At this point, there’s no point in circling the squares. 

I feel what I feel and I will lavish in the waves that overcome me. Some rinse. Some drown. All overpower. 

And in the end, I’m only a fly basking in the sun. 

Curated. Pompous and rinsed. I somehow (or on purpose) wrestle with my duality in a dimly lit room after accidentally stumbling into this lonely awareness: never really here, only quieted by the stories of other people. 

Sure, I see those lives as vivid and as a brightly filtered HD photos and I’ve lived long enough to recognize that you have to record the lie to belay the emptiness. 

Instead, I steadily poison myself with hope and cynicism in shakily unequal parts because if I can’t shout to an empty room or whisper softly to a noisy crowd, well, then who am I other than Jack’s Colored Sensory Deprivation? 

Fuck violence. I want silence. And a deeper grave than six wholesome feet. Cats and dogs can dig deeper with motivation, and humans will do worse. For less. 

 I feel like there’s an obligation to acknowledge: you don’t get drunk and drag the lake. 

That being said, I’ve hired emotional divers and I’m paying OT. 

That’s the full disclosure, braille-reader. 

I spend cold nights feeling my toes get frostbite and hearing the thunder of airplanes taking off while slowly the creeping reality spreads like a wasting disease in my brain. It can’t rain enough to make up the difference. And still I play it like my compartments are sectioned off better than the archives in Indiana Jones. I feel. It’s not great and now that I’m allowing myself moments of reflection, I feel. The routines and grooves I dug into life are hard to forget. I took a lot, too much, for granted and found myself miserable before being thankful. Maybe it should be that I instead just count myself lucky, but I’m sitting still and thinking of the pieces that I’ve lost and sighing heavily. 

It hurts. And I realize that it is necessary and the way is open and honest and in the best of emotional circumstances, but I don’t have to like it. I just have to live with it and grow from the experience. But this is something I will carry with me until I die. Hopefully, the weight isn’t too much. 

 It doesn’t feel good or cathartic. 

I don’t feel hopeful or relieved. 

It feels like failing and falling from higher up, hitting things along the way. 

But I understand that this is how it has to be. This is how we go forward. 

It hurts. I’m not happy. But I will be okay. 

 Hollowed out and crushed. 

I think that’s a good way to put it. Doesn’t mean that all is lost, just that there’s not much else to give without being filled back up. 

The important thing, to be clear, is that I still exist. And that’s a powerful thing to take away. 

 One of the worst feelings: wanting something so bad for so long only to have it break before it’s finished. 

Optimism is just shooting yourself in the foot, but closing your eyes first. 

 I have waves. 

I am a pendulum. 

Good days. 

Bad days. All with an ebb and flow. 

But, lately, I feel like an oil slick has crept over my surface I no longer feel the warm reflection of the sun. 

I guess this is decent metaphor for depression.  

I've been feeling a little more, in very small increments - mind, that I'm becoming more detached from the world as I know it. I don't know if this could be attributed to just being tired, being paranoid, and having an overactive imagination - or - I'm just getting older and seeing the beginning wrinkles of something more serious.

For instance, nearly every night when I'm driving a long stretch of dark road on my way home from work, there's always something that dances just outside the field of vision my headlights provide. Granted, that's a shadow's specialty, but it doesn't make it any less potent for turning my stomach into a fist. With that, I've also seen amorphous shadows dance across the road or my windshield, prompting a heavy tap on the brakes. I know it's nothing, but there's always a tickle in the back of my mind that tells me otherwise. Regardless, this is a road I've traveled since I could first drive and I doubt new secrets would unearth themselves, nor that I'm becoming aware of things I wasn't able to perceive when I was younger. It's just weird. And turning in on myself as I like to do, I'm just wondering how much longer my brain can hold out before it unravels and I start buying in to all the crazy conspiracies out there instead of entertaining them like fun what-if works of fiction.

No one really explained this party about living in your 30's.

It seems that the same old things will always haunt me through that dreaming state of stress and anxiety when I least expect it.

I have a lot of unresolved dilemmas floating around in my brain lately.

Mostly to do with social things like gender and equality, those sorts of riffs. And it's nothing that's denying anyone who they truly want to be. There's just so much I don't understand about why anyone wants to squash those identities or ideals. And on the flip side of that, I'm a person that always has a lot of questions, because I really like understanding - seeing the cogs turns - and every time I get the chance to have a relationship with someone that is more empathetic to these ways of life, my questions come across as crass and insensitive, which is the last thing I'm truly trying to promote.

All in all, everyone has the thinnest skin these days and the time where you could speak freely without walking on egg shells is diminishing. I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but it does pose more of a challenge than it should. People should know who their networks are and who honestly means well and who doesn't.

I guess I'm just frustrated because I feel guilty all the time just for being who I am and for that having been the baseline norm for so long.

Excuse me. 

That romantic idea in the back of your brain... quell it. It's dead in the water already and you're no closer to realizing that fake sense of fulfillment that was on the tip of your supreme conscious. 

Not to bombard you, but I've noticed that I haven't been telling you my dreams. At least, not typing them out for the waves of cyber-eternity to carry out until the EMP's take out every last god damn server holding a good chunk of my thoughts. I should rectify this. But then again, I always forget about you when I have someone other than myself to think about so consistently. 

I'm still trying to figure out if I still talk to you every day or if you're just a piece of my imagination. Only time will tell. 

Sometimes people are more of a disservice to those around them than they are to themselves without even knowing. I'm saying more along the lines of being a shitty person reflects poorly on the awesome people in their life, besmirching their otherwise sterling recommendations. 

I pride myself in having good people around me. I love my friends fiercely. And I can only hope that I'm not the weak link that brings that sort of questioning to anyone's integrity. 

There are those times. And THOSE times. 

I waste a lot of my life just waiting...

Oh my dear Braille-Reader, how I've lost myself in the murky dumps of my own self-imposed misery.

That's a pretty good opening line, right?

But on to the point, in such a vague sense: I'm never prepared. I've finally gotten a handle on the process, factoring out the immediate, knee-jerk response to all my worry and pain and anxiety. Because, to face it, I was already prepared for nothing, so what's the point of worrying about going back to it? You see? I'm not as dumb as I look.

Finally, however, I realize the plights of those that came before. The ones that looked at me with teary eyes while my blank face stared back at them. I suppose this is why I'm the one that feels all the more now. Or maybe I felt too much from the beginning, and being overwhelmed, locked those feelings away until I convinced myself they never existed. Either way, this boat has lost it's paddles and I'm floating now, for better or worse, to the end of this stream. It could dry up. It could lead to a waterfall of spiky, jagged rocks. Or it could lead out to the ocean and forever. Time and patience will tell, and though I wish and hope for so many things, I've adjusted my expectations to something more realistic, likely a little pessimistic to save myself in the end, yet save for the surprise of happiness.

I do, however, relish the fact that I'm not my usual self. Albeit, I've been a tad in the deep end of my emotions, but it's nice to feel again and know that I'm actually human. And know that others CAN effect me in positive ways. I only wish that I could manage those hopeless moments where I imagine everything crashing down around me. I wish I could have exactly what I want, when I want it. But that's not life. That's not realistic. And though I am a dreamer, I also understand reality and am bound by it's laws. But to be able to break a few every now and again, is that so much to ask?

I hate that feeling of defeated uncertainty. 

Somewhere deep inside of me, there's a failure waiting to get out and crush me, Braille-Reader. In that shallow, murky cesspool of self-confidence, a karmic sabotage is just waiting to be sprung.  

I've spent a lot of time lately thinking on the emotional spectrum and drive behind it. I don't really know that I've figured anything out. If anything, I understand myself a little better here and there, but I'm even more profoundly confused by other people. Their perceptions and processing of what I take to heart or disregard are wholly different.

I've found similar opinions and ideas about things, usually shared with the people I'm closest to, however, I've never met someone with the same processing I have, save for one now, but I'm still not sure how aligned that is. That's neither a good nor bad thing, just fascinating and new. I've often thought of myself as having a bit of a cold demeanor - being able to distance myself from emotion and regard each situation after I've shaken loose of its initial shock. Lately, though, the shock hasn't been wearing off as quickly and I feel my reasonably fair and logical way of looking through things has become a bit skewed.

I can't tell if I like this or not, finding myself vulnerable to this primal instinct again, pissing contests for territory. All I know is that I'm smarter now that I was, more aware. I hope that makes a difference. If not, all my sage-like wisdom is going to lose all its weight.

Last Year's Fortune Cookie That Got Everything Right

"Sometimes you poop, and sometimes you don't always make it to the toilet. Good job for making it to the toilet every time."

Lucky numbers: 6, 6, 6

Learn chinese:

这是他妈的金属，兄弟 Zhè shì tā mā de jīnshǔ, xiōngdì

Yesterday's Fortune Cookie That Got Everything Wrong

"You will experience a catastrophic event that will lead to the usurping of the King's crown in a far away land. Then and only then will you receive the reward of knowledge."

Lucky numbers: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Learn chinese:

迪克剑 Díkè jiàn