March 30, 2009 (89/365)

Tried to explain to K. tonight what happened to me on Friday and why it's effected me the way it has. I don't think I was able to make him understand, maybe because I'm not sure I fully understand it myself. He applied the same logic that I tried to, but it just doesn't fix anything. All I know is that I'm not going to be able to just "get back to normal." I'm changed. I'll either evolve into someone I haven't been, or I can try to be what I was. But if I go that route, knowing what I know... having experienced what I have, the "old me" will be damaged inside. The story of Pandora probably applies here, but her box wasn't opened by accident.

March 29, 2009 (88/365)

2 days out from the "big awakening" and I'm still fucked up. Part of my brain is trying to push my psyche back to the way it used to be. The other part is telling me how naive and pointless that is. I feel insignificant and ineffective, and I wonder if I need to change myself fundamentally to be the person I want... the person I thought I was. I just don't want to feel like I did Friday night again.

March 28, 2009 (87/365)

Post-traumatic stress. What am I supposed to be?

March 27, (86/365)

Just the right combination of emotional switches inside my head and circumstances outside my head tripped last night and I'm traumatized. I feel ridiculous and fake. People who probably know better would tell me I shouldn't, but I do. I thought I was just climbing out of a social hole; if this fucks that up, I'm going to be pissed.

March 26, 2009 (85/365)

I forgot what I was going to write about tonight. Dammit.

The studio closes for 10 days for spring break starting tomorrow. Someone needs to take away my shoelaces.

March 25, 2009 (84/365) 2

AIG buzzkill claims first victim.

Jake DeSantis, an executive VP at AIG whines that he's being causelessly villified and is taking his ball and bat (and giant paycheck) and going home. With the party over, all the cheese puffs eaten, hookers passed out on the living room rug, mom's good china broken, and the cops banging on the door, it seems like the job is just no fun any more. Poor guy. Well, at least he'll get one last giant tax write-off since he's giving his own personal $750,000 bonus to charity.

Um, no. We'll be wanting that back, thanks.

Douchebag.

March 25, 2009 (84/365)

Good Idea/Bad Idea.
Good idea: Commercial glass installer wants to drum up repeat business.
Bad idea: Doing it by driving by the customers' stores at night and throwing rocks through their windows.
(The sad details.)
On an intellectually-similar note, two girls in the studio last night were trying to decide if the Great Depression happened during the 60's or the 70's.

Bleach for the gene pool, stat!

March 24, 2009 (83/365)

Pictures are of unusual importance to me lately. The photo shoot with V. turned out quite well and made her happy. And tonight L. sent me pictures of my work with her on Saturday which made me quite happy. (Her too, I'm pleased to say.)

March 23, (82/365)

I'm so fucking jealous of V. and Z. I could cry. They're perfect for each other. They live life. Life lives me. No, I'm not making any sense. That's probably for the best.

March 22, 2009 (81/365)

Line for a future poem:

She's a playground, and I have skinned knees.

March 21, 2009 (80/365)

ok, I get one other caviate: I'm also not going to post if I don't get home til 6:00 am.

....Christ, I'm too old for that shit.

March 20, 2009 (79/365)

I'm a paradox. I'm a bad person who cares too much about other people. I want things. And there are things that I would do if I were alone in the world, yet I don't do them because of the caring for others. I end up angry either way.

March 19, 2009 (78/365)

A brief visual:

Young children, perhaps 5 or 6 years old, crying hysterically, as helpless children do. They would tug at your heartstrings.... if they weren't also frantically tearing someone apart like frenzied sharks.

I creeped myself out.

March 18, 2009 (77/365)

(I would have posted this last night but couldn't figure out for the life of me why the page wouldn't load. I thought there was a problem with my cable connection. This morning I remembered I'd turned off my javascript last night thinking it was interfering with some pages I was looking at. I forgot to turn it back on. Dopey me.)


Nancy Grace and her ilk are pissing me off. She's not a reporter or even a news anchor, she's a grandstanding sensationmonger. She spends hours ...hours... on the biggest news network in the world, harping on the minutia of the latest hot child abduction case. She trots out any tiny detail, legitimate or solid as smoke, and shoves it under the magnifying glass of the cameras until it appears crucially important. It's not just the media sensationalism that grinds my gears (we've been barely-tolerating that since Geraldo Revera crawled from the slime), it's that she, and all the others like her, seem driven to "break the case." Like it's her job to investigate ongoing cases above and beyond the proper authorities. She rails like a televangelist at how the authorities aren't jumping at the same shadows she is. While poor, poor little [insert name of currently missing child here] goes unfound or unavenged. Well she'll step up and champion that child because, obviously, no one else is.

These are headlines from her CNN-hosted web page today:
-"Breaking details in the Caylee murder case: Prosecutors release e-mails and videos to the tot mom's defense team. What evidence do they hold? Will these videos be released to the media? Nancy Grace has the latest developments at 8 & 10 P.M. ET."
-"LATEST: 7 PM ET - WESH is reporting the owner of the land where Caylee Anthony's remains were discovered [has put it up for sale.]."

In a similar vein, Headline New's afternoon host, Mike Galanos, yesterday announced that they would interview some politician or corporate board member and "get a confession out of them." For these people it's not about news any more, it's about breaking the case. Listen you delusional, self-important windbags, let's leave the investigating to the people who should be doing it and get back to reporting the news instead of trying to make it.

And unless Nancy Grace feels like going to the training academy and joining the FBI she needs to leave the "investigating" to the professionals and devote her efforts to something more suitable to her obvious skills, like shilling products on the Home Shopping Network.

March 17, 2009 (76/365)

Was out very late enjoying "chaos day" with V. and her friends. Saw her new house. Got to exercise skills I haven't used in a year. Boy did that feel good.

Tired. Bed.

March 16, 2009 (75/365)

I wish I didn't have a headache tonight, I'd feel like writing more. I'm going to devote what little capacity I have left tonight to making notes for the Champions game reboot. No, I don't expect anyone to know what that means.

March 15, 2009 (74/365)

J. got a wake up call this year, and I'd probably feel bad for her if I wasn't the alarm clock. One year ago last Christmas, she was in the hospital with a fairly serious, weight-related condition. I supported her, encouraged, helped directly where I could, and played cheerleader. To no avail. She didn't care enough to make the necessary changes. (Sure she "cared," but her weight didn't change significantly. So draw your own conclusions.) One year later (this past Christmas) she was back in the hospital with related ailments, this time even more severe. This time, after another month in the hospital, she's taken aback by my standoffishness. I have a hard enough time bringing myself to take action without being slapped in the face by the feelings of futility and pointlessness. For Christ's sake, her life is threatened because she can't drum up enough motivation to lose weight. Why should I try harder than she's willing to... again. If I can't motivate her enough to fix her life, she needs to find someone who can. .....or let herself continue deteriorating due to "fear" and ambivalence. Just don't be mad at me for my lack of enthusiasm.

And thus I take one more step towards complete isolation.

March 14, 2009 (73/365)

I've been sorting through the gigantic mess of my music files. Music has always been unusually significant to me. I associate almost every song with a particular time or situation and more often than not they conjure up feelings and emotions from that time/place. Many of them... from happier times... make me feel good. If I was smart (and felt like slogging through literally thousands of songs), I'd collect all of those to use as some kind of music therapy.

March 13, 2009 (72/365)

I have a tendency to put off writing these pearls of wisdom until very late when I'm too tired to remember anything profound that I thought of earlier in the day. This is such a day.

March 12, 2009 (71/365)

I'm getting petty in my old age. I wanted to rain self-righteous vengeance down on some no-name student douchebag in the studio tonight the likes of which would make the authors of the Bible crap their pants. Not that the assbasket didn't deserve it, but I would have gone waaaay across some personal boundaries just to make myself feel better.

Fuck, it would have felt good for about two and a half seconds.

March 11, 2009 (70/365)

It feels really pointless saying this, but I'm in a weird place tonight. While, in typical depression-induced fashion, I've gotten absolutely nothing accomplished today, I've made attempts tonight to organize my thoughts in hopes of pushing forward towards.... something. Over the years I've compiled quite a long list of writing ideas. I look at them every days ...the bits and pieces of novels or short stories or scripts... in the hopes another piece of one will fall out of my foggy brain. There's some excellent and original concepts here. I've also just put the old 80's flick, Into The Night, in the DVD player like I used to back when I wrote into the wee hours of the night. The whole evening feels like I've laid all the ingredients for a cake out on the table, looked at them, and said to them, "ok, go!" I feel like, in my own dysfunctional way though, I am trying.

Oh, and the WebMD page for Wellbutrin sits there and sings to me like a Siren, promising me the answers to all my troubles.

March 10, 2009 (69/365)

L. is such a good girl. She works so hard, for long hours, and without complaint. Saving lives is a normal part of her daily work routine, and I can't imagine doing the things she does, but she's one of the best in the world at it. Most people have a gift for something ... a knack, a natural talent for it... whatever you want to call it. Most spend their lives looking for it. She's found hers. She makes me proud every day. At home, she works diligently, and even though she makes mistakes sometimes, she always has me in mind. We've had our rough spots now and then but always work through them. Even so, we're frequently out of synch these days. It makes me unhappy. I've grown more worried lately that I'm not good enough, and that's a dangerous mental place to be. I want to do something to make her life better, but right now I can't think of anything except removing me from it ...and she's made it very clear she believes that would not make it better. I disagree, but I would never put her through such pain. Still, I wish I could do something for her.

March 9, 2009 (68/365)

How in the world did I end up being in a family again? I mean it in the traditional sense: husband, wife, children. Of course, L. and I aren't married, and her children are not my own; but all of us hopping in the car to go to dinner... and my having to step in when little J. isn't getting the point his mother is trying to make gives me the creeps. I know for everyone else out there, "family" is a warm fuzzy thing that makes them happy. That's not how I feel about it. (Or maybe it's that I consider other people my "family" ...the ones I feel that comfort with... and not the people I'm related to.) I'm a terrible family member and a terrible parent. I'm not at all comfortable being in that role (as history has certainly proven). I've gone out of my way in life (an understatement) to protect others from this shortcoming in myself. Yet here I am and have been for years.

March 8, 2009 (67/365)

Depression is inconvenient. Even so, I'm apparently not going to do anything about it, since every medication causes reduced sexual interest.

....and I'm not going to stand for that. [cue rimshot]

March 7, 2009 (66/365)

Saw Watchmen today. Really liked it. As with any movie-izing of a novel, a lot of stuff got left on the floor, including the specifics of the endings, though it remains intact in concept (for reasons I think I agree with). Another surprise is the realization of the serious amount of coin they must have paid the Motion Picture Association of America to get that R rating because, seriously, that thing's WAY into NC17-land. Aside form Dr. Manhattan's glowing blue bits hanging out all over the place, there's a fairly graphic sex scene as well as extremely graphic splodey-people.

All that said, be prepared for the world to declare it a disappointment though. Anyone going in who hasn't read the novels (ie, 90% of the movie's audience) are going in expecting to see a sooperheero movie and are going to be angrily disappointed by the lack of action-packing. It's a fucking drama about costumed vigilantes, you assholes. You want mindless action, go rent X-men 3 again.

March 6, 2009 (65/365)

I talk to myself all the time. Looking at this blog, which no one else reads (and seriously, who would?), I think maybe the only thing more pathetic would be writing to myself. If this o pinion doesn't change, I'm going to stop doing this. I blogged before, you know, a few years ago. The only one or two people who read it, I talked to regularly anyway so decided to give up the blog. Pathetic as it was, I had more of a reason to write then... why in the world would I continue now?

March 5, 2009 (64/365)

Another late production night. I'm tired. I wish I had something interesting to say, but I don't. I'm sadly bemused by the people who display such surprise/panic/disbelief that our print magazine is generating less and less income. 99% of all print periodicals will be down the shitter in the next several years, and a nursing placement rag certainly isn't going to make the cut. It effects me, of course, and I'm sad to see it happen, but I at least know what that oncoming light is while I stand on these railroad tracks.

March 4, 2009 (63/365)

Dinner with K. tonight. He's writing a book on how to write screenplays for Hollywood. We talked at length on the content and theory of the book and the nature of screenwriting. It wasn't combative nor cooperative, but my role was providing perspective and alternate theories to explore. I could tell I was making him consider what it was he was writing rather than just assume he had it right the first time. (He may or may not have, but now he's thinking about it.) It reminded me very much of my days as a roleplaying game editor. It was a fulfilling feeling and made me realize I miss that job terribly. It's a shame the bottom dropped out of the gaming industry years ago. The circumstances at that time were ideal, of course, but I think I'd enjoy getting back into it. I also wonder if there's a market out there for a "writing assistant" ... not a co-writer or post-writing editor, but someone to keep a writer in check during the writing process.

March 3, 2009 (62/365)

Posting late. This falls under the clause of "unable to post" as the cable was out yesterday.

It wouldn't have been a very nice post last night anyway. I was foot-stompin' mad at the studio's student aides, who decided to move a piece I'd loaded into the bisque kiln myself. I put it in the kiln myself because the glaze treatment was delicate, and I didn't want some bonehead running his grubby fingers all over the surface of it and fucking it up. ....which is exactly what they did. Now the surface is ruined and had to be taken off completely, and I don't know if it's even possible to reapply it.

Goddammit.

March 2, 2009 (61/365)

Introspection: I was listening to 80s music tonight, and it reminded me there was a time when I didn't have depression. 19 years of nightmares aside, I've only been depressed for about 8 or 9 years now. My personal philosophy has always been "if my body can't take care of itself, it deserves what it gets." It's kept me away from doctors for about 40 years. It's also been a fairly successful philosophy. Tonight I weakened. Tonight I'm almost ready to get help, and I feel guilty for that... and it makes me feel a little like a failure. But I'm just so tired of it. It also dawned on me that the philosophy might not be the only thing that's kept me from seeking help. I think it's possible that I may sometimes use the depression as an excuse to not accomplish some things that I really do want to but am afraid to face (or face the results of). If I were to suddenly lose the depression, I'd lose the excuse.

March 1, 2009 (60/365)

R. came over tonight, and conversation turned (as it always does) to how we should have our own television network. Granted, our ideas are unorthodox but they're also groundbreaking. And with TV viewership gradually dropping off every year, our plan would help shore up the industry. The networks would benefit from listening to us. Sadly, of course, no network will ever hear us let alone listen to us. Just let it be known that we have a plan.

February 28, 2009 (59/365)

Courtesy and honor are dead, and I mourn them every time I go out in public. I think we should change our name to The Entitled States of America. I swear, almost every person in this entire country apparently feels they have the right to be aggressive, rude, and discourteous. It's ok for them to suddenly change lanes in front of you without warning as long as they make sure you have time to hit the brakes without hitting them. The sidewalks and store isles are theirs and their mewling crotchfruit's and doddering senile elderlumps' to fill from side to side as they meander oblivious to the fact that other people would like to walk past them. Jumping in line is ok as long as it gets you your Jujubees a whole 45 seconds before the 2 people you would have had to wait for had you gone to the end of the line (and we won't even talk about long lines that some people may have waited hours in).

In the 20 minutes it takes me to get from inside my nice, safe house to the isle I need in the store, I've gone from being in a decent mood to filled with enough righteous rage to belt some clueless fucktard in the face. It makes me feel like I have only 2 options in life: Never leave my house again, or get myself an automatic weapon and start rebalancing society one exploding head at a time.

goddammitIhatepeople.