Well, things are pretty much normal. i'm just working and sleeping.
12 hour days are long.. but 2 or 3 days off at a time is nice, too.
Amelia has been getting really close with a dude at her work. I'm wondering how much longer it will last, now.
anyway, maybe its time to start looking around myself.
anyone see a cute girl in saginaw lately without a carseat next to them?
It would seem that my anxiety attack the other nite was justified.
I got pulled over with beer on my breath last nite in Clarkston, barely blew over the legal limit, and had to spend the nite in the oakland county jail because cops are dicks.
On the way home this morning (finally) Amelia and i witnessed a horrific car crash. A lady in an envoy went flying off of I 75 tumbling and rolling and bouncing like something out of a movie right in front of us. We stopped and i almost got hit running across the highway while dialing 911 trying to see if the driver was okay. The car ended up on the passenger side in like a swampy area about 50 feet from the road, with the engine still running (and reving and smoking). Amelia didn't want me to go near it, but the 911 lady was telling me i had to establish contact with the driver.
The windows were smashed and there was blood everywhere. The lady must not have been wearing her seatbelt because she was fucking mangled and it looked like her head had hit the front window over on the passenger side. The lady on 911 was telling me the questions to ask her (what is your name? are you hurt? where? etc) but i had to move some glass just to be able to talk to her.
My arms and hands are a bit cut up from it, and her blood was everywhere (including on me a bit) so i'm thinking i might want to go get some tests done just to be safe. The lady was drifting in and out of consciousness, and couldn't really answer any of my questions. The 911 lady was telling me to keep her awake, but i felt bad, because she was screaming and moaning the whole time she was awake. Its been a good 8 hours now, and i'm still kinda freaked out about it. That is the most blood i've ever seen. Period.
I have no idea what i was feeling at the time, i was just doing. By the time the cops showed up, amelia was up by the road to flag them down. I think i would've vomited if i'd have had time to really realize what was happening and how involved i was in it.
Long story short, MOST FUCKED UP DAY EVER.
I'm not leaving town for quite awhile, and i'm not drinking for quite awhile.
I am dripping sex.
My father was telling me the other day about his friend that he has worked with for the last 20 or so years.
His name is Kurt.
Kurt had a job at Dow, bringing home about $75,000 a year. I've met him several times, and i know he's a good guy.
Anyway, at Dow Chemical and Dow Corning, they do random drug tests. EVERYPLACE has "random drug testing" as part of their policy, but few places actually do it, save for after a lost-time accident. Well, i guess Dow actually does it.
Kurt isn't a drug user by any means. I've barely ever even seen the guy have a beer.
I guess he was up at deer camp with his brother and some friends one weekend, and hit a joint (that's right... ONE toke) as it was being passed around the fire. That monday, his name was drawn for one of the random drug tests.
It has been awhile since i posted on here.
I guess there ain't too much to say haha.
I am still working 56+ hours a week, six days a week.
I am still in love with my girl.
I still live all by my lonesome, but have my girl to keep me company.
I still get depressed now and then but never too bad. I don't have the time or energy to!!!
I hardly ever drink anymore, and don't do any drugs at all... save for the occasional aspirin.
I have come to terms with the fact that i am a socialist, and i now embrace it, and am thinking about trying to help others see the light.
I hate how whenever something seems to be going really well, something will come along that will undoubtedly be the beginning of the end of it.
when you find that you honestly don't or can't believe anything or anyone around you.
because i'm getting sick.
When i was little, i was without question a lego-maniac. I remember getting new kits and following the directions to a tee. Everything had to be perfectly in accordance with the directions. The four pegged block had to go on top of the 10 pegged block, and be exactly one-two-three peggs over... just like in the diagram. My work was perfection. ...well, my recration of somebody else's work was perfection, anyway.
I remember i would get PISSED when i accidentally dropped or bumped into something, and it fell apart. I would be so annoyed because i would have to dig the diagram back out and rebuild the damaged area EXACTLY to specs.
As time went on, however, i began to break them on purpose, and not get the directions back out. I would just do my best to build it back to how it was from memory. Soon I was ignoring my recollection of how it looked in the diagrams, and just rebuilding things the way i wanted to. Eventually this turned into completely disassembling things and building whatever i felt would serve my purpose at the moment.
Breaking what i had built turned into an opportunity to build something better, rather than a loss.
Soon i had my own little weird world in lego-land. My pirate ship became an aircraft carrier, from which they would launch prop-driven planes to attack the knights (who's castle had become a submarine pen). Submarines roamed the dangerous waters (carpet) of the living room, and snipers with blunderbuss rifles hid in the bluffs (couch) above. My coastguard cutter had become an ironclad battleship, and the police boat was now a destroyer. The airport was still an airport... but had a prison, complete with electric chair, attached.
When i looked at kits in the little lego magazines, i didn't really want kits so that i could build them into what they were supposed to be. Intstead, i added them to my christmas or birthday wishlist with visions of using the parts (that were specially made for that kit) for my own creations.
Each time i created something newer and cooler than last time, tho, it still got smashed within a day.
I think i still carry this mentality with me sometimes.
Every now and then i will just feel the need to completely destroy everything... to burn the empire to the ground... to completely obliterate all that i have put so much thought and feeling and care into. I don't know where it comes from, or if its healthy. All i know is that the urge is still alive within me.
It is almost instinctive.
Destroy to create.
End to begin.
Hurt to heal.
Starting over isn't what life is about, but sometimes your thoughts just become too much, and you have to raze all that stands in order to really make any sort of a fresh start.
Strange how childhood sneaks back up on you.
it's dropping out of heaven
and it's bringing the word
the wicked fucking sound
that you never have heard.
i'll tell you all about it
cause it's spoken to me.
it damn near took my life
and kicked the shit out of me
now it walks with my soul
and it lives with my mind
and it's got a big gun
and it's hunting mankind.
shinny leather boots
and a big set of wings
many fucking presents
for the children it brings
flying through the heavens
and it's made out of stars
it's walking on fire
to the place that you are
so grab your silver bullets
and sharpen your stakes
and lock your fucking doors
for jesus sake
because it's reading your mind
and it's ruined this land
and it's speaking in russian
and things you can't understand
while it's fucking your girlfriend
and flying through space
as it puts you to shame
and it spits in your face.
then it flies back to heaven
where it sleeps with the stars
as it's eating up planets
while we play our guitars
Today was a good day.
Got to hang out with Dave & Becky all day.
I only get to see that kid like twice a year.
Now for whatever reason (i think cuz i'm so tired), i'm in one of those super reflective moods.
This is the first time since June (and the last time until November) that i will have more than 1 day off in a week.
It feels goooood.
Hung out with Nikki and her sister last nite. Good times.
Somehow, tho, we got on the subject of how completely fucked i was around this time last year.
She said something about how 'You totally thought you were just fine, too'.
Looking back on entries from this time up until christmas last year, it is pretty apparent that she was right.
Strange how someone can be so oblivious.
It kinda makes me wonder how i even have friends.
With as bad as i have fucked up, and as many times, i really can't see why anyone would want to have anything to do with me.
Of course, i'm thankful that they do... but i really wouldn't or couldn't blame them if they didn't.
I have even made new friends since then. And i haven't been even close to a good person in as long as i can remember.
Are people maybe just that desparate to have a friend who can make them laugh?
One day I shall meet my fate
It lies not below or above
Those I fight I do not hate
Those I befriend I do not love
I balance all; bring all to mind
The years to come seem a waste of breath
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, is death
Three years ago yesterday.
That's when Kasey & Steve died.
Three fucking years.
That means we've had 3 New Years Eve parties without Kasey.
Three Saint Patricks days.
I've played 3 seasons of hockey without Steve.
Kasey's mom is having a barbecue saturday.
All the old hands will be there, & we are gonna party in the basement like we did all through high school.
It's gonna be hard.
I haven't been down there since when he was still with us.
Given the circumstances of their death, many people will think it is rediculous & fucked up for us to gather there & drink.
But those were the best times ever... & those are our memories. That is when we were happiest, & that is when he was happiest. Judge us as you will, but we will do as we fucking please... regardless of whether you get it or not. The only way you won't understand is if you aren't one of us. And if you aren't one of us, then you weren't invited anyway.
That is how we sing Amazing Grace.
I just showered and it felt goooooood.
It's heavenly to get the grime from work off.
I get so dirty that i have to get a new loofah each week because the old one is so fucking gross.
I'm skipping my 5:00 nap today, & playing in the tuesday night tournament out at hot shots.
Wish me luck (as if i'd even need it).
I'm listening to Pearl Jam's "Black" right now, and digging it.
It's the Live on Two Legs version.
I love rediscovering old favorite songs.
Black is one of the many PJ songs that i love live versions of, but don't really care too much for the studio versions. Mostly it is because in the studio version, it just fades out right after the vocals end.
In the live version, there are like 2 extra minutes where Mike McCready plays a gut-wrenching solo that pretty much just grabs your soul & grinds it against the filthy, gritty and grayed concrete that is lost love. ...Or lost ANYTHING, for that matter. It perfectly translates into sound the frustrating and maddening feeling of wanting something that you can't have or don't have anymore SO FUCKING BADLY that it hurts.
To me, it makes the song... and i really can't see how they could not include it on the album.
If you haven't heard it, then i implore you to GIVE IT A LISTEN
It could probably even make a republican feel emotion.
It's just plain fucking beautiful.
I have always thought so.
There are more recent things/people that i have found lots of beauty in, too... but that is a whole other 3 or 4 pages.
Well, I hope we can drink lots of Killians, cuz i just got a half barrel of it.
Paired with the half-barrel of whatever that Jon's dad will be bringing up from Clarkston tomorrow... it amounts to a fucking lot of beer.
I remember when i was 19 and 20, being super depressed (long before i got help for it), and seeing 25 as like a mile marker. Like, my goal was to make it at least to 25 haha.
There were times when the issue was in doubt.
It seemed so far away, like when you are walking home from someplace far far away and you just pick something in the distance, and make that your destination. You know damn well that once you get there, you are still only another eighth of the way home... but you do it anyway, because it is something that is within sight when home isn't, and won't be for quite awhile.
Things are far better now (partially due to doctors and meds, but for the most part due to my own dauntlessness, intrepidity, and good old fashioned grit).
I don't have any doubt that i will be getting another keg (even tho it may be O'Douls, lol) to celebrate the 35th and 45th birthdays.
Well, if i don't see those birthdays, it won't be intentional, anyway. If there is a semi-truck out there with my name on it, there's not really a whole lot i can do about that.
In other news, i will own THIS SITAR, and either this guitar, or this one by the end of August.
It is finally financially possible.
I will be selling Little Bear, because, first of all, i don't need 4 electric guitars... and second, i feel like my emotions just aren't important to him anymore.
I don't want to work tomorrow.
6 AM, 6 days a week gets old fast.
10 hours a day Mon-Fri and 6 hours on Saturday gets old, too.
40 regular hours and 16 overtime hours makes for a decent paycheck, tho.
My weekly paycheck is 3 times what my bi-weekly paycheck at the Y was.
I may hate my life for 10 hours a day... but i can't afford not to.
i have been
i have seen
the same things
lots of things
i have seen
So after a LONG, LONG, LONG time... Jezabelle is finally complete. I finally had enough money to afford the last of the hardware for it.
Also, i had to find a friend who had a soldering iron i could borrow, as i wanted to redo all the wiring.
I gave her 2 new paint jobs. I had origionally painted her red, but then decided that white looked much better, so i sanded it back down and went with white.
All told, it took about 5 months... mostly because i couldn't really afford the things that it needed until now, but also because I'm a lazy fuck.
She looks great, sounds great, and we work well together... which is ALOT more than i can say for any girls.
I give you...
So last week the doctor asked me "What would you say is your biggest stressor?"
I had a really hard time answering.
It is such a broad, open ended question!
How could i possibly condense a few thousand things (all involving numerous background and set-up stories) into one answer???
It's impossible, and would be like trying to fit "Tale of Two Cities" into a paragraph or two.
The more i thought about it, the more irritated i became.
I felt like saying "Dude, don't you think that if i knew the answer to that, i would just eliminate it and help myself?" "You're the fucking doctor. You tell me!"
On the other hand, i couldn't really over-simplify and be like "Well, Doc, my life sucks because i have failed to take the right steps at the right times to make it all that it could've been."
I ended up telling him that my biggest stress is being 25 and still living paycheck to paycheck, without progress... stagnant, and with no real light at the end of the tunnel or finish line in sight.
In a nutshell, i guess that could sum it up... but it is still (i think) much too vague to really help identify why i am as fucked up as i am.