could yell and swear at me as much as possible.

I know it's contradictory to what I said, if I don't care, why not let him just order and rack his monstrous debt even higher? He is the sole reason we can't get Yanmar stuff, because of all his returns and unpaid bills we're 12,000 dollars in the hole with them and can't get any freight. As a shipper and a clerk, I may as well just hang myself. What's the point of advertising we are the exclusive dealers for them when we can't get anything?

Bah. Too much work related stuff on this damn blog. I need to start doing some music reviews or movie stuff. That's where more of my talent lies. But I'm just so busy...

Mayhaps when Buttsweat and Tears comes out. Fuck I'm stoked for that, I hope Chris has a bigger part than in Oh! Calcutta!

Schedule:

Monday: Work 8-5, Boxing 7-9.
Tuesday: Work 8-5, bench press 6-7, bed at ten.
Wednesday: Work 8-5, Boxing 7-9
Thursday: Work 8-5, Potential booze night.
Friday: Day off, Gym 12-2, Partying 7-2am.

I'm either going to be super jacked or dead come November.

We'll all be dead come November, four months out of every year.

Boxing.

Although I'm tired and more than a few limbs are already hurting only an hour out of the gym, I realize I'm enjoying every second of it. I enjoy getting my ask kicked doing a cardio workout and the multiple routines we're put through. I enjoy working the bag and learning how to punch harder, quicker, faster every night. And I enjoy the company, everybody there is more than tolerable and in a few cases, actually pretty cool.

I forgot how much I missed sports since I quit hockey years ago. It makes me want to get back on the ice for a Saturday evening practice or even the rush of a big game. I miss it alot.

It's going to be awhile before I step into the ring with the intention to hurt someone, at least two months, so I'm just soaking it all up right now. I'd go every day if my body could take it and I had nothing better to do. It would help if they were open that much as well.

I'm not addicted, but I'm enjoying it. Looking forward to Friday and my gym day to see how I perform there, hopefully I'll be able to get back into that after a two week absence.

It's amazing how good of therapy wailing away on a stuffed bag is.

Wow, I'm a dick? I guess.

It seems I'm alot harder to work with than I thought?

Sean got fired today, he just got sent an email telling him to hand in his keys and not bother to come back afterwards. He didn't show on Monday either, so I had the weekend to myself. It was quiet, rainy, and I had another crazy workout boxing. I'm really excited to go back again tomorrow, I'm not sore today at all; just a little tired and stiff. All in all, a pretty good way to start the week even though my weekend was a series of letdowns.

Today was such a roller coaster of a day. It started fine, came in, talked with Dan and had a few cheap laughs at other's expenses and then was just starting to move over to shipping when Kjell came in.

A little more on Kjell.

Nobody knows what the fuck he does at the Shipyard. He's been there for nearly twelve years, but in that time he's done nothing important or noticeable. He's some sort of outside salesmen who sells things to his personal clientele across Canada or other odd places. The odd times I've had to ship stuff I've noticed he undercharges people like crazy, in some cases, actually losing money for what he's selling the product for. He tells me it's for a trial run for the company, but since then I've shipped other items at the same price, which when I told Kevin he was surprised and a little pissed.

He never tells me anything, he'll leave stuff on my desk without an address or an invoice (Which he refuses to do, bothering Kevin to always do it when he's fully capable or even me.) and then fucks off back upstairs to his office. I always have to call him a few times asking what the hell any of this stuff is, or asking what he's charging this time because he's so inconsistent. He's a pain in the ass, nobody knows what he does, and he always seems to have a problem with me, whatever I do. For example, he had me order a bunch of rust converter for him (Because he refuses to learn how.) and when it came, told me to return several of the five litre cans. Not two weeks later he had me order two five litre cans, (Note: when we order bulk, we save money.) which still had our address on them from when I ordered them the first time. He then gave me shit for taking so long.

Did I mention he's about eighty and from some God forsaken country where his they apparently speak fractured English?

So he comes in and immediately starts yelling at me that I shipped some paint on the wrong courier, and the charges for the shipping would come out of my paycheck.

Here's my side.

I phoned the company he asked to ship with and they sent some retard who apparently could not fill out his own way bill, so he left it there and had me fill it out. I noticed the bill was from a different company, which is really quite common. Smaller, local companies work through bigger, across Canada operations for cheap when they need stuff done, and this was the case. When Van Kam (The cross Country courier) picked it up, they were supposed to drop it off at Comox Valley (The local company) because Kjell had an agreement with them where it's cheaper. There must have been a mistake, because Van Kam ended up taking it all the way, in the end losing us like fifty bucks.

He comes out saying I fucked up and that I'd lost him a customer over fifty dollars and that it should come out of my salary.

Fuuuck. Just writing this is pissing me off. I was so mad at the old fuck, I just about lost it trying to explain it when he just sat there telling me I had cost him a customer he had being dealing with for twelve years over a mis-shipped paint product when it wasn't even my fault.

My God. He's next man. I'm going to find out his title or expose him for not doing shit, I don't care how long he's been there. Next time he wants something shipped he better be proficient at filling out waybills and dangerous goods forms.

With all these people on me, I've got to wonder is it me? I don't get it, they all come after me like I've got a target between my shoulder blades.

Dan quit today. I don't like the guy very much, he's alright but has way too much of a little girl temper and a know it all in far too many subjects just to be knowledgeable in. What this really means is I'm now the most senior person there asides Kevin come two weeks, and I've been there for the summer. I also make a little more than a fast food attendant. As a side note, the last shipper (Who strictly did shipping, nothing else.) made four dollars an hour more than me. I do his job as well as three others, I outsold everyone last month by about five grand in till sales.

What a fucking joke.

I again find myself wondering how this company is going to stay afloat, winder is apparently a slow season and this summer we apparently came out just barely on top. Everything is so shaky, and for all the prestige and knowledge we claim to have, we're barely making it by.

I need to get out. I need to find different avenues.

Deja Vu, anyone?

Well here I am again, stuck inside in front of a computer screen, alone, staring out at the rain pound down.

I'm alone because that butt-plug Sean didn't show...Again. Come on dude, I live twenty minutes away and you live within fifteen minutes walking distance. Something wrong here. I don't even care, I know he's being put down Tuesday, so I'm none too worried. Almost relaxed, it's nice not to have a thirty four year old loser who looks like he's fifty and makes the same as me here.

Putting that faggot out of my mind, it's such a stupid day to work. When it rains it's like the place in Fight Club, the roof leaks in at least four different places so I've got buckets set up around the store. God knows why, the floor could be covered in ice and it wouldn't make a difference. I've been here three hours and made twenty measly bucks. Not even close to my wage for that amount of time. Now factor in the hydro bills, cost of wear and tear on the equipment, (the generators have to be put outside and it's pouring rain, they rust in rain..) and my wages? The owners clearly have no common sense and are losing one hell of a lot of money to be open seven days a week.

It's like everything the employees say means nothing. We complain about wages, they organize a training meeting so we'll sell more stuff. We phone next door about our purchase orders for paint, hose, and engine parts, we get cut off from buying anything. We get angry phone calls about Yanmar engine parts that haven't been in for weeks, they reduce our budget for Yanmar and continue to stall paying bills.

Again, in the grand scheme of this company, I am nothing; but that doesn't mean that I can't tell this place is going into a spiral. How can we sell anything when our shelves have so many holes in them? Now that we're not allowed to order anything unless it's special order, more than 90% of my time goes down the drain. When I'm not sending stuff out or receiving stuff, I'm making lists of what we need or helping customers. Now that we're not ordering, I won't be making lists. Now that we're not going to be receiving stock, how can I possibly receive? As a shipper, it's such a nightmare. My options for things to do in the day now consist of trying to look busier then Dan who's jerking off looking for work until Kevin comes by, at which point he drags up a purchase order or something else, or try and organize the mound of stuff sitting in the corners with no tags or place to go.

What a clusterfuck. No wonder everyone comes in here mad, this place is run by a (Supposedly, this is just here say,) a cocaine user who walks his dog more then he spends time in the office. Whoopee. I'd be pissed too, coming in and talking to a smartass nineteen year old who knows jack fucking all about resins and epoxies for a steel boat that the gelcoat is starting to blister on, or what kind of paint a 1975 wooden dinghy needs after it's already had Hempalin for twenty years on but now wants to switch to an ablative paint.

I've got to wonder how long this place has before it goes under. Until then I've got to try and learn something from all this, or at least steal a flare gun and some flares. What a life.

Carey backed out on moving out. Now I'm really stuck. Anyone want a roommate?

Friends.

Good friends are a real rarity, and I'm really starting to feel the force and truth behind that statement.

Even the friends I have now, it's tough alot of the time. We're all so goddamn different and have such different interests in life. My two base goals right now are to move out and find a way to make as much money as I possibly can. It's not that I'm overly greedy, it's just having money would give me options. Travel, school, new truck, etc etc.

Take my best friend...Carey we'll call him.

The kids a workaholic. He works five days a week, on average nine to eleven hours and on his weekends helps his dad out building a massive retaining wall in his back yard. (For nothing, his dad refuses to pay him.) He works a carpentry/ roofing job where he's outside or inside smashing drywall apart, so he comes home every day drenched in sweat and tired as fuck. Yet he chooses his hours, he by choice only has to work eight hours, but he stays just because he wants to get things done.

It's crazy, I worked with him and his dad all day and I was wanting to quit listening to his dad bitch at him. He was constantly on him, saying he doesn't trust his work, work harder, do this differently, do this this way, bla bla bla. And the kid just takes it, even though he doesn't have to help, he just does it. Takes the abuse, works the hard jobs...Man. I know I wouldn't.

I want to move out with him so bad, but he's such a mommas boy that I doubt he will. His mom still makes his damn lunches and breakfast in the morning. Plus, his dad will take the truck from him if he moves because he wants him around for the free labour and from the looks of their relationship, someone to yell and scrap with.

I don't know what I'm going to do. I want to move so bad, but I doubt I'll find someone. As well, I really need a new job... Ugh. Frustration sets in deep.

I'm really looking forward to going boxing again though, monday is going to be good. Really going to push myself hard again, learn as much as I can. I think this may be a new thing for me for the next little while.

Too bad I have to work tommorow and labour day. Bummer.

A full entry? What the fuck!

I at least owe myself a full explanation and a breakdown of recent events.

So that Dogfucking, shit-eating, fatass piece of going bald grey teeth mother FUCKING Sean is getting fired! I know! I'm excited too! Piece of shit, the whole "Let's harass the shipper WHENEVER I'm doing sweet fuck all and trying not to look like a total moron, which as a side note, IS ALL THE FUCKING TIME, game." got old. Reaalll quiick.

So how did I do it? Yes ladies and gentlemen, I will proclaim to have gotten this fucker fired; because let's be honest: I did!

It all started when he fucking shows up late EVERY weekend leaving me to open everything and be harassed by all the old pricks that come into the store. Whether it be sleeping in, or claiming his new meds are fucking him up, (Which, by the how, WHAT THE FUCK? How goddamn crazy are you?!) he always had a really, really sorry excuse. It pissed me off because he was always trying to swindle me into keeping his faggoty secret that he couldn't make it to work on time, even though he lives the closest out of any employee. It's within walking distance for fucks sakes.

Next it would be that game. A constant barrage of "What're you doing?" But not like a question, more like a demand. He's new, so am I, so at first I thought he might be trying to learn. Fair enough right?

No! That fucker is questioning me, making sure I'm working while he goes off and fucks the living shit out of the dog. Sitting, smoking whenever he can, looking around and smacking his cocksuckers lips as if he's got a fat pair of nuts to gargle between them. This fucker is making sure I'm working? Go die! I would Love to see his daily routine played through in fast motion, it would be a montage of sitting behind the counter and sneaking out behind the trailers for a fag.

This constant questioning prompted none too kind responses from me, and from there, a Lovely hatred was born. I tried to help, I tried to give him stuff to do, (Because believe me, at a clusterfuck Marine Store switching computer systems, there is a buttload to do.) or even just to leave me alone. But nooo, after sitting around to his hearts content, he would come and pester me asking me why I was organizing my shipping desk. Why I felt the need to put away the rope. Why I was selling something to a customer. Asking me a question, and then right in front of an old prick, laughing at my answer and saying I'm wrong.

Do you know how hard it is to earn the older generations respect when you're nineteen? Especially when half of them don't speak English and have already rammed their twelve foot rotten wooden boat into the rocks and need a new piece of everything yesterday? Hard enough, I don't need that fucker undermining me at every turn, it's a struggle I'm losing thanks to my ever shortening temper.

Anyhow. You get the point. He's a fucking loser.

I started by saying this faggot was always late, which was no lie in my defence. He even missed a full day of work and called in the next morning saying he was going to be late, and because we're so short staffed and cheap, we let him get away with! I then said I thought he was kind of a loonie, which he played right into my hand by calling and saying he's started to take medication for anxiety after his mothers death. It might explain why he's been such a prick, but I almost have to surmise he's always been a fucker.

I then proceeded to spread a few rumors in the underbelly of the staff which would eventually work it's way up to the man about his inadequacies, medications, and squeal on every little thing he did wrong. Wrong? Probably. Did he deserve it? Probably. Does anyone there like him anyways? No!

Just fanning the flames, speeding things up a little, you know? I don't even need to justify myself, I feel fine about it. I'll be sleeping fine when I still have a job in an economy where twenty percent of all British Colombians are unemployed. Boo fucking hoo.

Kev' told me he's gone Tuesday, and I have to work with him Sunday and Monday. It's going to be so hard to keep quiet, but oh man, so satisfying to watch him leave the door.

Fuck that felt gooodd. I'm still SO sore from boxing, what a fucking workout man! Today looks like a chill day, I was supposed to go camping and get trashed, but the weather looks hairier then my ass. Unlikely, but fear not! There's always another party afoot! I guess.

Drinking is one of the few things I look forward to in the week. (Here's a short list; Working out, boxing now, time alone with my book, time with Corey, drinking. Whee.) I've almost had to make it something to look forward to, it seems that if I don't I almost spiral a little bit. Alcoholism? Shit.

Bah, I don't even care. It keeps me sane and maybe one of my only dependants. Not even, I could go without, but at this point, I don't even care. I'm all for keeping myself healthy, but I enjoy my booze a little too much.

I'm just digging a big hole for myself here, so I'll stop. At least I'm aware of it. At least.

Breakfast time! At noon! I Love my weekends!

All good days...

...Mean one hell of a sore day the next.

I went and tried my 'hand' at boxing last night and had a blast, I enjoyed it to the point of buying a four month membership. How tired and sore I am is unbelievable though, from the top of my shoulders down to my ankles. Arms, chest, abs, everything hurts. Damn fine pain though, I haven't had that intense or fulfilling workout in months.

I'm at work, as always, so as much as I'd like to talk about developments with that fuckup and eternal buttplug, I can't. He's right beside me. Maybe next entry? Tons of fun stuff with that loser.

Bah. Boss is back, I better go. Hopefully I'll get a chance to write some more soon, I'm actually enjoying writing again.

I think I'm actually just starting to accept this whole loneliness thing and beginning to digest and move on.

It's tough to say, I'm still not being social enough or meeting nearly enough people, but at least I'm not so mopey or depressed before I fall asleep. The stuff I got for my thyroid actually helped out a little, so I've been perkier lately. However, work continues to drag be down; whether it be grumpy-faggoty old men bitching at me for not having their stuff (Which it's Dan's fucking fault, he refuses to order because next door won't approve his older orders. Fucker.) or my retarded counterparts. I've almost gotten into fistfights with men nearly twice my age on a couple of occasions, and if Sean continues to have attitude with me or Dan has another little girl temper tantrum and tells me to fuck off one more time? Fuuuuckk.

I've been ridiculously scrappy lately. Anytime someone disrespects me in the slightest ( Asides customers, apparently screaming is a common way to communicate in this business) I'm up in their face right away, either countering them or insulting them back. No insult is left alone, no off hand slight about my personality or attitude ignored. I've been pushed around my whole life, mostly because of my build or slightly submissive nature, but now that I've got the figure and am good and fucking tired of being pushed, that's all over. I'm simply not allowing it, not backing down, and if someone pisses me off, they'll hear about it. Quick.

And on that note, that cunt Sean is going to get fired. Whether it be me squealing on him for being late almost every time me and him have to open (5-10 minutes, whatever; excusable. An hour every weekend and once a weekday? Fuck that!) or him claiming to know the job better? Go die buddy. Seriously, don't fuck with me. I'll get you fired or beat you down.

Yawn. Back to work I guess. What a stupid day.

How do you present yourself in a normal, healthy way these days?

Alot of the habits I keep are healthy, yet alot more are not. I've had a rough and confusing past, mingled in with mistakes and scars that don't easily fade. I'm still pretty fucked up and not 100%, and it's hard to say when that will happen.

I think that's my biggest chink in my armor, I don't know when I'll just be able to laugh off all of the major insecurities and fears I have left over from Evelyn and the solid wall of a nightmare that followed. What I really need is a confidence booster, something to get my ego and swagger back in full, not just some stupid facade.

Fuck, I really need to get out and have something I could even jokingly call a social life. Asides the group (Which still won't hang out unless we're drinking. >:/) and the usual boytoys, I'm alone all the time. It's been so long since I've even flirted properly with a girl, and I was so young and naive back then. How do adults flirt? Do I act mature or lighthearted and funny?

I really need to take some time to figure my own dumb self out.

This bitter loneliness.

At the party last night I sat out in the deep end of the pool, my buzz dying in my throat as I watched four couples hooking up in front of me. I don't know what it was, I don't know why I cared, but it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to watch.

The nicest thing about the group was there was never any sexual tension. Guys and 'gals just having a good time, putting the week of misery and pointlessness to the torch and just destroying it with the bottle. There was no need to judge, no need to point fingers at anyone calling them stupid petty names, because we were all there for the same reason. We all knew it, we all accepted it, and moved on from the fact. As well, we would have a damn good time doing whatever the fuck we wanted. Laughing, drinking games, making fun, saying stupid things over and over simply because the words brought tears to our eyes.

But now it just seems like the integrity is gone. Everyone just decided to hook up, major make out sessions right in the pool. The long time couples I don't care about, but the few single girls just going to town on the guy in front of them just seemed so out of place. I always imagined that if it did happen, it would be with me. Sure, there was never any tension, but I'd be a liar if I didn't say there was attractions and a hint of chemistry there.

I don't even feel like a friend, just some goddamn clown to show up and make people laugh for awhile while I get drunk and they have a good time watching me do it. Sure, I'm the life of the party, people flock around, but at what cost to my character? I can't hang with them to save my life, they never even want to see me unless I've got a ridiculous outfit on and a bottle pushed to my lips. I've tried, but it's obvious they're blowing me off and I've almost given up hope.

So here I sit again. Alone and desperate to change it, but no closer or happier to achieving anything. It feels so goddamn pathetic, I feel like an empty shell of a person that I'm no longer sure exists.

The worst part of being the way I am is I can see it. I'm not about to deny much, or even looking for some big overwhelming sense of understanding/pity. I'm just looking to find my own way through the rough, but I'm so deep now it's like I'm in an endless maze.

Being desperate is just stupid as well. Instead of having something close to a pair of balls I just have this massive fleshy patch there, pulsing and red from being abused so much. Instead of being slick or trying to pull off something cool, you go for the desperation mode pickups or say something retarded that gives away your real position. What fucking girl wants that? Some loser who always seems to be one big trainwreck with massive insecurities? Mother Teresa would probably smack me in the mouth and call me a pussy; I can't imagine anyone just wanting to comfort me back to strength and wanting to stick with me through it all.

I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm glad I'm out of the pool and hungover now. I feel better just admitting all these stupid things, it's refreshing to admit your weaknesses, even if it is online to the worldwide web.

I'm going to go have a really good day.

We are the clowns only here to entertain.

Tossing and Turning.

All last night my body wretched itself across the bed, convulsing and snorting myself into a half-consciousness. I awoke at five thirty, my eyes bulging and nonreactive to the short time I had to sleep in the night. I dreamt, as always, but much more vividly then normal. I saw a familiar face, a face who's name dwells in the back of my subconsciousness. I can't recall the name, but the face, the face kept me awake all morning. I've only seen her twice, but for whatever reason the second time I saw her I can't get the image out of my skull.

I know where she works, I know the job she does because I've done it, I know I'm attracted to her, but nothing else. I can't tell if this is just another stupid boyish crush or potentially something more yet, I haven't even really spoke to her; and to be frank, I'm not sure I have the balls to do it. I want to, I want to more than anything right now. I'm so goddamn sick of being alone, I want to meet someone so badly it hurts in the bottom of my chest. I just don't know how I'd do it?

Do I phone her workplace, asking about her and when she might work? I know people talk and she'd probably be informed some creep was asking about her, so when I showed and tried to present myself I'd come off more of a stalker or some sort of major loser than anything else. I've got a plan to get in the theatre, acting like a projectionist from another theatre there to repair a piece of equipment. I'd ask her to escort me, first getting the name of the projectionist and manager so I could name drop so the story would seem legitimate. Then, once I had a brief moment of solitude with her, confess my real intentions and ask her to dinner. Of course, this would expose me to the rest of the staff and presumably, her friends, so if this backfired she would have a whole crew to shut me down in front of, which would just be a disaster.

Do I slip her a "gift certificate" with a confessional on it, simply stating how I'd be interested in seeing more of her? Do I phone and ask until I get her and then ask her to meet me somewhere?
Do I spy on her and find out when she's off and then "accidentally" run into her?

Everything I think of just sounds so creepy.

And once again, I question my own confidence to do any of the things I've thought of.

All I know is I'll have trouble sleeping until I try something. I know I'll have more trouble if I get shot down, but I always have to wonder.

Where the fuck has my backbone gone?

And I'm afraid, to sleep because of what haunts me. Such as, living with the uncertainty that I'll never find the words to say which would completely explain;
Just how I'm breaking down.

Icarus.

Daedalus fashioned two pairs of wings out of wax and feathers for himself and his son. Before they took off from the island, Daedalus warned his son not to fly too close to the sun, nor too close to the sea. Overcome by the giddiness that flying lent him, Icarus soared through the sky curiously, but in the process he came too close to the sun, which melted the wax. Icarus kept flapping his wings but soon realized that he had no feathers left and that he was only flapping his bare arms. And so, Icarus fell into the sea in the area which bears his name, the Icarian Sea near Icaria, an island southwest of Samos.

A man, standing tall and proud, stretching his arms out to the heavens. He is lean, not a shred of fat on his body, his muscles thin but taunt with checked control. His legs are crossed, his genitals hidden beneath a thin fold of green linen. He is faceless, his face turned skyward and a mask of indifference hides any sort of facial features; all that can be seen is a firm and solid jaw, a perfectly sculpted head.

Strapped to both of his arms lie beautiful red and gold wings. The feathers of wax are intricate and thin, with hundreds of hours etched into each wing, each feather a masterpiece in its own. The man is in mid flight, his arms pushed to the ends of his own limits as the wind soars and whistles through them, the wings catching the breeze and propelling him towards freedom and the bright light of the sun.

On his chest, a tiny tattoo of his own. A little sun with sunglasses, smiling.

Naked and raw ambition, yet a reminder not to go too far. Always fly high, yet be careful and realistic with your dreams.

But where to get this vision on my body? I'm considering getting it drawn up somewhere.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle!

After very little thought, I've decided to recycle my virginity.

I know, it sounds so fucking stupid it hurts a little, but I think whomever I end up doing it for will actually appreciate it. I think the next girl I sleep with will actually mean something again, which will be nice.

I can't believe I'm actually doing it though, what used to be a source of pride (As it is for most men,) has become a burden and a side of myself I'm more than a little ashamed of. High School was crazy, I can't count how many times I got so unbearably lucky and wound up in bed with girls as beautiful and gorgeous as I did; there was even a few occasions with more then one girl at once. However, after my run in with my Blond Angel and the stage fright and the confusion that followed, it's definitely time to slow down and wait for someone special again.

I can't believe how much insight Evelyn managed to show over the course of our relationship, she predicted this more accurately then I could have ever imagined. I remember her telling me I'd regret my dirty past at some point, whether it be through some sort of disease or just having to tell someone I care about who and what I've done, and I also remember laughing at her then. I've always been careful with my screening of girls (For the most part...) and as a male, it's natural to brag about sexual conquests. I never thought I might become ashamed of it all, I never imagined it coming back to haunt me as much as it is now. All posts under the title "Lusting for Alpha Male" have earned me a permanent and cosy spot in shallow mans hell.
(Haha, fat chicks and gay guys always wanting to talk...)

How I figure I'll do the so called 'recycling' is pretty simple.
-No porn
-No masturbation
-Obviously no fooling around until I find a certain someone who actually gives a damn about me that I care for.

Sure, it's nothing huge, but hopefully someone will appreciate it. I'm not going to claim I am one, I'm not going to hide from my conceded past, but I will do my best to try and reshape my future and live a life that's not so fucking stupid and shallow.

Now I just need to find that 'special' someone. Bummer.

Next time I'm going to try and describe the wicked tattoo idea I nearly went out and got on a whim.

Blond Assassin.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing when she called; we haven't spoken a word to each other in nearly over two years.

It was crazy, as soon as I heard her voice and realized she was coming, it was being a pre-pubescent teenager all over. Weak knees, shaky voice, sweating profusely, anxiety attacks; For the first time in probably four years I asked someone what I should wear to flatter myself. And when I saw her again it was like she had never left, her bounding step, her fluttering and spastic laugh, even her long wild blond hair. So much had changed, yet it seemed like nothing ever changed at all. It's like back when we first met: I'm an emotional trainwreck and she's so high on life it's infectious.

We spoke and it seemed so natural and right, I forgot what it was like to talk to such an honest and forward person. She spoke her mind, laughed at all my jokes and insults, and as always made sure to keep what was really going on in her head to a minimum. She just made me feel so good, I was sad to hear she was leaving right after this Angel lept back into my sights.

I offered to let her stay the night and I had one of the strangest nights I've ever had.

I started to set up my bed in the other room, obviously letting her sleep in my much cooler room with the bed, when she crept in and unceremoniously took off her bra and bent over, giving me the grandest view of her bulging cleavage. Without so much as a second thought or even a hint that I might be staring wide eyed down her shirt, she simply asked if I wanted to sleep with her.

What? We haven't spoken in years? I know you've only slept with two guys, I know you're looking for a good time, but what is this? I remember when we were fifteen and I told you about oral sex with a girl and you laughing your ass off at me, telling me how unbelievably gross that was. Scolding me softly for the raw amount of sex I managed to have as a youth, telling me of the dangers and showing some restraint, yet here you are, offering yourself to me like some sort of object?

I agreed after a moments hesitation, clearly unsure of what to say or do. In truth, of all the girls I've ever met in my life, she is (And shall remain,) the only girl I've cared considerably enough to utter the L word to that I HAVEN'T fantasized about. I've just never thought about her like that, I respect her too much and always thought of her as this wonderful saviour, a pure and hilariously gifted girl.

I got in and kept to my side, bewildered and a little astounded something like this was happening. I'd never in my wildest and bizarre dreams ever imagined something like this unfolding, this was the closest we'd been in nearly five years and then the most we had managed was a holding hands, a stolen kiss under the covers. Yet here I was, lying beside this barely clothed Goddess, unsure and more than a little afraid of what could be ahead.

She grabbed my hands with a laugh and threw one around her waist, pulling the other hand around her neck to rest a little above her breasts. I felt myself shake as she rubbed her ass up against my crotch, my nervousness beginning to rise.

We talked for a bit in this embrace, her words thick with seduction and the promise of something so much more, mine weak and mumbled. This sweet and innocent girl I had fallen for so many years ago was gone, replaced by this newly awakened women, her powers of seduction taken to impossible heights.

When we kissed I lost my breath. She started fast, but slowed when our tongues met; the pace was defined by her want of me. We sped up, our hands roaming free and touching whatever they pleased. I felt her body all over, my fingers wrapping around and feeling every inch of her incredible body. I was in a dream, my mind unattached and watching the event unfold beneath me.

She revealed more to me in two minutes then she had over the course of our entire previous friendship.

She wasn't looking for a boyfriend, she simply wanted a strong pair of arms to hold and feel her all over. She worried about me caring too much (Justly...) and how things might become weird after we did have sex, she told me she'd want to do it again but not any sort of long distance relationship. She showed me her lack of a gag reflex, told me of chronic masturbation, listed off all the filthy things she Loved to have done to her.

It was at this point I became so nervous I got stage fright, I actually could not perform.

I couldn't believe it. The sweet and innocent girl I knew was gone, replaced by this lusting and savage Amazon, begging me to fuck her with the extra finger and finish by cumming all over her tits and mouth.

I couldn't get hard. I tried everything, thinking of someone else, finger banging and oral sex until she came violently and repeatedly, my tongue inside her. Masturbation, relaxation, forcing it...

She talked to me like I was some sort of child. I've got a dozen women under my belt, she's had sex with two and is telling me what to do. What the fuck.

Afterwords, we just lay awake all night. We cuddled and kissed, I ate her out again and again watching her body rise and fall as she came and came again, we talked and spoke to each other like a married couple.

"I'm all yours right now, you know that?"

Except you're not. I know you will probably never be mine, you're too much of a free spirit to be held down by any man. I know this may be my only chance at this sort of thing again, we may never kiss or hold each other or anyone else like I am holding you right now. But I wasn't sad, I just lay there and breathed her in as much as I could. I embraced, I kissed, I tried and tried to actually get the show going, but I couldn't.

I had work in the morning and got maybe two hours of sleep, the rest of the night spent wrapped in my Love-drunk haze. When she left, she left like nothing had happened. This was simply standard treatment for an old friend. We hugged, kissed one last time, and she left with a laugh and a smile on her lips.

After it's all said and done, I honestly still can't believe what has happened. I don't know if I should speak, she's not looking for a clingon or even another fuck buddy, she could have any man she wants. I don't know when or if I'll ever see her again, but I'm still so glad I did get the chance to see her, even with what happened. I'd do it all again, even the workday that never seemed to end and being awake for the better part of 36 hours.

I miss her, but I know it's wrong to. I know such things are stupid to waste my time on, I know she's not interested in the nice guy at this point. She wants to go and experiment, party it up a little, meet some people. I wanted to tell her it won't go anywhere, I've been down and been stuck on that street for so long now it's just an embarrassment. The people you'll meet will never care or respect you as much as I will, the parties you'll see will fade and die after time, and I know that if you keep at it, you'll find someone. You deserve and will find the best.

I don't know where this leaves me. Alone, used, yet happy about it all. I know I was just a pair of arms and a strong brush up to her confidence and ego, my whispered words of lust and wonder stroking her nerves and mind.

My blond Angel, the Worlds Blond Assassin; wounding and awing young boys all over the world.

I wonder where I sit on her pile of skulls.

Fuck Alpha.

Previous entries in this blog were titled under "Lusting for Alpha Male," which after a while got old and I lost the desire and will to continue to write in that style and write about the things I originally set myself up to do. Instead I realize I need an outlet for all of my feelings, instead of just this fucked up dark side that needs alcohol, sex and some futile attempts at being popular.

From now on I'm just going to write what I please. Thoughts, tattoo ideas, and feelings towards pivotal events in life.

I'm so goddamn busy all the time now.

I mentioned before I felt like I never have any time, and now it just seems to be manifesting itself tenfold. Tomorrow, after working eight hours, I get to cut a lawn, weedwack, go home and eat, and then mow my own lawn. It's just ridiculous, by the time all of that is said and done and I've made lunch for the next day it'll be time for bed virtually.

I've made the transition to two-hundred smoothly I think. I haven't noticed any weight gain though, I feel the same, I think I look the same, I'm no stronger or weaker, and people continue to say I look a healthy one eighty. So what's up here? Where did twenty pounds come from? I really don't understand.

I was really in the mood to write earlier, but it died quicker then I could finish actually portraying what's going on in 'alpha's' life. To summarize;

-Toga party, two days away.
-Trying to sneak workouts that I find inefficient and unsatisfying.
-Disgusted with stomach again, need to find way that I can stick to to destroy it.
-Sexual appetite low, easily sated with odd bouts of masturbation.
-Ridiculous amounts of work, money is abundant. Disliking job, looking for something more ambitious and active. Also something I would enjoy and would work willingly year round. (Fitness centre?)
-Looked into kickboxing/ ju-jitsu, no call back from dojo yet.
-Appetite: Impossible. Always hungry, eating more then people for the first time ever.

There's so much to tell but my interest level has dipped. Maybe I'll get back into it in awhile.

Am I happy, just extremly bipolar?

Yay.

I had a really amazing day.

I woke up early to dig, but I enjoyed it. I worked up a sweat but had a good time doing it, I felt active and alive; connected with the shovel and for the first time in awhile not thrown into a situation that put me off balance. It was all straightforward, move the earth around me and do it quickly. No business talks, no angry customers, no bullshit. Do it, do it well, get paid well. My back hurt only for the first few minutes, after that it just seemed to let go and release, letting me work in peace. My muscles all felt healthy and active, and after a quick swim and even a workout later in the day I still feel fantastic.

I enjoy digging I've discovered. It's so simple, you just lose yourself to the scrape of the shovel and the motions lulls your muscles into a content working pace. You feel like you're really doing something, you see the results instantly and what you can do with them is incredible. You feel like you're part of something bigger, like some sort of union or a bigger socialist movement. You're together, united somehow. I can't explain it but I enjoy the feeling. Maybe there's a future with it somewhere, who knows.

I had a really, really great day. Most of the money I earned is spent or gas in my truck, but I'm still so pleased with the way everything went. I want more days like these.

I'm going to bed tired, but for the first time and what seems like years, completely content. It's odd, but I think I'll manage.

July is coming, with it an unwelcome anniversary. I just want it to melt by.

Will I ever be happy?

It's like as soon as I get something done I twist it around on myself.

Working has been alright, I feel like shit even after eight hours of sleep though, which is frustrating. The work itself is a little monotonous, it's slightly physically demanding and on the weekdays is pretty chaotic, so I feel like I'm doing something at least. The days all drag though, it feels like eight hours stretches out to twelve or something. When I get home it's honestly so depressing though; I make food and drink for the next day, eat, do my laundry, shower, and by the time it's all over, I've only got a short period until bed and the next day. My day drags and drags and by the time I'm ready for any sort of me time it's lying in bed, reading.

Reading lately had given me a totally different view on 'alpha' male though. Reading about the Soviets and how Stalin got away with what he did shows me a different side of power, something that brute strength or the ability to out drink someone could never do. Deception, cunning, intellectual pacification, manipulation, all things that an empire of monumental strength and cruelty was born from. It makes me stride towards my intellectual side again, instead of just drowning it in booze.

I'm curious to what I might be classified as if such a revolution came about. Intellectual? Writer? Anarchist? Or just another peasant, do I flatter myself with the terms I thought of before?

I don't really know. I'm not really sure if I care.

My time alone has been satisfying lately, it seems like I can count on people less and less.

With all my friends turning to drugs now it's summer I feel very alone. I don't participate, I watch the pipe and cigarellos pass from lip to lip, I take someone home because they say they're tired only to find out they just wanted to get high without me. Sometimes I drink when a party is afoot and watch drunkenly, swaying back and forth trying to comprehend why people do it but realizing I'm no better by just drinking alcohol, other times I sit back and just watch, making excuses to leave early. It's so odd that everyone, literally, everyone does it now. Friends I've known since birth, ex-straight edge teenagers, or just even the girls I thought had a higher sense of values or were 'good girls.' Nothing or nobody seems to stay pure or even trustworthy.

My friends all disappoint me. I'm a target for my weight frequently even though they know full well it's a sensitive subject. Now that I work full time they can't be bothered to change plans at all even though they don't work any days of the week, they just keep throwing their own things and ridicule me for not wanting to come out late when I have to work the next day.

I don't feel at all suited for this role I so crave, I feel like a boy trapped in the Colosseum and instructed to die. I'm bigger, stronger, but I don't feel at all fulfilled by any of it. My aggression has died and I'm again passive until poked, which gives the impression I'm much more moody then I am. I'm just generally unhappy all the time, so I hide it with alcohol or an attitude I can't keep up. People cry out in so many different ways it's impossible to tell who really needs help or just needs sunshine shot vertically into their asshole. I'd say I'm borderline, I overthink everything now. Work, women, bills, people. I wonder if they even know what I think of most of them?

I want to take a kickboxing or boxing class, I want to know how to legitimately fight. I almost just want to take a few people in my backyard and pummel them, just to get all of these pent up emotions out and to show I'm not a fucking joke. I want to grow my hair back out for my old personally I loathe so much, want my eyebrow re pierced, want my arm to be covered in tattoo's.

I want to go back to the old me, even though I know it fucked me up so badly in the past. I want to go forward and become someone totally new, but I don't know where to start or what I would even do.

Another week drags by and things stay virtually the same. Alcohol, work, restless nights haunted by Evelyn or nightmares of failure.

A workout was a much needed release, working full time prevented me from getting much done physically asides work itself, so when I finally got to the gym it felt so good, so right. My addiction has grown, several days and I feel bloated, all time low self-esteem. But when I'm out everything sorts out, I feel great again. I need to work in times for when I can bench after work and then be sure to hit the gym hard on my days off. How I'll manage is up in the air, but it needs to be done. I may weigh more then I ever have but I still look damn fine, I've never been stronger or more confident in my drinking shirt.

I wish I had the money to just fly away right now, alone. I'd go to Russia, of course, and whether or not I came back is questionable. The thought takes root more and more every day. I've got the website for a self-course on Russian that I could potentially earn a degree over the Internet, I'm not sure if I have the time or drive to learn a new language at this point.

It took me so long to write this, my wrist hurts. I've lost touch with the writer in myself.

I'm looking forward to Blink 182's mosh so I can just rage on anyone close enough to me. Dick move, right?