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.