When there's something to say...

I'm feeling empty like I do after every time I speak with Dan. Or, rather, I listen to him tell me how I should be doing more. There's something so confining about simply being you, with your skin-tight self snugly pulling you closer and closer. There's nothing more that I can incorporate into this form before I start to become something else. Something more. Always something more.

So, I'm wasting his time, or he's wasting mine, or I'm just wasting my own.

And he'd call me narcissistic to think any of his choices have to do with me. But, that's not what I think at all. And maybe that's what hurts the most. Y'know, that whole thing about the opposite of love not being hate, but indifference. The whole "take it or leave it" kind of deal we're in right now.

So, I'm just not going to think about it anymore. I started taking my Zoloft again, a couple days ago. You got me guys, I need it. I thought maybe I could use the good ol' power of will to overcome negative spells, but that proved to be naught. 

Sam was feelin' ill to the point of death and, not wanting to die alone, she called me. Death and I make good bed-mates. We were headed back from OHS in San Marcos so we just picked her up from her apartment complex by Rookies' and took her back to our pad. She hung out until about 4 when her dad picked her up.

Jean called and asked me if I would like to go with her to Vinaka at 1 tomorrow and I said, "Yeah." I want to work on some stuff and she wants to get her resume in shape to for apply some new internships. I made some edits on it tonight and e-mailed it to her. We'll see if she likes it or makes my suggested changes.

I'm going to spend tomorrow writing submissions for some of the different places I found trying to garner submissions. S'all I got. Just have to try to get more articles in my portfolio. 

That's all I have for now. I get bent out of shape and then come here 'cause I don't want to burden anyone else. This blog, my digital sponsor. 

I've kept up my Spanish streak on Duolingo and have become more active on the Spanish subreddits I'm subscribed to. I just need some immersion and I think I'd be pretty set. I wish I lived with someone who would speak Spanish with me consistently like Irene and Jean were able to do with each other.

Alright, well, I'll do what I can do and let you, my faithful digital friend, know about it all when I have something to say.

Higher.

What happens now?

I get a voicemail from Red eight months after the fact and I have to wonder what spurred it. She said she had just talked to Amanda and had heard about everything from her. I think Amanda was afraid of getting in some type of trouble, that's why they carried me away from the tree and that's why she never came back to the hospital after my initial drop-off. I'm, if I'm being honest, kind of angry with both of them. Red had to have heard about what happened when it did. And Amanda, well, she wasn't all that forthcoming about details when I inquired. Everyone's so afraid of getting in trouble and it all really doesn't matter anymore.

But, let's talk about what's really been on my mind since Friday. Fuck, probably longer than that now. See, I've been having this recurring thought of permanent ineptitude. Case in point: couldn't remember how to spell "ineptitude."  I keep thinking about all the planning my frontal lobe isn't doing and all of the violent misfires going in in the parts of my brain that make me feel. And, yeah, they give me antidepressants for the symptoms, but they aren't too concerned about the faulty structures. Just treat the symptoms so she plays nice and feels good. But, the thing is, I haven't felt good for awhile now.

I keep wanting to drink because that's what used to make me feel good and it just doesn't anymore. So, I sneak away to the Purple Church and drink too many Sculpins. I can't walk right, but I tell myself it wouldn't matter anyway, it isn't the beer it's my brain.

I'd love to jot down notes in my notebook again, but I can't write like I used to. I can barely even hold a pen and it hasn't improved much despite the stupid cursive worksheets I've done. Close an eye and make sure the marks fall between both lines. Carry a glass of water a few feet and wonder how much you've lost from sloshing.

See, the thing is, I've thought about a few different ways of taking a permanent break. An extended hiatus. Finish the good Lord's work. He put these trees and nature hear for you and me.

I don't believe in God, but I know train conductors get paid to pass by at designated times. I know they probably get mandated time off and counseling when a workplace accident occurs.

I think about those Norcos my mom hid from me and know they won't do any good anyway because they didn't before. Just barfed all night and missed rehab the next day.

You see, I'm done. There's nothing more for me to do. I'll never be able to walk well enough to go climbing off into the wilderness like I thought I would before. My speech is still jilted, slurred, and difficult to get out. No self-respecting company will want me to answer their phones or speak with their clients.

I would like to write, but making a living solely on that is a fool's errand.

And I'm tired. I've been tired for awhile. It's hard for me to care about other people's problems and I can't tell if it's because of what has happened to my brain or it's just me.

So I think about the way that would cause the least chaos. Would be easy to clean up. I wish the tree had been taller or if I had just climbed higher.

Start a new chapter.

Dan read my first chapter last night and then called me to talk about it. He said he liked it, but was afraid it it was going to turn into an anti-male feminist piece. I told him that wasn't my intention or my plan. Not my fault if people interpret it that way. He thought Number Two's lecherous exploits were funny. Wait 'til he meets the character based on him. He asked me for the next chapter, but I didn't write in order, so there's scenes missing. I'll have to cobble one together like I did the first chapter.

I ordered a book my teacher for the novel class wrote about writing fiction. I placed the order two days ago and it's s'posed to arrive today, probably with the post around noon. I'll read through it and

This morning, I got up at 7 to get ready to go help Jean. She needs to interview some people in Spanish for a grad. school project and I'm going to assist.

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So, we came to Vinaka after surveying people, which went smoother than I thought it would. Now I'm going to write for my book, so I'm going to leave this for now.

Just figured...

Today, I had rehab and didn't do as well as I normally do. Some days, you're just off.

Afterwards, I helped Irene hang some shelving at her house. Everyone pretty much said they were unavailable for trivia so we skipped out on it tonight.

Instead, Dan and I hung out in my parents' kitchen. I made us egg sandwiches and some cookies.

I posted my Discussion Board for class, along with responses. I need to do the actual assignment tomorrow.

The clickbait job e-mailed me asking if I could turn those articles in sometime during the next 24 hours. I don't really want to do it. Dan advised me not to since I wouldn't be using it for a portfolio or anything. We'll see how I feel in the morning. Probably not any different.

I don't have much to say today...I just figured I should post something.

New beginnings.

So, we delete two and a half years of posts in a fit of rage, passion, and self-righteousness. Then, we promptly begin to miss having an outlet for our pent up feelings and, a week later, create a new blog with a new URL and a new audience which will, ideally, consist of no one.

Why do I like using a blog to post thoughts and feelings I should feel ashamed to put in any public format? Besides the usefulness of its organizational benefits, it just makes it feel like I'm talking to someone, even if it's just myself. I don't like to waste paper recording my thoughts which are mostly mundane and pointless.

It would have been nice to have some of the posts directly following my accident as means of comparison to now. Hell, it would have been nice to have those old posts to see exactly how far I've come and how I felt during certain times in my life. Instead, I let someone else's stupid perspective on the whole thing color my decisions and alter my perception. Absence is my punishment. Absence of records. Absence of recordings. Absence of past thoughts.

I've been working on my book project and last week left me feeling disheartened. Maybe this one will be better, I just need  to power through it again. Start feeling good about it once more.

Really, that's how I should be feeling about life. Or, at least, I should be handling it that way. Trying to find the good in it again. You see, I've been depressed these past few weeks. Listless. Thinking about "pointlessness" and "giving up." Beating myself to death with a non-stick frying pan. How many licks does it take to reach the center of a tootsie pop? How many whacks does it take to make a TBI sufferer cease suffering?

Oh, I'm so melodramatic, Dan would say. Life isn't that bad and I'm blowing it all out of proportion. When I fuck up my streak on Duolingo, I just start again at Day 1. When I delete my blog, I just start a new one and title the first post accordingly. There's projects to be had, by God, there's work to be done. No one wants to be a sad, sorry sod and everyone wants to have someone.

I'm bitter and I'm angry and I'm just no good.

Quote of the Day:

"I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul."

-Invictus by William Ernest Henley