Hi there all.

I haven't noded in a while, so if you think this doesn't read very well, please forgive me.

I started out at my girlfriend's, stayed in bed for ages snuggling up. We got up just before midday, (I love the fact that I no longer work and I have 2 weeks before the start of the next year at uni) an we watched a bit of friends and some general TV. She made me a milo (ask someone australian) which is just the same and just as nice as Tonimalt (ask someone french). I watched a bit of Diagnoses Murder which had a guest appearance with Quincy or whoever that actor is.

I cycled home and no more than 300metre from my front door and I met Gemma, who I used to work with at Victoria Wine. We decided we'd have to for a drink with some of my other ex-collegues and I did. It was nice.
I met some people by chance that I hadn't seen since college another guy I hadn't seen for months and got a phone call (on my mobile) from my best mate who's just got back from Ireland.
Back to the action, we were drinking and an ex-ex-colleague joined us, Gemma's sister. I hadn't seen her for at least a year and we chatted and talked and we all had a good time. We went for a curry which was very nice. We went back to Gemma's for a coffee atfer.

I don't know what it was but just feel mellow and sensitve just now and wanted to share it with everyone before I go to bed. It might not make much sense compared to actually felt to me but it was nice. I just can't get the words to go write to let you all know.

Yesterday | Tomorrow
Everything is a Community

Here is my life, in no particular order:

I Love You

I Love You

I Love You
I Love You

I Love You

I Love You
I Love You

I Love You

I Love You

I Love You
I Love You

I Love You
I Love You

I Love You
I Love You

I Love You
I Love You

I Love You

I Love You

If i missed you, it is because I can't think anymore.

I hate you


Adam, do NOT scare me like that again, you hear me?
Love, Laura

The above editor's note is in reference to the following:
Earlier, this write up was a suicide note. I was going to kill myself.
In the middle of my farewells, someone AIMd me, completely ignorant of what I was planning. I was totally interrupted.
One thing lead to another, and it came out: I was about to kill myself. That didn't go over very well at all. There was crying, and general bad feelings all around. We said goodbye to each other, finally, and I went about my plans.

I have a shotgun. A 12 gauge, semi-automatic shotgun. I also have a box of heavy dove shot. I went to my basement, loaded a shell, sat down and put the barrel in my mouth.

I pulled the trigger.

Being the type of guy I am, I then released the safety.

And I began to think of a woman that cared about me, crying, far, far away.

I thought of all of you that make me smile, and laugh. Some of you make me want to cry, because your words are so beautiful, and I love you for it. I thought of the people that wouldn't understand. I thought of the people that would blame themselves.

I put the gun back in my mouth, and put my finger on the trigger. I sat there, crying, for five minutes.

Waiting. Waiting for a reason, any reason, to do anything at all.

Nothing happened.

I put the gun down. Maybe I should have thumbed the saftey and removed the shell, but I'll do that later.

Please don't treat me differently, if you see me in the street. Or whatever.
Please don't try to help me. I know what is wrong with me, and you can't help. Thanks, though. It really means a lot that you care.
Please don't tell me not to do it. I know it is wrong, immoral, and all that stuff.

Thank you all so much for caring about me. I am sorry that my pain mattered more to me than your feelings.


"How fortunate the man with none.." Dead Can Dance

Been giving the daylogs a break, creeping up on level 3 and wanted to actually achieve it with real nodes..so I moved the dayloggin over to livejournal under the garryn handle.(for you die-hard garryn fans..all two of you..lol)but also wanted to sneak this in.

Leaving for Florida Friday. Leaving with just $180 bucks in my pocket, with hopes of retrieving my irs refund down there. Hope my welsh luck holds out, otherwise I'll be staying there for a bit (laugh) Florida is a sucking hole, beware travelers. Get to see Digo (ya!)Can't wait. Then onto Tampa, to kick up some old ghosts and play with them. Ry's coming back, time to stir up some shit.
I'm going out of town for a couple days--my dad is having some crazy party 'cause his Gamblers Anonymous friends want to congratulate him for not throwing any money away for a whole year. So I get to go and be proud of him. I made him a pillow with herb sachets inside, filled with herbs that are intended to strengthen resolve and provoke renewal. I hope he likes it. If I was someone's fifty-year-old dad I don't know if I'd want a smelly pillow. But he'll deal. It's from his eldest daughter, so he'll like it even if it makes him choke, I bet. Heh.

I don't want to be an obnoxious freak doing calorie counting for my diet while I'm visiting my family, so I've decided not to keep track of my calories and whatnot while I'm with them. I'll just use my best judgment and see if I can try to stay under 1,000 calories without calculating everything I eat like I'm insane. I bought a new scale (well, yes it's new, but I didn't have one before) for six bucks at Wal-Mart, and I don't know if it's accurate because it's saying I'm much lighter than I thought I was. (It's reading at 106 pounds.) I tried weighing a five-pound bag of unbleached flour on it, but it read five pounds, so then I thought maybe it just goes off when you put a lot of weight on it, so I tried weighing myself while holding the flour, and it said 111. I guess it must be at least close. In any case if it's off I hope it's consistently off, because I want to use it to gauge how I'm losing and gaining weight (though hopefully the latter will not be a case that occurs).

Yesterday I went out to eat, so I ate a small breakfast and small lunch so I could eat whatever I wanted at dinner. I ended up having potato skins. They were pretty good. And then later mushrooms and tater chips with ranch dip. Ohhhh. This morning I ate some egg substitute and some Wheat Thins. My dad's coming to pick me up and he will probably take me out to food. Which means I get to choose overpriced high-calorie food fried in grease. Yum.

I spent all morning today looking for this story some guy gave me. He gave me a copy, then his computer hard drive got wiped and he lost all his writing (ahhh!) and he's trying to salvage what he can, so he asked me to type up the story he gave me. And it was lost somewhere in the recesses of my house. I looked for it for two hours. Then I found it while looking for a large envelope to suit my mother's birthday card. Of course. Funny thing is, it was so close to a place I'd looked right before. Ugh. At least I got to clean out under my bed in my harried searching; I found old versions of sucky stories I wrote that remind me how much progress I've made as a writer. :)

That is all. Carry on.

I think it's time to leave.

That sort of gut-feeling where you wander around what was your home and feel like a thin specter, without purpose, without place, memories moth-balled, covered in cardboard...the realization that however much bourbon still doesn't make the feeling go away.

And you know it's time to leave.

So here it goes, my dear people...Bagginses and Boffins, Tooks and Brandybucks... I'll keep it short.

The official story is that I'm fleeing the country until somebody overthrows the Cheney regime and his puppet Bush; blood in the streets of Chicago and all that. Unofficially? What do you do when everything around you starts feeling strange, home isn't home, you're in your favourite haunts and you can't help but wonder if there's something more...my solution is to pack up and leave America behind.

My god, I've been in this city for over 21 years now, know every bar and street corner, the best bowling alleys and breweries, how to score the best weed here and what houses are selling perfumed oregano. When your bartender and the cigarette-counter clerk know you by name, it's time to leave.

I suppose I should log my day, but there isn't really much. Said my goodbyes at The University yesterday, micturated on the business school one more time for good measure, and that was that for the social checklist. Hardest part was deciding what books to leave here and which to take, which to send. I feel naked without them....my Goethe has seen a dozen countries with me, it's the first thing I packed.

But enough rambling. Don't right know when or if I'll see Chicago again. Don't right know when I'll have internet access again. But until then, thanks folks.

It's been a blast.


I don't know which to do first, so I'll do them side by side:

Gone Jackal | Jaubertmoniker | Hermetic
| |
I can't believe you're |Congratulations on |Please—get help.
leaving! Damn it, you |becoming an editor! |You don’t have
mailed me my copy of |Now I must live in |to go through this
The Mabinogion in Welsh! |fear of you! |alone. There are
You made wonderful |Alright, boyo--off |people out there who
political arguments! |to work you go. |care for you--in
You sang Dead Kennedys |(and don't forget |your real life,
with me! How can you |those sexual bribes |and your online one.
leave? I will miss you |I promised!) |I don’t know if
more than Dorothy missed | |any of this helps,
the Scarecrow. You will | |(and I don’t pretend
not be forgotten. (and | |that it does,
send me a goddamn post- | |but I can only hope
card!) | |that it doesn’t hurt.
|We do love you.

I was going to write something about my day, but it was pretty uneventful.

Basically all that is worth writing about is the fact that I read The Good Lion by Hemmingway, (the writer, not the noder, should he ever come to exist or have eluded my sight.) and that I hate schools and beureaucracy, and complicated french words like bureaucracy.

However I will take this oppourtunity in this daylog of yesterday (at this point literally, for by the time I have time to write on e2 now, the day has come and gone.) to comment on the parallels between real life, non real life and that which is almost real life.

Things use to be simple. Back in the day (I find it ironic that I use this phrase when referring to as short a time as a year ago), everyone was a lot more laid back. Everyone was calm. e2 cast a sense of tranquility over you. Even with the ocassional shitstorm that intermittently reared its ugly head, just about everything always seemed to fall back into place and a normal state of affairs prevailed. We were creating content, even if it was more often than not crap, but it was important crap. Crap that intrested us. It was crap, but it was good crap. Sure, some people like Jet-Poop whined about it in nodes like You are not the literary genius you think you are, but just because something bores the shit out of me doesn't mean it's not intresting and important to you or someone else. It's the obvious answer to the question "who cares?"

"Duh, me. I wouldn't be talking to you about it otherwise, fool. Just kidding, honestly, I like boring myself out of my skull."

It is of course hard to find tranquility within that which revolts at your presence, but this is no diffrent from anything else.

And as time has passed I find that everything (small e) is dramatically similar to everything else.

Case in point:

You have been awarded the Immortal Gag for 15 days.

Everything 2:
You've been borged!

The table where I sit at lunch:
"Stop talking, you're vexing me, and I bet you don't like me."
"I can tell because you're looking at me!"

#eblana on DALnet:
<Seath> Shanoyu is whining about something again, just ignore him.

A computer lab at high school:
"We'll just all wait for you to quit explaining to her 
(insert super complex concept such as alt+0183 in windows)",
followed by a typical school threat.

"I'm going to put (someone) on my kill list because they 
asked a question about why I troll the fuck out of a mud
they play and I think we should all have a 50 message thread 
talking about why this little asshole who asked a ridiculiously
simple question offended us so for a reason that is so inane and 
silly that it is depressing this newsgroup even exists."
                 -To rudely paraphrase KaVir on r.g.m.d

I could go on, and on, and on, and on, and still on forward even more. But I will refrain from doing so in the intrests of space and time.

Regardless, the point to all of that was that nobody really seems to give a damn about anything I have to say. The usual result of my frequent epiphany is that I don't care about people not caring about what I have to say. But it seems that through my not caring I do care, if that makes any sense. Often times I feel like i'm in this sort of soundproof bubble, where no sound can enter or escape. 'Friends' politely ignore you. Your questions go unanswered, even simple ones like, 'Could you direct me to the bathroom?' or 'What floor do we need to take the elevator to?', even from people like my parents. Sometimes when I scream at them they hear me, because it jars them from their daydreams that my apparently monotone and depressing voice brings about.

You can generally go down one of two paths. Either you can take the advice of Ralph Waldo Emerson in his epic writing titled self-reliance, believing that it is better to be misunderstood than to be a conformist without an individual identity, or you can wonder why god has not struck you down for being the wretch that you feel you most assuredly are.

Both paths can lead to disaster.

One goes straight through the noisy town of Arrogance, where every man is both a King and Subject of all, creating obvious problems.

The other branches off the cliffs of suicide, where poets come like undertakers, to dress and bury the dead, and pay respects to something that can never be put back togeather.

More often than not however the middling path is taken. Somewhere between apathy and depression. The place where someone wanders within himself to find some redeeming quality. Sometimes brandishing a sword and cutting out everything vile and evil and sometimes that which is right and true in the intrests of becomming less evil, less saintly, and more like what that traveller would call normal. This, in and of itself, is most likely right and true within that person even if it is not a high ideal. For you must always remember that if you don't do that which seems natural and right for you, whether that be a transformation into a hermit, drone, villain, or otherwise. If you don't, you'll become lost within yourself, unable to take the path that is your true nature. You'll never be happy like that.

I realise that I have done a great deal of talking, and what I have said may sound very disconnected, for as Jet-Poop would point out, I am not the literary genuis I think I am, or even the literary genuis I think i'm not. But sometimes it's not as important to express what you want to express for the pourpose of declaration, so much as it is important to express yourself for the pourposes of working towards that point where you have expressed that which is what you must grapple with.

Explaining discontent and depression is not unlike explaining love. It's not easy, and any attempt will most likely not express the feelings of the writer or the audience about the given subject in such situations. Of course, as I have stated, expression isn't the point. Perfect expression isn't necessary for intuitive understanding, but I digress. I apologise for this rambling mess of emotions and hope that any reader choosing to read it decides to determine how he feels about what I have written, rather than what I have written about how I feel.

But even if you don't. It's better to be downvoted than to be completely ignored.
First off, I poured orange juice in my corn flakes. I tried to pour it all out into the sink while holding the corn flakes in with my hand. I got most of it out, but the milk still had a weird orange-y flavor.

While flipping to the editorial pages in our local paper I noticed that the topmost obituary notice was for an elderly lady whose nickname was "Goon". She sounds like she would have been a good person to know.

On my way out to work I saw a yellowjacket (or some other flying stinging creature - I'm no entomologist) struggling in a spider's web. I stood fascinated, watching it fight for freedom and wondering if I should help it. One of course hates seeing anything struggling in a spider's web*, but then again what makes the spider deserving of starvation? But then the yellowjacket tore itself free with a mighty effort and flew away triumphantly.

As I rode my bike home from work at day's end I noticed for the first time a whirligig that some family had set up over their back fence. The breeze that blows up Mira Mesa Boulevard most times had it spinning.

That night I baked sugar cookies and we ate them together on the couch with milk while we watched Gilmore Girls.

*Except Hitler.

My apartment complex has been pretty slow about installing my washer and dryer. Three times they gave me dates by which it would be done, and all three times the dates came and went with no washer and dryer having been installed. I first told them I wanted them installed on the day I moved in, Saturday, August 27th. The final date they gave me was Wednesday, September 5th (ie yesterday). I got home from work at about 6pm, checked the washer/dryer room, and it was empty. I cursed the name of the apartment complex, and decided to go see them in the morning and see what was up. Then I had to run out to play ultimate frisbee, so I left my apartment around 6:20pm. I got back at 9pm, showered, ate dinner, and went to sleep.

Here's the strange thing. Like I said, I recently woke up. I fell asleep quickly, but then I started having trouble sleeping. I kept tossing and turning, half awake. Then, finally, something outright woke me up. It sounded like a solid, metallic thunk from my right. I was lying face-down on my bed, so the outside wall of my apartment was to my right. I don't want to go into the layout of my apartment, but suffice it to say that this same area is right next to my patio, and the laundry room is off of my patio. My first thought -- someone is screwing with my bike, which is chained up out there. My second thought -- who the fuck would want to steal my bicycle, which is an old, dirty, mountain bike? My third thought -- I remember that when we were shown this complex, my brother Matt asked what stopped people from using your washer and dryer, since they were right off your patio, and he was told that each person was given a padlock for the door to their laundry room. Anyway, my third thought was that maybe someone was trying to screw with my washer and dryer, not realizing that I didn't have any.

I peered out my bedroom window, and saw nothing going on. I got out of bed and surreptitiously observed the patio area. No motion, laundry room doors closed (as I left them), bicycle intact....but wait! The bicycle was NOT as I left it. On one of the handlebars was something that looked like an extra-long Slinky. Weird. I watched for a while longer, and still nothing happened. Then it struck me -- the slinky could also be one of those fat, grey tube-things that plugs into the back of a dryer. It had the right appearance, as far as I could tell in the dim light.

I had to know. I pulled back the blinds, unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped tentatively out into the night. No noises out of the ordinary, no assassin stepped forward to dispatch me. I approached the bike and examined the Slinky. Sure enough, it was that weird dryer tube. This is weird, I thought...vandals, in the middle of the night, who simply put a dryer-tube on my bike....to what? to mock my lack of success at getting my washer and dryer?

I glanced over at the door to the laundry room (I call it a room, but it's really just an alcove, big enough to fit both machines and my hot water heater and lord knows how many insects). It looked exactly like I left it. Still, this new addition to my patio was clearly related to washers and dryers, so I had to make sure. I opened the door and, lo and behold, a nice new washer and dryer.

Needless to say I was (and still am) surprised. Many thoughts ran through my head, but I just closed the door, went back in the house, closed that door, locked it, and put the blinds back in place. I considered going back out and using one of my bike locks (I have 2) to secure the laundry room against attack. Maybe I'll go do that after I write the entry.

So now here I am, thinking about what must have happened. The logical answer is that they delivered it while I was at ultimate frisbee, even though that meant it was done between 6:30pm and 9pm. Of course, logical answers never are as appealing at 3am. The other explanation is that some benevolent genie magically gave me these devices in the middle of the night. Maybe it was Santa Claus, and the noise that woke me up was him and his reindeer pushing off. Does the Tooth Fairy moonlight as a delivery person? I mean, I know I heard a noise, the doors looked like they hadn't been moved, and well, yeah.

Who knows? All I know is that I have a ton of laundry, and I'm glad to be able to wash it. Now if only the complex would fix my dishwasher (the part where you put the soap won't stay closed), and program my phone number into the gate, so guests (ha, like I have guests) could call me from the gate to get let in.

I'm gonna go lock up the laundry room and go back to sleep...but I know I'm gonna check again, to make sure I didn't dream the washer and dryer.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.