Where I Reveal Myself To You In Terrible Ways

Most of these blog entries will be a record of self-loathing or depression.

Friday, April 17, 2015

Threesome

The Sound of Summer
This morning is the first day I've heard the drone of a lawnmower. (It seems to be going on forever.)(Granted, there is quite a large grass area out back of the houses.)

Adventures In Lameness
We hired a new guy at work. The new guy apparently wears interesting socks, so now I'm not the guy with the interesting socks (and God, does that sound pathetic when I say it out loud).

We're All Going To Die
In the shower I was rubbing my head and came across this hard little knob on my forehead. I picked it off and wondered: "What was that??" Had I hit my head in the night? Did I have anything there before? I don't recall anything.

I looked at it when I got out of the shower and it looks like I picked a scab. All I can think is: early stages of skin cancer. I really need to get my skin checked out. I've picked the "freckle" on my shoulder twice now. That's not good. (And maybe that was like the starting gun for the skin cancer to go into aggressive mode.) Worst part: I don't know how to ask off from work to go to the doctor. Especially since I'm taking off next week for this project with Musician Friend. And I feel like I'm working less and less and am less and less useful. (No indications from them on that, that's just how I feel inside.)

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Pardon Me While I Rant Like A Crazy Person

I'm not going to do that now. That was the title I came up with last night, when everything was taking forever to load and I started to get paranoid there was a remore on my machine. "What the fuck, people??" I wanted to rant. I imagined the invisible army fucking with me because - for *whatever reason* - I am the pea to their princess, never letting them get a good night's sleep.

It was mostly because it came on rather suddenly: Monday night it was fine; Tuesday the circle would spin for minutes on end in various different apps. It made me wish I knew someone computer savvy who could go in (with a program) and root around looking for such things; someone who could use a keyboard like a scalpel. I don't know that you can really do anything like that or if it's more like fishing (or trawling).

Speaking of a good night's sleep, I didn't get one last night. Despite telling myself I would go to bed at ten pm, I managed to stay in the kitchen until after midnight and then didn't actually try to sleep until 3:30 in the fucking morning. Kept listening the funny podcasts. I wish I had someone to share them with; I've heard some much hilarious shit in the past two weeks.

MEH came home last night, for the first time in maybe months. It reminds me that I had been planning to write an entry on how lucky I am, because as meager as the conditions seem here sometimes, I've been getting away with luxury.
1) Our hot water tank is really small, and when three people take a shower within a half hour of each other, the hot water runs out fast. With MEH living with her sister, and the young guy staying with is girlfriend, I've been getting a lot of hot water (not that it seems like it when I shower). 
2) I've been as loud as I want. I think I probably turn the TV up louder than the average person; my hearing's not great. On top of that, sometimes I'll watch TV late into the night (like on Sunday nights, when I'm up until 1:30 or 2). If I had sensitive roommates, that would instantly become a source of tension. As it is, MEH is half-deaf and young guy is half never here, so I'm living like its my place.
(On top of that is the fact that I'll watch in the living room until midnight, and I'm just above LH's room. But she often doesn't sleep until late and has never complained about it (sometimes she's even been surprised when I've said I was there; I do try to be careful); that's not always going to be the case.
3) LH will cook food and give me some and I don't have to come up with my own. If we go out somewhere, she always pays. I save a ton of money that way. (Recently I've been trying to pay some.)

All of these things are incredibly lenient to my bad behaviors (which is good and bad), and it could all change with new housemates. We shall see how it goes.
(One good thing I learned is that the house is relatively cheap, so if I adjusted the rents in such a way, it could erase my rent. I'd still have to pay the utilities, but that would be my share of the rent. The only issue there is that I'd have to exert authority over other people and demand their rent, which I'm not good at. Hopefully LH will help me find roommates who are awesome and respectful and have no problem paying rent.)

Tired.
But not going to bed yet.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Fucked Up

Now it turns out I didn't get my ass in gear fast enough and I'm going to miss the 8:30 bus. So I just let it go and now I'm going to catch the 9. Not my first choice, but oh well.

[shakes head] I've gotta get my shit together.

Sore

I've been sore for two days following playing with the kids (which went well, I think; I think they had a good time). Whenever I'm sore like this I think to myself "If I just worked out a little bit every day, I wouldn't be sore like this. Just twenty minutes a day or so or walking and some kind of muscle training would be perfect!" And then I go back to my "normal" self and all that sloughs away.

Things I'm currently not dealing with that aren't getting better:

My living situation (landlady, recruiting new housemates)
My taxes (past state taxes I got a notice for in early March)
Teeth (still haven't done anything about 14)

I wish I had learned how to deal with things, how to evaluate them without emotion. The housing situation is the one I'm most paranoid about; so many things can go wrong. I keep realizing all the things that are working out in my favor currently that I had seen as neutral before. It's depressing.

I slept for ten hours or so last night. This weekend my sleep was rocky (dogsitting, so the temptation of the wonderful TV was there) and then last night I stayed up until 2:30 watching TV as well, so I needed to recoup some hours. We'll see how today goes.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

The Voice Says

I sent my boss a checklist document tonight at about nine pm. For something that's due tomorrow morning. That he asked me to make on Wednesday or before of last week. And when he writes back "Thank you very much, Michael," it's like a knife twists in my guts. "You fucking asshole," the voice says. "You should have had that to him five fucking days ago. He probably doesn't even need it now. You are a piece of shit good-for-nothing employee and they should fire you. I don't know why they keep you on."

Plus when I was with my natural fan base yesterday (Successful Friend's kids and their neighbors' kids), I didn't take any fucking pictures. I like coming up with picture ideas and taking pictures. But I'm too fucking pussy to ask people to participate. So I get nothing.

At one point shortly after I had arrived, the kids (who had been outside) all filed into the kitchen to stand silently behind me. Someone commented it was like a Pied Piper phenomenon. I couldn't really own it, but a little part of me was pleased. (I couldn't own it because: what if I couldn't produce results like I had in the past? What if I turned out to be lame?)

In any case, I should have had someone take a picture of me sitting there with all those kids standing behind me. That would have been kind of neat.

My fucking life is non-stop regret "because you're a fucking asshole," The Voice helpfully supplies.

I'm trying to do work so as not to feel overwhelmed tomorrow. It won't help because I'll still be afraid and too cowardly to ask for what I need. And too lazy/lame to stretch myself and learn something new to be increasingly useful to the company. "Fucking dick," says the voice. "You're a fucking piece of shit." 

God, I can't wait until my shows come on and I can get lost in them. If I would permit myself to do drugs, I would be so gone right now. So gone. I hate myself so fucking much.

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Poor Results

I went to the barbershop this afternoon, which I've been meaning to do for a couple of weeks now.

I've been thinking I need to go to a "barbershop" rather than a "hair salon" because I have so little hair now I don't need much done and the endless snipping over my hair is annoying.

So I looked up "barbershops," found one that looked black and downgrade (I'm thinking all I need is a buzz with the clippers), and went.

The barbershop was downgrade and in what used to be a bad area, in one of the buildings that still shows its age. There are bars in the picture window.

The ad made it look like it was one guy in a small space and when I called (because the website said: "call for an appointment") I asked if it was in the bottom of the building across from the mission and he said yes, so I created a picture in my mind.

My picture was wrong. It was kind of a classic barbershop with three or four barber stations on one side, a row a small waiting chairs on the other wall and a makeshift salon-type area in the back. There were two male barbers at two of the stations, working on two men. There was a woman in the back working on a third man.

I don't think I mentioned this before, but everyone was black, except for the woman's customer.

I knew it was going to be a black barber - or thought it was going to be a small, one-man operation run by a black man, because I was picturing it like those hole-in-the-wall barbershops you find in the base of commercial buildings. But this wasn't it; it was a pretty standard barbershop with what might have been a little bit of a salon in the back.

If you don't know, what I've learned is that barbershops have a weird dynamic, in that the individual barbers tend to be free agents that rent a chair, or space, in the shop. So my impression of the "salon" area in the back was that the woman had brought in all her own stuff (because the place did not look like it had ever had anything nice in it before: the waiting chairs were cracked, the barber chairs were old ("classic," you might say) and the space was kind of run down. 

Anyway, I had called and said three o'clock, but everyone had customers and I didn't mention calling because it obviously wasn't that kind of place, besides which, as I had come in I saw "walk-ins welcome" which blew my idea of the place out of the water.

Barbershops are a heavy race line, in my mind. I'm ignorant, so I think: "Is a black person going to know how to cut my hair? Is it different cutting black hair and white hair?" The first time I went to a black barbershop (named "Shabazz," appropriately enough), the guy shaving part of my head tugged at some of the hair and I felt like he didn't get white customers and wasn't very experienced with them. (To be fair, his shop was in the bottom of a Section 8 apartment building in a neighborhood that had been majority black and semi-poor for decades. I might have been one of his first - if any - white customers.)

After that experience, I talked with a mixed friend about it, saying it was silly for white people to not patronize black barbers because they're all certified the same. She surprised me by saying that wasn't necessary true (or at least that's how I remember it; I feel like she said the opposite of what I expected her to say). My recollection is that she said multiple agencies could certify and therefore you could learn a niche style of barbering and still have certification like someone who practiced a wide variety of cuts. (And in case you didn't notice, I accidentally - no, unconsciously - went all racist there, saying "niche style" as code for "black" and then "wide variety" to mean "the incredible spectrum of white hair." I didn't realize it until I was halfway through the sentence and then I left it as is so that I could explain my ignorance)(in the hopes that it opens someone else's eyes.)

In any case, the real story of my haircut is that I am a weak person who is afraid to advocate for himself. So when the guy started cutting my hair with scissors, when what I really wanted was to just have it buzzed down, I let him do his thing even though I knew he would leave some long on the top (he even said later "We're gonna leave it a little longer on top, okay?" and I assented) and I would be unhappy. Just give me a reverse Caesar (receding hairline) and be done with it, okay? As I said to a friend after, I just need to go to a military base and have them do it. Buzz, buzz, over.

I don't even like the way he did my beard. I need to get my own trimmer and do it myself.

About four or five years ago, I went to Hair Cuttery and the woman cut my hair very short. It was shocking to me because it revealed just how bald I was (I had been combing over) but later I liked it. These days what I want is a replication of that haircut, not some attempt to make it seem like I still have a chance.

I took a few pictures after that haircut; I need to print one our and start taking it to the barbershop.

Oh, one last thing. This haircut I'm not so fond of (and which didn't take that much)(he spent more time on my beard)? It cost me THIRTY FIVE DOLLARS. 
Fucking hell.

Dream Journal

I just had this incredibly intense dream where I ran into a guy from high school in a diner and he told me that he had read something I wrote and really liked it, only his affect was all off; he was very subdued and at first I thought he was angry at me and trying not to talk to me and then it seemed like he just had this new affect. 

Other weird things that happened: a couple who were friends of my parents and used to live in my neighborhood were there and the wife was talking to me and it seemed like she had had a stroke because I couldn't understand her speech. Then it turned out this guy's whole family was there and his son or nephew was there and he had read this story or novel or treatment or whatever and thought it was really great and was talking to me about it and asking how I did it. 

One of the characters in the story was "2 Kevin" or "Kevin 2," which I think comes from a real show or movie.

Before this part of the dream started I was having another dream that seemed like a movie or TV show I had dreamed before and was about a love triangle (and feels like something I also gleaned from TV but could have been an earlier dream).

It was all deep and clear and very engaging and I didn't know how to feel. I was flattered and proud that they liked my writing but I couldn't figure out how they had found it (I thought it was like this, something online that had no obvious ties to me) and/or what this guy's real feelings toward me were because his affect was flat.

The other feeling I had about the guy was that the universe had given me something I had asked for; in real life, I recently left a comment on Facebook asking after him because I had met up with him once in the late 90s and then lost track of him (probably neglected to reach out again) and I wondered where he was now. (I feel like I wrote an email to an address he had on a public website once (he worked for the government as a scientist) but I never got a response.)

In other news, I stayed up until almost 4 after I told myself I wasn't going to do that this weekend. Now here we are. Damnit.

Friday, April 10, 2015

I'm Mad About A Belt

8:45a

As I was running to make sure I was at the bus stop on time this morning, I touched my waist and realized I wasn't wearing a belt. "FUCK!" I yelled angrily. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. The belt was emblematic of what was wrong with my life, of what
 is wrong with me.

Why wasn't (aren't) I wearing a belt? Well, I had been kind of rushed in getting out of the house. The bus has been coming earlier and I've been leaving the house late and I missed it one day so now I'm paranoid about missing it (even though that's not a national catastrophe but it feels like it for me a lot of times). 

I was late getting out the door because I had to get my clothes from the dryer, where they had been since the night before. They were still in the dryer because there were two pair of jeans plus a heavy dress shirt in that load and it needed extra drying. 

I took that stuff out of the dryer at about 8:15, and that's because I got up at 7:40 (instead of 7:30 or any time earlier) because I was tired. I was probably tired because I had been up until 2 the night before. And on Wednesday night I was up until 12:30 or so. And on Tuesday night I was up until I don't know. And on Monday night I was up until 11 or 11:30, I think. Which is early for me.

So I had stayed up too late doing laundry - but also fucking around, because the second run of the dryer was started at 1:15; I could have come upstairs, brushed my teeth and gone to sleep. That's not what I did. 

I came upstairs and unloaded all my pockets and then I wrote that diary entry. I guess I didn't fuck around on the web aside from that - no, wait, I did, because something crashed and that's what made me go to sleep. I was done with last night's entry around 1:45 I think, and then I started reading Snarky News Website again. When it crashed, I took that as a sign, and rolled over to sleep.

I started my laundry after 7, because I didn't get home until about 7:15. Why was that? Well, because I left work at 6:30. And why did I do that? Because I stay late at work because I feel I do fuck-all there and I keep reading websites for hours instead of focusing on work and I owe it to them to make up the time. 

Whereas if I did all my work (or all work) during work hours, I could leave at a reasonable time and be home at a reasonable time and do laundry at a reasonable time and be in bed by midnight or before. But that's not me. I'm a fuck up, and I'm fucking up all over the place. 

So now I look like a schlub (even more than usual) because I don't have a fucking belt and I feel stupid because it's just symptomatic of me being a colossal asshole who can't handle his life. 

This shirt is too thin, too. It feels weird.

Follow On

The other morning (yesterday) when I wrote "Mornings Are The Worst?” I missed the bus. 

Or rather, the bus blew by me eight minutes before it was supposed to come, when I was still twenty yards from the stop. I had been texting my sister in law, asking her about her new job. Suddenly there it was, like an action film: WHOOM! - gone.

What made it so horrible (in that moment) was that a new woman started at the office this week and I had told her the day before that I usually got in at 8:45. That day (Tuesday), someone else had let her in when she got to the office at 8:30 or so. Yesterday I didn't think anyone was going to be there early (I was right about that) and so I pictured her waiting in the hall for me to show up, possibly annoyed that I had said I was there at a usual time and then not showing.

As it was, she walked in the lobby doors a few minutes after me (I suspect she had been waiting and watching from her car) and we had a nice conversation for the next 30 minutes or so. (It's actually worrisome because I'm getting drawn into these long conversations and the boss then calls me because she can't get ahold of me over email or by text. I feel bad.)

Today when I showed up she was already there; she had gotten a door code and let herself in. Problem over.

How It Is With Me

Tonight I did a couple of loads of laundry. I just brought the first load up. (The second one is on its second dry cycle and I'll get it in the morning)(hopefully, considering how late I'm up.)

I had trouble putting away my clothes. Why? I'll tell you why.

A couple of weeks ago when I bought coffee for my office on Amazon (with my own money, which I don't need to do and don't ask for reimbursement for, because I'm a jackass), I bought a couple of nice bars of soap from my wish list. These are nice bars of soap with designs in them and pretty smells, yummy smells. 

I didn't get them for myself but rather for my nieces or my friend's kids, but I never get to the post office these days (and I'm paranoid they'd get destroyed during shipping), so they've just been sitting in one of my bureau drawers. Which means I can't really close that drawer.

The drawer below it is crowded because the box I got for Christmas with the Warby Parker gift card is in there. Why there? Because I'll forget it otherwise. (Have I forgotten it anyway? Yup.)

The bottom drawer, the sock drawer, is full of socks I no longer wear anymore - they've got holes in them or have long ago lost their match. But I don't throw them away because, well, throwing away clothing feels wrong. And Goodwill will take them to use as packing material. If I ever take them to Goodwill.

So my clothes end up strewn around my room because there isn't room for them in my actual drawers because I haven't dealt with shit from weeks ago and that times one hundred explains the state of the rest of my room with the boxes and the mail and the newspapers and the plastic bags full of soda cans and plastic containers. There's a dish from a microwave dinner in the bathroom sink right now.

Thursday, April 09, 2015

Mysteries of Me

I'm in the kitchen, by myself. No one else around.

I realize the eggs LH hard-boiled for me last night are still in a pot on the counter. 

"Oh, shit; you dumbass," I say, out loud, to myself.

I pick up the pot, take out the eggs, then whip the pot over on its side to empty the little water that's in it into the sink.

Unfortunately, I underestimated the amount of water and a bunch splashes out of the sink and some of it on to me. 

"You fucking idiot," I say, out loud, or myself.

After a few minutes it occurs to me: why do I say these things? No one ever said them to me (that I know of or that I can remember). So when did I get the idea that I'm the dumbest fucking human on the planet and a deserving target of all the scorn in the world? How did that happen?