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My mother quadruples her efforts to uncover my plans, but to very little avale. As far as I am concerned, she has to either earn it or prove ‘clearance’ to it. It’s as simple as that.

All in all, my life is a relatively open book; there’s not much to hide. When I’ve let my family know what’s on my mind, I’ve often found the result tends to yield the emotional equal to a dagger in ones flesh, or being hounded to no end: most often over some minor detail, at the expense of all other subject. There in, actually lays a key of choosing ones words: being terse has value if people pay attention, but if no one will get past the second or third word, who cares if you use five or twenty five words to say something? Aye, that’s the rub.

By contrast, among those that I consider to be “Friends”, within the inner-circle of them, most people have some idea of what my plans are. Things tend to flow both ways in that regard, as it should be. You could also say, that I know all to well the problem of a heavy spirit, that when given the chance: I believe in being a friendly ear, um, eye.. lol.

When it comes to family however: I present a well folded piece of paper. Information disclosure tends to follow a need-to-know model of unfolding that paper, or it remains classified altogether. Likewise I tend to take little interest in going son, as I know, it will only lead to me being *used* more often than not. That’s the kind of damage my family has cultivated in our relationships. I can’t help but find my mother’s probes for intel, somewhere between narcissistic and laughable, if it wasn’t for the tinges and pangs of desperation. Like a rat fearing a sinking ship.

Cut me, do I not bleed? Wrong me, shall I not forgive? Strike me, will I not learn to block?

After watching that bridge be burned for more than a decade, she will have to learn to build it herself, or live with it as I have been made to. I am to old to worry about being thrown over the parapets again.

I am not the mercenary type my family is, my blood doesn’t run cold, I merely run out of plasma. That’s life.

Roman Holidays, Broken Arrows, Eagle Wings, Snake Eaters, and Jello on the side

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Draw the sabre, prepare for war.
I will not stand down, not until
The last drop is long since spent.

Fires stoke, blades glisten.
Sounds of marching can be heard
From the hills afar, and the grounds
Below. Into hades and beyond.

You saw fit to leave me for dead,
Now I return with double the strength.
Fear my coming as surely as you fear
The end of the world. I’ll not yield.

For surely the battle will never end.
Not while I draw breath, shall I ever.
There is nothing to be had in this, save
      victory or death!

—June, 2010.

The Spiders 22nd goes past

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My brother called this afternoon, wishing a happy birthday, and absolving himself of doing anything useful until it is time to *take* the road test for my driver’s license. I will believe that he will be even that little bit of help in this matter, when I’m hit and run over by a car. The only thing my family is good at is serving their own ends, I never forget that. Most friends either wished me a HBD over facebook or IM; so much for being able to ignore the days normal significance o/. I thank GOD when a friends birthday comes but when mine comes along, I just ‘sigh’ and hope it goes quickly..

Since extenuating circumstances and my ethics, put me in a spot where I have to postpone decision day for a few days; I can think of someone my mother should be plenty thankful to, that today wasn’t marred with any “Falling bombs”, so to speak. Otherwise all hell would have broken lose this evening. That doesn’t mean nothing will explode in the end.

Aside from my mother cussing at me even more than she normally does, the rest of the day went by like a fairly average day. That’s all birthdays are to me; the only difference from any other day is that my head has to increment its age counter by one year, and remember that everything has been a massive !@#$%^& failure. January 12th and June 20th are two days of the year, that I seriously hate.

I’ve been in an extremely grouchy mood for most of the day; everyone should just be happy that I intentionally try not to snap at innocent people. If I’ve dug into anyone today without noticing it, I apologize; afaik I haven’t hit anyone. When my status message indicates that I’m in a negative mood, it just means you better not expect me to be, “Cheerful and bubbly”, I won’t rip peoples heads off without just cause, but it’s far warning that YMMV. Simple as that.

Most eventful of the entire day: was despite being banned from my room for just that very reason, when one of the yorkies ma is watching for the week, not only leapt on the bed this morning, but crashed the laptop shut, climbed over my head, and pissed the bed!! To top it all off, while the sheet was in the washing machine: someone also had to go and chew a head sized hole in the thankfully still dry under layer. I’m getting tired of the collateral damage around here.

Gave up on staring at walls around mid day, and laid down. Tried not to do much thinking. Unfortunately I ended up in a very deep sleep for most of the evening, so I’ll likely be awake until near dawn. So much for not thinking. At least I didn’t dream much.

Because of the way scheduling has gone, I’ve been off work since Thursday afternoon, and I’m off work for like the rest of this coming week. I don’t actually like being off work for long stretches as much as most people tend to: with how I have to live, they tend to be worse hell than working triple the usual amount. I can’t stand being idle.

Except for what errands are necessary, or that she decides to launch at her own will, essentially: her royal !#$%^& pain has decreed that the car isn’t moving an inch until we return to work. So when 5 hours out of the time ~9.5 hours that I’ve got left to go, have to be driven after dark—I’m not exaggerating when I say it will likely take months to get a full driver’s license. Don’t believe me? Just ask my mother how come I’ve only had 1 fucking hour of night driving in SIX MONTHS OF PUSHING. State law requires that a minimal 6 hours out of the required 40 hours, be driven at night. My mother wouldn’t get off her fat arse for a single moment of the day, if she could figure out how to do it: let along at night.

It would be the understatement of the year, to say that I hate my life.
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Oh man that was nuts. I fell sound asleep next to the laptop, ended up dreaming of a mixture of sublime C coding and all heck breaking loose.

To thine own self be true….

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On top of everything else that weighs on me, now there is another issue. I have two opposing matters: one involves respecting a friend, and the other is what I perceive as following-through with decision day on time. That is about as straight as I’ll write it here, since I keep the contents of private conversations pretty damn private.


For me, it’s really not a simple thing: both actions are the right things to do within the scope of my code of conduct. It is the right thing to respect my friend in this. It is the right thing to do what I’ve said I will do when I’ve said I will do it. The problem is they conflict here; as the former can’t happen unless I reschedule the latter. Yeah, it’s never mindlessly black and white.

Being to far kicked in the head to be able to process this smoothly, and without being able to explain the problem better than a case for mathematics, I asked for the help of others close to me in solving such a moral problem. I reckon, that C is the correct answer out of !(A ∩ B) in this particular case .

In thinking carefully over some very wise advice about points of view, I remembered something that I used to say a long time ago about my decision making processes, and how my heart, head, gut, etc all entered into it, but first among these has always been my heart. So I reckon, that if I truly do care about this friend, and that caring about someone really does mean to me what I say/feel it does, then I guess the choice is right there in my heart. In a way, I reckon that’s what the advice also amounted to in it’s own round about way.

Which means respecting my friend in this first, rather than being stubborn and selfish about following my plans.


After nearly 22 years in this flesh, I reckon it would be lying to myself if I did anything else. Whatever the future holds for me, I can’t deny that choice reflects who I am on the inside. Hell, I’ve agonized over decision day for what, nearly a month? A small delay can’t do that much, nothing can short of a miracle or a time machine. Listening to the advice of a very important person in my life, has also reminded me, that after enough years of friendship, it is possible to get to know each other better than you might think.

Sometimes I also wonder if GOD has to point a finger at something every now and then, and has to keep Himself form saying “Here stupid, LOOK!”. Much like a math’ teacher.
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Time passes, that’s all that changes here. I grow so weary of passing time away.

I remember something my old pastor once told me, that prisoners of war would be told to dig a hole, than made to refill it again. And again, and again, as a form of torture: nothing but digging holes and refilling them. The lack of purpose would drive them insane.

Now I really feel like slamming my head into a wall.

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I’m not sure the feeling that everything as I know it, is spiralling towards an abrupt end, is supposed to be a positive or a negative emotion; all I can say, is it has one hell of an impact on the insides. I don’t feel like eating.

Decision time is at 21:26 GMT, June 20th. That’s the adjusted time for when I was born. Running the math, that gives something like 53 hours until I’ve got to make my choice. Aside from a couple hours sleep in that, really I don’t have anything else to do except think about the choices. That’s been most of my month.

I’m not sure what the outcome will be. All that I know, is it means failure, the final failure. Push someone far and hard enough, for long enough, and what else do you get? There’s no real escape from having to think about it. There’s something like 24 hours in a day, I spend at least 18 of them going over this shit, that’s on a ‘busy’ day; I haven’t had many of those lately.

I hate my life. I wish I could hate those who have brought me here.

42

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I find myself wondering, what is it that binds us in this world? Why be here, or there; why even live at all? You could say my minds in a strange place tonight. Honestly there’s not a lot in this world that I care about. Almost all are people.

For some odd reason, the words, “I search for meaning” just came across my thoughts: only to be shadowed with a hitch-hiking memory.

Arthur Dent, having escaped the Earth’s destruction, potentially has some of the computational matrix in his brain. He attempts to discover The Ultimate Question by extracting it from his brainwave patterns, as abusively suggested by Marvin the Paranoid Android, when a Scrabble-playing caveman spells out forty two. Arthur pulls random letters from a bag, but only gets the sentence “What do you get if you multiply six by nine”?
“ “Six by nine. Forty two.”

“That’s it. That’s all there is.”
“I always thought something was fundamentally wrong with the universe”
 ”
Six times nine is, of course, fifty-four.

Where the number 42 is the Ultimate Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything. Either way, my brain hurts enough that I’m going to sleep.