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For the last several days, as my status message would indicate: I’ve been in a black mood. Except for xfire, where my names been set to `Spidey01 = status message`, because of issues with the software I use to login to xfire with.

Status messages like this, is generally meant to serve as a warning, like a rattle snakes sound, only much less dangerously. It is meant as a warning, of the nature: that you shouldn’t expect to find me roundabout in a chipper mood. Unlike my family, who’ll rip anything or anyone apart when in such a  mood: I don’t take things out on people around me. So I’m more likely to be extra polite, rather than unnaturally snappy. I’m more snappy when I’m in a good mood lol. The closet I get to taking my blacker frames of mind on other people, is making it known that I’m not in a mood to talk (and thus think) further about it at the moment.

Within my small inner-circle, I rarely hide or conceal anything: I wouldn’t be allowing friends much chance to know me, if I hid from them, now would I? My belief in that, is part of why most of my life is essentially an open book. I’m an easy person to get to know, just hard to stand being around lol. Although I generally trust people to respect my right of privacy (as I do theirs), or I wouldn’t speak;  things of a truly private nature rarely stretch beyond me and GOD. Over the years, I would have to say the fact that I’ve never been struck by lighting, is proof that GOD is extremely patient (if you believe in the existence of such a divine power). My journal only sees entries I’m tolerable of being within public view: I have little to hide, beyond my computers login password.

Something running through my mind, among the thoughts being pushed aside on the way to sleep, was of a morbid nature. Along the lines that if I died, and everyone I know, both in person and digitally made aware of it, who would really notice my passing? While there’s plenty who would be sad (yes, I know who y’all are), the only ones I believe would truly shed a tear at it, amounts to a sub set of my inner-circle, that I can count on less than one hand. This isn’t a bad thing in my books, in fact one is arguably one of very few candidates I could honestly call the best friend I have in this world, still above the grave (don’t worry, I’ve no plans to leave you that soon). The thing that hurt with that morbid collection of thoughts, wasn’t that the majority of people who would be sad, are people that I have never physically met (although in one or two cases, that is likely to change in time), but instead that none of my own flesh and blood can be counted on that ‘less than one hand’ of people, who really would care that much.

For much of my life, I’ve just been ‘here’, I’m the reject, the asset, not something people can care for, just something they can use—that very much describes what my relationship with blood kin is like, and how they’ve damaged it over the course of things. In fact, I would say that it has been suitably fractured, that it is the source of certain equationals that I’ve often wrestled with GOD over; of which only 1 or 2 living souls know even a fraction of that. Undoubtedly, most of the people within my inner-cricle of connections know me better than my own flesh and blood relations; a price of how I’ve been treated.

Much of what, I describe as life having given me a fairly high pain threshold compared to most (people that I know), is also due to that. For some reason, I can remember the doctor cutting on my toe and sliding cardboard under my nail, and finding it remarkably low on the painometer: I also know the people I’ve got to thank for that (which remarkably is not far off from whoms responsible for how my toe ended up in that situation). I’m not sure if that’s a positive or a negative train of thought.

For years, my family has generally stripped away the good parts of my life, and I’ve come to have an unhealthy level of sympathy for such plights, as  that of Edmond Dantès. The existence that’s been imposed upon me, is not that far off from a prisoners, only the food here is better.

It’s part of why the success of Operation Redeemer, is such a critical aspect of my life’s goals. If I’m going to close my eyes on this world someday, I think that freedom is not to much to ask for. I’ve given family, a large percentage of my life-thus-far, and have generally been made utterly miserable for much of it. As someone who has essentially reached the half-way mark, in the time I expect to live for, leaves me little reason to dilly dally, and even less, as I hope to live twice that long. As I’ve said more than a handful of times over the years, because of my father an certain aspects of family medical history, I consider whatever time I have past my 30s and 40s, to be a gift: not something I’m entitled to.

My family cannot of had a more negative impact on my life, if more things were intentional, and I believe the chapter after redeeming my right to life, will likely be to solve that issue.

To barrow an axiom from a favourite film: time not important, only life important. It would be nice to have the latter, worth the former.

Around 22:00 I went to bed, thinking about recent mmods, when I managed to convince my brain, to push it aside and “Worry about that later”. I fell sound asleep. At 22:45 her royal pain had to wake me up, in order to get me to make a waffle.

and now I can’t get back to sleep short of being hit in the head with a mallet o/

Somehow I think it’s sad, responding to a butlers duty, having to deal with the apartment being almsot pitch black -> the only light source being the LEDs on the cable box. And I can almost see plane as day lol.

Shit, how many years did I spend hacking at stuff after nightfall….

Yesterday, well, relatively speaking; 3 hours sleep is enough for me to call it yesterday irregardless of hours passed, even if I’ve been up since 2am local lol. Beyond having to authorize my mother to deal with the issue (as she was the master mind), I was largely ear shotted into a phone conversation that came as little surprise.

Some years ago now (bah), the place that my high school course work was with, was getting pissy about the massive over times involved in getting it done. A lot of working hours (from 1 day a week, to 3 jobs per day per week) and a lot of self-studying else wheres on my own, tends to make for homework that’s about as challenging as breathing, and thus makes for limited interest in getting it done promptly. Eventually I knuckled down on it between busy seasons, because a H.S. diploma or G.E.D. would be required to have any chance of moving forward later (now near future). Her Royal Pain however decided to change distance “Schools” after getting annoyed with the first companies policy on sending out text books. That lead to me having to go through a fresh reboot on another set of course work with a new company.

Which I gave up working on after a few cycles, because I knew there would be zilch chance of getting that glorified piece of paper, once my mother stopped paying the damn thing off: reaching the point of calling it a brush off! Plus knowing that any long term savings of my own, would likely end up towards paying off her debts rather than catching up with a GED later (which came to pass twice, as she acquired debt since then).

The principal issue of yesterdays call, was that the company wants their outstanding balance paid off; blood from a stone anyone? My mother managed to lie herself into a corner about it, by using her recent health issues as an excuse to cover cheating them out of the money years prior, and I do believe court was mentioned :-S. The real royal screw however, is since the mega bitch saw fit to run the bills for the course under my name instead of her own that time out, it’ll likely be my arse if anything comes of it. I knew consenting to that stipulation, just for a chance to work towards finishing HS, was going to come back and haunt me someday… family is too good at fucking me over. If things were still as they were in Charles Dickens era, my mother would have become well familiar with debtors’ prison over the years, and this affair would aqaint me with one. Luckily things have changed a lot since then. So much as anticipated, if there ever been any decency of credit associated with my name, it’s well flushed: and that tends to cause trouble later on, in modern America o/. As if I didn’t have miserable enough a mood already.

The really ironic thing in this whole mess? High school and a loving heart is what made a slave of me in the first place. When I was something like 15~16 years old, ma decided to start her present business as a way to help pay off the coming course work, and to save up for when things were to get tighter; thus invalidating my employment plans. I was asked to ‘help‘ out with the work, because part of it would be going towards paying for my schooling: and I’ve gone unpaid since. Sure enough in the end: no diploma to be reached, my mother wouldn’t know how to save a dime if you beat her with one let along before the bottom dropped out, and I’ve spent the last 6 1/2 to 7 years of my life, being used and treated like a slave for it all. Arguably I would have been better off, taking the antifreeze cocktail out of here in the early 2000s, instead of discovering a reason to live for the rest of my life. Instead I’ve had to spend the last 4-5 years, all but imprisoned here.

To quote a friend: Fuck My Life.

Pour me somethin’ tall an’ strong,
Make it a “Hurricane” before I go insane.
It’s only half-past twelve but I don’t care.
It’s five o’clock somewhere.

• Not being allowed to get anything done
• Not being respected enough that it may be assumed that you have anything to get done
• No one cares that you have anything to get done
• Mood is irrelevant at home as in the work place o/
• Getting pissed on is still the norm.
• Yet another reminder that no body cares.

Need I go on?

My brother turned out to have a double agenda to showing up on Mother’s Day, not surprisingly. To deliver a gift, and find an easy supper while his wife was out of town lol.

Our mother finally got what she has been wanting: one of their new puppies. He’s a dark fawn coloured Chiahuahua, something like 8 weeks old, and so adorable it’s gotta be illegal. It’s her dog, but obviously means that I’ll be the one to to get cussed at over its care. That means yours truly has to worry about cleaning up after it, feeding it, watching over it, and so on and so forth…. plus walking him when he gets older. I also have to hear about every minute detail twenty times, and be pushed for help in naming him o/. Guess I’m the last slave who thinks people should look after their own responsibilities.

I’ve had to grown through hearing every dumb question imaginable, and as usual when my mother is involved, answer things by repeating myself 3-5 times! It’s annoying as hell to start with, let alone when you consider that I may be the only asshole in this family, who doesn’t deserve a hearing aid.

The only good thing I can say about trying to serve between land minds and war-bait, is we had stop off for my brother to pick up a pack of smokes and to take the puppy to see one of my mothers best friends. So I got to see their dog Nikita, which is a 100+ pound Boerboel; my brother was scared of her lol.

Fortunately dinner went well, only stressors being thrown about; my brother took over my computer to piss away the time playing FarmVile on Facebook, I gave him a temporary PC user account  named ‘moron’, in order to keep him out of my session. I can clear it off the linux box tomorrow.

If near future plans work out, I think my friend is right, we do need a drink stronger than water.

They just made a crack on the radio, that Toby Keith once set an alleyway on fire as a kid: and wasn’t afraid of the police finding out, just that he knew he was gonna get it once his mom found out xD

They tend to take forever to find/create and to fill out for the occasion :-S. I rarely will send a card, unless there’s some target meaning to it, some sense of exposition. Be it a goal to bring a smile to someones face when things are going rotten, or wish them a great holiday. A lot of thought goes into the process of me sending a card, trying to find something that is both appropriate, and can help express to the receiverwhat was intended.  In retrospect of the years, I reckon I should just be thankful for the practicality of e-mail; making something elaborate by hand and mail, takes even more effort, on top of the mental toll. Even worse before modern graphics software was invented lol.

Mother’s Day, in particular is a pain. Both in the sense of trying to express emotion, bring something positive… and having to make a dance around, ones that are sadly just not usable, although I truly wish they were (with a straight face). Like wise, when my mother is concerned:, having to even more carefully study the matter before hand, in order minimize the potential points for blacklash over it. Which is a matter that stings in it’s own right, let along the former. I’m well familiar with the painful consequences of failure.

The positive parts of my life, have thought me how to be thoughtful about the people I care about, the miserably parts have made me learn how to navigate a mine field without losing any limbs in the process. FML.

Just a little bit ago, the original The Lion in Winter went off, and for as many times as I’ve seen it over the years, I have got to admit, tonight is the first time I didn’t sleep through half of it! Given the timing, it hits oh so richer a cord than normal. How much similarity to it, have I not seen? Even down to the knives, it is not such an alien thing, as I honetly wish it was.  I have often wondered, if someday I’ll look back upon things, and chant just something else to burn… to cast memories into the flames of some fireplace.

I sat and watched, enjoying the film for a change, and listening to my mother mock me with almost every comment to the screen; both of us morons in many cases.  Should I say,that I’m no stranger to hatred, even if I’ve never learned how to hate. She’ll obviously be in finer form tomorrow,  and the only alternative to causing greater damage, will be to pipe down and take whatever is thrown out there. The most that I can hope for, is that tomorrow passes by quickly. Take a few hours to pick out a Mother’s Day card, that will likely be thrown back in my face, sooner or later. My brothers supposed to make a rare appearance at some point, so I know that by night fall, I will likely be regretting staying sober. If I’m lucky, I’ll be permitted to make due with being insulted in the third person, from within ear shot; rather than having a big red bulls eye painted on me for target practice o/.

For the past few days, I’ve neen in a particularly black mood: or as I would have described Friday, a day within sunshine. Living in onslaughtist territory just serves to pick open scabs; I doubt anyonean understand that section of me, but my family always knows how to stab until they find it,without fail. Mother’s Day is a day that I’ve almost come to dread, *sigh*. Why? Because it’s impossible to avoid the things that tend to come with it. This is a segment in that larger side of my ‘black mood’.

Time to get stuff done, and try and find an hours sleep or two….