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RE: Drunk Journal

The days have been a blur of activity, working long hours as the Superbowl sale gets ready to get off the ground. Strained... at least one of my girls has done something to warrant my disapproval every day this week. J coming in late, then acting like I'M an ass for getting on her case about it because "OMG! It SNOWED, you dick!" ???? S forgetting her nametag. Twice in a row. B having $23 over in her register at the end of the day and crying when I made her sign the warning slip about it. I'd almost feel bad if it weren't for the small displays of apathy and disrespect.

Missing her. I hate feeling like I've walked into a room she just left... still hearing her laughter absorbed into the furniture... clinging to the smell of her as if fades...

Comforting myself tonight with a bit of drink. It's been a few days since I've crashed and I'm tired of the control and thinking.
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

I've had a bit of time for some self-reflection, so I'd like to put this here if I could.

How did this start? I came here looking for an exercise in writing where the topic would be interesting, rather than from any need to get off. Until last summer, I never had any trouble getting any, so staying home and role-playing was a way to get some time to myself and not really an attempt to meet people or reach out. And online has always been that way for me. Just a piece of furniture on the desk that I occasionally choose to stare at for a while. So, I've taken a laid-back stance about my interactions here and the friends I've made. Role-plays are always handled very casually, no attempt to get to know my partners is made and I don't really hold them to anything. We don't plan the stories together, we just spontaneously place the blocks down, reacting to one another and if they leave or forget about the rp, then it's not my problem. Moving on.

This allowed me to enjoy a certain immunity when it comes to dealing with people in this medium. Drama or idiots flaming, never meant anything. Because I can walk away from my piece of furniture anytime I want. After watching an episode of your favorite TV show, you don't turn off the TV, go to work and seriously woe and tear about whether the character Susan Meyer will die next episode because OMG! she really needs to!SHE'S RUINING PEOPLES LIVES!!! ...Well, you shouldn't anyway. Letting the internet affect you is like saying a cheap romantic comedy helped you through a really tough crisis in your life, where you probably would have wasted away or killed yourself otherwise. It's letting fiction dictate the important decisions in your life, which is an error in perspective.

Last August, my flagrant promiscuity and playful womanizing came to an end when I was diagnosed with HIV. But truthfully, I continued making mistakes for a while. If you don't know anything about HIV/AIDS treatment, then you should know that it's a serious commitment. Once you start it, you have to stick to the strict regimen, otherwise you risk the virus developing a resistance to the drugs, which kind of defeats the purpose. So, you don't start it unless you're serious about it... and you're rich or something. Dropping about $2,000 dollars a month is just not feasible for me in my current living situation. There are no real plans to make any big moves or take big steps in my future, especially not since I rose to a higher position in my job and I don't want to risk that job security. So, I'm staying right here. Untreated and fucked.

In comes the alcohol. I've been drinking since I was 17, but mostly at parties or whatever. Things didn't start getting what some might call "bad" until after I got tested for HIV. I always have a few bottles in the house, and other than the necessities and bills, and a Magic card here or there("Ooooh, man! That foil Gideon's Lawkeeper took me down a whole $.54 cents! Guess I'm eating ramen this week..."), vodka is what I spend my money on. You can even see the point where it starts to really hit me by my very first post in the "DRUNK THREAD", on September 3rd of last year. That's when I actually started taking responsibility for my HIV and learned that it's actually not a sexy pickup line at all. Most women won't let you put your dick in them if there's even a small chance you could end up hurting them with it("Listen, it's a condom! Okay? My junk won't even touch you!" ; "What if the condom breaks?" ; "It won't! I'll be gentle!" ; "It won't. How can you even know that? Can you control the fate of all condoms? Are you that magical?" ; "...yes.").

So, there was a lot of rejection and a lot of just staying home and getting wasted. I always felt better when I started drinking as soon as I walked through the door, so, I figured, "What the hell? It's not like I'm actually trying anymore." Not an acceptance of death, but more a consistent denial of it. Then it really started to affect my judgement, particularly in regards to this online world. I found myself bothered by things that normally shouldn't have mattered. And I have yet to really explain in a reasonable way, WHY, but it mostly revolved around one person. <name removed>. I didn't like you and you kind of irritated me in the very beginning(but now, I have to acknowledge that it was mostly me trying to deny that I actually kind of liked you). There are a coupld of instances of my "tiny rants" about you(not thinking for even a moment to question why your journal was the only one on the forum I even bothered reading) in the Little Things That Bother You thread. Hints that I expressed a secret disdain for you. Which you only aggravated by daring to come in here and tell me that I had a fucking problem - it was cemented then. What had become a mild sport became an obsession. "Orly? I have a problem? Let's see how fantastic you are!" Latching onto your posts and finding any reason at all to prove that you had no right to even tell me about my life. Post #7 in this thread, the one about hypocrites, is really about you. It was my "Aha! Neener neener neener!" moment. I may drink excessively, but at least I'm not trying to pretend I'm such a strong badass when I'm not! ...oh.

I think the fact that I even cared what you thought was supposed to be my first red flag indicating that all was not normal, but it wasn't. It wasn't until I got so plastered that I completely lost the memory of fucking a girl I met at a club, that I was able to actually express my true feelings for you. In chat. DRUNK in chat. I remember getting reprimanded by you and laughingly posting again moments later and getting another "No, you still have to shut up". But the rest of it is a blur. The only clue I have of that evening is the post I made in this thread and your responses to me. (By the way, that girl told me she put a condom on me that night, so she's fine, thankfully). After interpreting my drunken ramblings to the best of my ability and feeling a bit unnerved that my object of scorn had become an object of desire with just a few too many glasses, I decided to ignore it... while going on with my occasional stalking of your posts. It's honestly not something I consciously did. Other people posting was just less interesting and not worth the click, while yours being sighted on the forum was something I wanted to read.

Anyway, a few nights later, I plunged into intoxication again and I was feeling so overwhelmed by passionate yearnings, I devolved into what French I knew to express myself. Still I was annoyed with myself the next morning, but this was neither a sign to give up my pursuit of pointing out your faults nor a reason to give up drinking and logging into Blue Moon at the same time. Your posting to me while I was in the depths of it did not help to dissuade my infatuation. Finally, fed up with myself and seeing that you provided a solution, I agreed. I SHOULD stop thinking about you so much. Assuming that you disliked me as much as I "disliked" you, I decided you probably were annoyed with the constant fixation on you. I was annoyed by it, so decided to call a truce then and there. "Fine, I think I've proven that I don't have a problem, and even if I did, I've certainly proven that you are no angel."

Your post about my drinking again got me sort of pissed off again but in the different way of "WTF??? Why do you even care? Haven't you been paying attention??? I HATE you!" I deleted my response and just told myself it was done and over with and I didn't expect you to post again. I'd just leave you alone and you'd leave me alone and that would be that. Besides, I'm an ADULT. Your attempts to make internet serious business do not affect me!

Then... I had another lonely night and you'd recently posted a picture of your newly dyed hair and... I decided to express myself, again. I wanted to cum in your hair. I was finally beginning to come to terms with the fact that I didn't actually hate you at all. i just really wanted to fuck you. Even while in a semi-drunk stupor, I remembered I was diseased and decided it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to envision myself putting my cum somewhere ON you, rather than IN you. I didn't really want to reveal my status then(once again ranting to myself, "It's just the internet! Who cares anyway! It's not important!") so I chose not to respond or explain myself afterward.

Because of <name removed>'s sudden appearance in my thread, I focused on her a little bit too for a while. There was no hate to be battled there, so it was just a crush from the beginning, because I love her long hair.

Nervously, here and there, to irrationally draw attention away from my health status, I made jokes about STDs. Because I really was starting to like you more and more, finally realizing the utter hypocrisy of my previous rantings, and also coming to terms with what I didn't want to accept: I'd fallen for a girl on the internet. This. All of the above is what I really meant when I told you, you create chaos within me. You truly did/do. And that's when the poetry started.

It wasn't until you gals encouraged me to join Fetlife that I started to wake up and realize that things were getting serious for me. I really wanted you and you were so close! It could be real. I COULD have you. Then I realized, I couldn't. A couple of times I considered just ending it and stopping right there. You would never want me once you knew, but even if you did, even if it somehow worked and we were together, I would never really be able to be intimate with you in the way that I would like to, without putting you at some sort of risk. Then I selfishly decided that I could do this. I could be happy with just this internet thing, allowing myself to have a friend whom I could love without hurting. I mean, I need to accept it eventually that there's shit I can't just DO anymore, that I get constantly rejected for a reason. I need to start just being happy with love that doesn't go beyond a certain point. Not for a minute did I think about what you wanted or what you needed, and it is the biggest reason I feel guilty about all of this. That when it mattered, when I decided to make decisions involving you, whtehr to move forward or blow you off, I thought of myself and what I really wanted, sort of patting myself on the back for "keeping you safe". "Oh, she'll understand why I can't, when I eventually tell her. It'll be alright."

Then that jackass, TB, dropped the ball. Now I couldn't even pretend in this fantasy with you. It was both a relief and pressure, being forced to eventually tell you. Because it would be over now. You wouldn't want me. I could finally stop feeling for you because for sure, you would be scared away from every wanting to touch me. But you didn't care. You suspected and it was clear to me that you did, but you never asked for clarification. I didn't know if that was a sign that you truly didn't care about that or if it meant that you'd never wanted something physical or real-world in the first place. Either way, I eventually felt compelled to tell you, if only for the fact that you were meeting other guys from the internet in real life, and I was jealous for what I'd never have. I just wanted you to reject or accept me and get it over with.

Then you did. Not only that but you gave me your phone number. A willingness had been shown to breech the physical gap and it was you who made the first move to do so. Even after you learned the truth about me. I realized how much I wanted it then. And I realized that THIS, these words on the screen would never be good enough for you. I'd royally fucked up and now, I was finally able to look back and see how I willfully allowed it to get this far. I debated leaving. I flip-flopped forever, trying to decide what I had to do and trying to let go of what I was still doing to you. Thought it might be better to just stop logging in. Just vanishing, but my heart broke to realize how screwed up that would be. Here was a situation that was my fault, taken beyond where I was willing to tread and you deserved some sort of explanation.

So... here it is.

I'm sorry for not being able to give you more. I'm sorry for basically leading you on this whole time. And I'm sorry that I'm leaving you with this.

<Edited by darkangel76.>
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

All right..... taking out what I said b/c it goes against my own goddamned rules.... anyway, I'm sure you know how I feel here. I'm just done.
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

Edited by request..... thoughts mimic everyone elses, we'll just leave it at that.

<Edited by darkangel76>
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

Ok. So, people... to keep in compliance with rules, let's keep the negativity out of here. I even had to check myself there. So, for that, I'm sorry.
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

RoryN said:
I'm sorry for not being able to give you more. I'm sorry for basically leading you on this whole time. And I'm sorry that I'm leaving you with this.
Click to expand...

Always begin with your point, otherwise the intent of your message, whether maleficent or beneficent, won't be perceived by others.

You detailed a change of heart; at first holding her in contempt, and then discovering your infatuation (which can be viewed as good or bad, but is often the latter). And finally coming to realize you held some sort of affection for her, but were skeptic of it because the feeling was not concrete. There was no physical relationship, to which is owed intimacy, because this is 'Cyberspace'. Not uncommon behavior. At least you held some recognition of what this communication medium lacks.

Then it dawned on you, and as you said, and I quote in reference to her, "you were so close! It could be real. I COULD have you." You then reflected, and on your own, mind you, instead of in conference with her and attaining her thoughts and feelings (which you had to have realized to an extent as developing), decided you couldn't. And--correct me if I'm wrong here--you played the victim in a game of "oh-boo-hoo-poor-me" because you feared the worst--rejection--and chose the safe route, to play it safe and remain at a distance.

All whilst the brewing of emotions and what not continued to swirl overhead, a dangerous and looming cloud, no? So like a young boy frightened by the storm, you took cover.

Now your actions have failed you, and your apology has become something repulsive, vile, disgusting. Label it what you will. Others who felt akin to her in one way or another view you as you read in responses and journals, while some of us sit back and analyze. And you leave her to feel what you didn't want to--dejected, alone, without understanding, and in constant question of 'why?' covered by a veil of cold indifference and a hardened heart.
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

Raivh said:
RoryN said:
I'm sorry for not being able to give you more. I'm sorry for basically leading you on this whole time. And I'm sorry that I'm leaving you with this.
Click to expand...

Always begin with your point, otherwise the intent of your message, whether maleficent or beneficent, won't be perceived by others.

You detailed a change of heart; at first holding her in contempt, and then discovering your infatuation (which can be viewed as good or bad, but is often the latter). And finally coming to realize you held some sort of affection for her, but were skeptic of it because the feeling was not concrete. There was no physical relationship, to which is owed intimacy, because this is 'Cyberspace'. Not uncommon behavior. At least you held some recognition of what this communication medium lacks.

Then it dawned on you, and as you said, and I quote in reference to her, "you were so close! It could be real. I COULD have you." You then reflected, and on your own, mind you, instead of in conference with her and attaining her thoughts and feelings (which you had to have realized to an extent as developing), decided you couldn't. And--correct me if I'm wrong here--you played the victim in a game of "oh-boo-hoo-poor-me" because you feared the worst--rejection--and chose the safe route, to play it safe and remain at a distance.

All whilst the brewing of emotions and what not continued to swirl overhead, a dangerous and looming cloud, no? So like a young boy frightened by the storm, you took cover.

Now your actions have failed you, and your apology has become something repulsive, vile, disgusting. Label it what you will. Others who felt akin to her in one way or another view you as you read in responses and journals, while some of us sit back and analyze. And you leave her to feel what you didn't want to--dejected, alone, without understanding, and in constant question of 'why?' covered by a veil of cold indifference and a hardened heart.
Click to expand...

Can I just say a few things? And this is in response to everyone who's decided to come out of the woodwork and get involved, not just Raivh. First of all, I would like to point out that the biggest thing I wanted people(particularly her) to take away from all of this was the timeline and to just slow down and gain a bit of perspective. I've been entertaining buds of feelings for her for 4 weeks. She and I have been expressing mutual attraction since 3 1/2 weeks ago. And now I've supposedly crushed her soul and desire to ever love again merely by walking away? I'm sorry... That's just too fucking fast for me. Especially in regards to someone I cannot see or touch.

And I did all the "conferring" I needed to with her about it. She shyly indicated that she wanted me to call her(after only two weeks of trading poems with her and engaging in blossoming small talk), even going so far as to appear that she "didn't want to rush me". I felt rushed and I told her so, because the fact of the matter is, I DO NOT FUCKING KNOW HER. she reacted by getting angry with me, as if I were denying her something that she deserved by now. She clearly knew what she wanted and needed and I'm just not willing to commit so heavily this early in the game. Tell me honestly, do you just hand out your number to people you've only had one or two private online conversations with? A friend of mine had to change his number because some chick he met on a dating site decided that when he "broke up" with her, she'd post a big crying thread about it and send his phone number around to everyone in emails. Pardon me for being a little cautious.

I do agree though. My post above is very self-centered and I merely phrased it that way because I felt like I had to defend myself. I had to tell her that as hurtful and stupid as it is, I do not trust her, but only because 1. I hardly know her(but it's not from a lack of a desire to) and 2. because this didn't start as love for me. I do not ever want her to feel like she is undesirable or unlovable, because I would have been open to letting things grow at a more normal pace. But from my point of view, that wasn't an option. And yes, alright, I was terrified of rejection. I felt like by telling her I wanted to take things slow, she would take it as a rejection(she seemed to) and it would frustrate her to the point where she wouldn't be willing to wait for me to get comfortable. I felt like by just leaving, I was leaving her in self-directed hate and misery. I felt like by posting an explanation of why I was leaving, so that she wouldn't blame herself, did nothing but make her hate me. Where was the better road? The one where I kept on hurting her by staying here and forcing her to move at my pace, all the while risking that she'd decide one day it just wasn't worth it for her to stick around and "waste her time"?

I care about her and I like her a lot. I've never been a poetry guy and it was inspiring and exotic getting to share that type of courtship with her. Not only that but talking with her first was important to me. I had hoped that I would some day be able to kiss her in a way that made her go "Wow!" rather than "meh" and I felt my best chance of that was to let the love between us grow. I didn't want to be just another "internet boy" she was trying on for size. I didn't want to end up a fwb for her. I wanted to try and go for the whole thing. This medium where we cannot be influenced by touch and we HAVE to use our words to express ourselves, seemed like the perfect place.

And sure, my fears have really screwed things up. I'm not a great man. I'm not a superhero. I thought if I at least made the effort to try to explain, that would count for something then just leaving her to attack herself for what I didn't say. But that ended up happening anyway, so, fuck. And yes, okay, since I'm still fucking learning about all of this love shit and trying to perform the impossible balancing act of her needs versus my own, then yes, I'm a fucking 'little boy'.


Whatever. It's useless now. I've ruined everything and it's over...
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

Nope, I feel like this is a pretty good start to recovery, and I hope she reads it.
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

This made me so depressed reading it. Long distance relationships can be fucking painful, and sometimes you don't know what the better road is. They are especially painful because a lot of people have secrets, or things they don't want to talk about. I've noticed with a lot of people I've met through roleplaying sites, they have some sort of issue that makes them want to escape through literature. I am one of those people, to the point where I have been ridiculed and basically driven out of here because no one would leave me alone when all I tried to do was make friends.

It takes a strong person to admit to the truth, that they have a problem. It takes an even stronger person to stay and face that truth to the person they care about.

I don't think you should leave. I think that if there was a genuine mutual attraction, you can meet each other at least half way. If it was meant to be, it will happen....

I don't know if I'm making any sense, if I'm not just ignore this post. You probably don't remember me anyway.
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

I'm honestly, not entirely sure how I feel about it. I feel like it clears things up quite a bit, but I'm an old fashioned girl. And I do hope that she reads this, but you shouldn't have said this half-haphazardly over a forum post... I get being afraid, that's okay, it's human. But maybe things would have been (possibly still could be) different if you had let her know instead of shutting her out because you were afraid?
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

Finishing the bottle of raspberry vodka. Mostly mixing it with lemondae and orage juice. After a hectic day at work, finally just kciking back and letting loose.
 
RE: Thoughts of a Drowning Man

Just... need to express some things...

You said it was a reposting but I must have missed it before - I MUST have; I would have remembered otherwise. This morning was pretty mellow and laid-back, hanging around doing nothing. Then you, like a shock to my system. I'd seen bits and pieces before, but nothing that made me growl so deeply! And just minutes before I had to leave... Fuck. I need to walk to my car. Waddled to my spot behind the wheel with what felt like a 10 inch thick pepperoni stick trying to fit entirely in my pocket.

The drive cleared my head and sobered me up for the workday. Walking through the doors, I find it hard to focus on anything or anyone as greetings are handed out and I clock in. Donning my red vest, smoothing out the fabric over my chest on both sides, a flash in my mind of scarlet color cradling your bosom. Perfect breasts, just big enough to cup in my palms, dwarfed by my large hands... I have to stand in front of the counter by the time clock for a while, my front pressed against it, hunched over and pretending I'm looking over the schedule even though I cannot fucking see a damn fucking thing in front of my face except the color red slipping free of creamy skin. I regain my composure, thrust into it when cashiers bustle about me, skooting through to get paid stickers in the locked cabinet - I unlock it for her so that I don't have to move out in the open or God forbid she tries to reach underneath and in front of me and bumps into the protrusion below my waistband - or already coming to me asking me to fix the computer because a goddammed coupon won't go in. I cling to the feeling of authority to bring me to the present and reduce the blood flow surging to all of the wrong places.

Fix things. I'm unwanted for the moment. But the lines are getting 2-3 people long and the girls need to speed up. So I elect to bag for S, standing at the end of the conveyor belt, turning it on so everything comes rushing down towards me in a flurry of beeps. The plastic bag on the rack in front of me is a new set and the first on it is unopened. Brushing my fingertips at it, it refuses to come loose and open, instead peeling down a few of them all at the same time. My fingers pinch at the grouping, smooshing forefinger against thumb tightly to try to loosen them and my slender fingers are tweaking your thick nipples, pinching, plucking them like the strings on a cello... velvety soft under my touch, your chest rising and falling rapidly... sing for me... humming deep in your throat, breahtless as soft noise escapes beyond your control...

I clear my throat and against my better judgement just lick my goddammed finger and open the bag, discreetly, so the customer doesn't notice. Stupid, stubborn bags... I engage the customer in conversation, running away from my thoughts - just don't fucking think! - but I don't concentrate on any of their responses and utter a few empty stock phrases of my own. They leave with a smile on their faces without realizing how little I meant anything I said to them. This is not me. This is not how I am at work.

As if she can sense the weakness in me, S asks if she can go home an hour early. We're not busy RIGHT NOW, but then again, at 1:30, I honestly do not expect it to be. Gathering my composure, I tell her no, forced to tell her again, more forceful the second time when she whines and implores me as if I'm blind to the emptiness in the front end.

Taking a moment to myself, I go to the office to answer a call. The woman on the phone asks me about the sale we're having on the store brand 12 pack sodas, but I'm stuck staring at my desk. Some party items that the a. manager didn't know what to do with, since there was no tag for them on the shelf or in the computer. "I don't think we even sell these" her note to me says. The designs are somewhat rainbow, like polka dots or bubbles or paint spatters on a red background, but it's like you standing befor e me, self conscious, your thighs clenched together in uncertainty and shyness, your sex cradled closely by the fun, cute fabric... Hurriedly, I tell the woman on the phone thaty she needs a coupon and her store card to get the sale price on the soda and, aching to hang up and have the conversation just be over already, I ask her if there was anything else she needed. There was. I stood there, toying with the the little spiral ribbon attached to the bag with the afflicting design while listening and answering her questions.

Coming out of the office, Kenny, the guy I left in charge, tells me he let S go home early because she asked him and we weren't busy. I can't even get mad about it, my mind a fuzz filled blur, feeling almost like I just woke up or I'm high. Things get busy before 3 but even then, I just open up on register without thinking to curse S for going behind my back like that. Throwing myself into it, I'm the best at fucking customer service tonight and I keep myself talking. It works after a while, but around 4, I begin looking at my watch. Not just to check the time or the schedule - okay, who hasn't gone on break yet? who needs a lunch? Who's coming in to take over for N when she goes home at 4:30? - but literally thinking "How close is it to 7:30? Time, Y U no 7:30 yet???"

We're having a sale on the fresh pizza dough in the deli this week. Little 1 lb. plastic bags of dough, buy 1 get 2 free. So they keep coming down the belt every other customer. The UPCs on the package are usually wrinkled as the package and it's contents gets jostled in the carts or whatever, so I have to take a moment for each one and smooth it out, feeling the soft dough inside, give way around my fingers, cradling your supple ass in my hands, pulling you against me, lifting you up so you can feel me between your legs... gasps leaving you as I bite frustratedly at your neck and groan... Ca và mal en tabarnak. I don't even bother really touching the others on the belt, but just scan the one a bunch of times, quickly grabbing the bunch and pushing them through and away from me. ...wait... I scanned too many. VOID two of them. Trying to breathe.

I take a break, spending it in my office. The bag is now sitting on my desk, full of pencils, unofficially "owned" by me at this moment. I doubt we'll find where it goes if it's not on the books - if Janyce can't find it, then we don't fucking carry it - so it'll stay here, with me. 15 minutes goes by so fast and I spend the last 5 of it talking with the store manager.

Back from break, the evening rush hits us like a hurricane - first the rushing winds and suffocating waves of water, then the quiet of the eye where it feels like you can hear the guys all the way over in diary stocking the coolers, then the rush chasing after it, where I have to call people from floral and produce to help bag or hop on an extra register.

By my lunch break, I'm so highstrung and on edge, I actually debate with myself which would be smarter, to take my 30 minutes to run over to Subway and actually eat something for dinner, or lock myself in the bathroom and masturbate to get it out of my system. Professionalism and control triumph and I am left babbling incoherently, trying to find my voice, because the girl making my sandwich has pink in her hair and forever, like Pavlov's dog, I will associate hair dye with you... and then the image of you, further down.

The stoore evens out around 7 but it's just torture at that point. 30 minutes left and I have to feel every single fucking one of them. But I hold on to the very end, showing restraint and basically tormenting myself with time, not letting myself clock out 5 minutes early, even though I can and the gal who's scheduled as supervisor tonight is already here; letting out a smooth breath when I finally run my tag through the clock. Driving home in the dark, it all floods in, unabated and unshushed and I let it wash over me, the desire and the hunger that plagued me all night. Serves me right for looking at pictures before work.
 
RE: Ramblings of a Francophile

Drinking cranberry-raspberry + vodka and watching Kick-Ass.

This past week, things have been uber busy and kinda shitty here and there but finally picking up. Finiished interviews for a couple new cashiers and trained them yesterday. Finally hired two male cashiers so hopefully it'll lower the amount of estrogen on the front end. Only problem is a couple of the new ones are minors which limits their availability and their ability to do certain things without supervision.
 
I am at war with Myself. So much of my life has been selfish and I internalize everything, yet never does my self-reflection lead me anywhere. Even now, I feel nothing but regret and filled with questions, lacking understanding or perspective. And that more than anything else makes me think I deserve to be alone. Until I can learn what it is that drives me, I will unknowingly follow the same path.

No one knows though and I go to great lengths to hide my insecurities. After awhile you begin to play the part and grow attached to the facade. Either way, I'm foolish to think that it would even matter otherwise. As if I'm the first son of a bitch to have a fucking break down. Daily life moves on and I feel older parts of myself crushed in the machinery, torn, emptied and consumed by metal gears. And there's a sense of satisfaction in "cheating death"; losing chunks of flesh in every social interaction like a battle of Us vs. Them vs. Me. When can I NOT lose, right?

Who am I helping? Who am I trying to save? There comes a point where the fear of hurting others becomes just another layer of the emotionless facade; like the old, chewed up body parts turned into meal and molded and tacked on and we're calling it "regrowth/regeneration". I end up justifying the cannibalism that way. That for once, I'll think of someone else's future and shove them out of the way of the fire, sacrificing myself to it, because afterall, there's nothing but the facade left. Turns out there IS more still in there and that's where it becomes twisted. Is this sacrifice for them or is it to hold onto what's left of me? Or is it some sort of masochism that keeps me from filling in those haunted, bloody spaces?
 
So, I'm being forced to take a vacation. Due to recent health issues and just overall stress levels related to work(and the fact that I take as many hours as I reasonably can without getting the company into trouble), I have been told to take a hike and use up some of my vacation time. Mentioning this to Makky(okay, I was bitching about it), she offered to take me to see the capital of Canada for a week in March. Needless to say, my tune completely changed and I cannot fucking wait for next month!

<3 Ottawa!
 
i think it is ridiculi that i had to bribe you to take a real vacation. you and your obsession with canada. tsk tsk. =P
 
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