I am in pain.

Seems that when I had an upper wisdom tooth pulled, the oral surgeon broke a neighboring molar. So I had that one pulled, which in the process of being pulled, cracked the next molar. I never went back. Four years later, the remains of that molar have decided to transmute into a river of molten lava, directly connected to every pain receptor in my body. I whimpered. I cried. I wacked the weasel. Nothing helped. Finially I raided my roomates illicit stash of Demoral.

Anything that binds with my opiate receptors are A-1 in my book.

Just Say Swallow

I only saw her cry one time.

Janice and I dated for almost a year from the middle of junior year to Christmas of our senior year. She was quiet and reserved (some would say invisible) and was a hard girl to get to know. I guess I got to know her, but it was only to a certain extent.

Janice talked in a whisper and was almost allergic to eye contact. She was not fragile, just guarded. She had strong opinions about things and would share them with you if you were alone with her. Janice didn't trust most other kids and felt that loud talkative people were making up words and feelings to cover for their ignorance.

So many cymbals-all off key

that's what she used to say. I think she didn't believe friendly people could be that happy

Once during the summer we went out on the Lake in her Uncle's boat. It was windy and when we headed back to shore her hair blew in and around her head and I saw that the breeze was making her eyes water. Her eyes were blurry and soft and had a softness they rarely had on regular days. "You OK?" I asked her when we got to the dock. Oh yeah, she said as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. it's just the wind.

I guess that doesn't even count as crying, but it's what I remember.

I have already noded some secrets about depression. One more is when I was thirteen I fantasized I was the reincarnation of Sylvia Plath or Joan of Arc. The most interesting women I knew, the only role models for brilliance, were martyrs, madwomen, self-multilators. I mean if you want to be a poet and the only vocabulary you have for that is "drunken poet," twenty bucks says you will drink to excess to achieve it, long before you learn that for every Bukowski there are a million swollen livers with nothing to report. And for every Anne Sexton there are a million mouths clamped shut, leading lives of quiet desperation.

My secret about depression is not that it's dramatic or self-destructive or Dionysian and gorgeous; that has been addressed. The secret about depression is that it's boredom squared. My former impression was Plath's train to Auschwitz, but in the thick, it's more like a train sliding backwards down the hill. I can't, I can't, I can't, because I think I can't. On my worst days I happen to be Wile E. Coyote tiptoeing over a cliff, knowing the second I look down is the second I plummet. We are all aware of the wreckage of this disease; we've all got stories. More of us are walking this impossible walk, refusing to fall.

(If any of this alarms you, please remember that I know this walk well, and I have all kinds of faith. This too shall pass; I will land on solid ground and run and run and run, not from or to but in order to use my legs.)

Besides, I can't get this damn Bob Marley song out of my head: Is this love, is this love, is this love that I'm feeling. It doesn't match up but will be my meditation. OK?

Another meditation: I leave the lab with the worst burrito jones you can imagine. 10:30 I walk into a Mexican grill which is also a bar now and serves the best beans in the universe. Authentic to what tradition I do not know, other than being beans and being delicious. And so authentic they are. When I get inside it starts pouring hard, but I can't stay in there with the lonely bartender and the three dipshit girls, one of whom I think is his girlfriend, and the blaring Paula Abdul and the two TVs, volume off, Fox Sports and Animal Planet. The one in my line of vision is a rerun of the 1964 Civil War game, still Parker Stadium, black and white and quaint. I can't stay in there and I can't eat in the rain so I take my styrofoam out on the stoop of the building, watching the streets turn to rivers and the streelamps scatter in the water.

Yesterday, I saw a wreck at this intersection.

My Docs are wearing, full of holes, and I walk back here soaking and lonely and exhilirated.

What is in my thermos: chai and rice milk and honey. How many of these details do you want? It gets lonely here.

(I assume all at once everyone on everthing replies with my greeting.....)

it's a swollen members night

tonight hit me like the chocolate chip rolls that blew Austin's mind in the spring of 1995. i only had to work for three hours of my six hour shift, and in celebration i swung by a local bar near my place. cocaine rumors made their way to within five minutes of receiving my shot of jd and pint of Guinness. but i passed an electric joy ride for a night of peace of mind. my decision rewarded me in ways Pavlov dreamed back in the day. first off, homeboy Chris, or I guy I know named Chris, dropped me a nug of kb to show that love. secondly, my libido made an appearance. this non-existent wonder that had slowly disapppeared over the last six months. I've gotten numbers at bars and other likely number gathering social dwellings, but I pussied out hard and never called. a lot of chances presented themselves. I've passed up chances to kiss, caress, and flatout fuck in these times. Back to tonight, I meet this teacher tonight named Kim. Penetrating dark eyes, the kind that make your seat almost grip you with their glance directed at you. A gem, got the digits prior to departure.... resisted the urge to kiss, and will call with the developing situation. capitalization and linking seemed to slip my mind until the end.

Suckapant out!

I find it quite unusual that my nodes that get the most votes are those I create as a daylog. I wonder why that is. Its not like they even get high experience, which is also quite interesting. For example one node has votes about 14 up votes and 10 downvotes for a grand total of +4. Why does that happen....

But back to today... IT is another boring day as once again, I did not get called to substitute. Oh well, but you have to think as it gets closer to the Christmas break that less and less teachers will go on vacation and less and less will be "sick." But I have an interview for a second job today so hopefully that will go well. Then no matter what happens with my teaching, I will be making some money.

I don't get to write as much as I used to since I seem to have found a life now! Where do I begin? Well, the discussion of marriage has been brought up in my relationship with Fred. This is something I never ever thought I would even consider. I have been married before. I went through a horrible nine months of absolute hell. I was not allowed to have friends, a car, limited use of the phone.....well, you get the idea. After the divorce was all said and done, it left me with a not so positive outlook on marriage. But, somehow, I have met someone who I could see myself with for a very, very long time. A person who has a heart of gold, who loves me for who I am, who makes me laugh at his silly songs, someone who is real. More real then anyone I have ever met. We seem to be connected. We finish each others sentences. We think the same things. We have the same, sick and twisted sence of humor, and its great! I'm not saying I am ready to get married right now. Because I am not. But I do know that I have found someone worth holding onto.

We did get a little drunk last night, and on the way home, Fred sort of opened up to me. He doesn't really open up to much, so when he does, I pay complete attention. I think he is somewhat scared. He's been dicked over before in past relationships, so I can understand. I am a little frightened myself, but that slight bit of fear makes me want it just that much more. Love is a complicated thing.

I'm being pulled in all directions!

I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm not getting what I want. It seems that everyone wants something from me. Although it's pretty nice to have other people thinking about me, it's not really the way I want them to think about me. How about my desires, my needs? Self-indulgent, yes, but perhaps that's what I've been lacking all this time?

Example 1
At work, I'm required to do a specific job. Fine. And when my co-workers want me to do them something, I do it. But whenever it comes time for me to ask them to do something, it takes forever to even get a response! I'm beginning to get that feeling again of wanting to quit my job.

Example 2
In my subculture society groups, I have the Independent Business, the DSCR car club, and the Tori Amos message board. These worlds stay apart from each other as each of them involve different aspects of my personailty. But each and every one of them seem to want me to do something, or impose insensitive comments upon me. A lot of shit is coming out of these societies that I belong to. Perhaps the only solace I receive is from the Tori Amos message board. I know at least that most of them are understanding enough to not become insensitive to others. That particular place also seems to bring the best out of me. I know now where I'll spend most of my time.

Example 3
One word: Relationships. Save the best/worst for last. I've met two women through the site and they both seem to be very decent and hard-working and very beautiful. I have yet to physically meet them, but already, I feel as though I'm being pulled by them. I feel the pressure that relationships, any relationship incurrs among men like me. Both of them don't seem to make any time for leisure. I should have known this before I joined. Perhaps I'm expecting a little too much from these people. I hardly know them, yet want something from them. But is it so much to ask for? Only a little attention, please.

So what am I suppose to do? Take this all in stride? Is this what living is suppose to be about? Wrought with anxiety, neuroticism and inadequacies?

There is one fear I have that's ruling these days: "All that is gained can also be lost." In other words, "Easy come, easy go." I hate that saying.

Ugh. I also feel my own emotions are taking over my sense of being. These abandonment withdrawal symptoms aren't helping my condition. Sometimes I just want to not feel at all. The book tells me to become more Zen-like and reform the energy to live in the moment. Hardly successful as my mind tends to wander away from it. And then when I do achieve it, I question its method for helping me get through the day. What about the important thoughts? Should I not listen to my thoughts? I still have to finish reading the second section to get a full description of the techniques.

AC Transit route number 59 runs by a block away from my house and straight up to the university. This morning I board, pay the fare, get a seat (yes!), and start reading my newspaper. About halfway to work, I realize there is someone standing next to the empty seat next to me. This young man is saying something, to which I respond, sure, have a seat. Only then do I look up and recognize this person.

Just yesterday, over burritos at lunch, Ereneta said to me, you seem to be rather adventurous in meeting other noders. To which I responded with the argument that it's scarcely like we don't really know anyone on E2, and that I don't find conversations with everythingians become lukewarm like water.

But here I am, on the bus with this guy whom I recognize from college, wait, I remember his name, I do. He and I surely traded backrubs in choir. We have that where have you been, what have you been doing conversation between acquaintances and, should modesty allow us to describe our prowesslessness-lessness, I have a hard time sounding intelligent or interesting.

After that strange start to today, I am to go over to SEF's for dinner tonight, direct from work, through the rain. I had better caffeinate myself into a social mood.

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