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Hordes of Revenants

I have not been sleeping well lately. Things have been good. Haven't really been drinking lately. I failed at my one attempt to be drunk all day by getting bored with drunkenness. I've made one friend since moving up here. The rest of the friends I've made seem okay, but I have a hard time pinning down whatever the elusive something is that seems to be between us. I'm not sure what it is. It's never been hard for me to make friends. There's a skill I seem to have that most others don't that allows me to suss out whose going to like me and whom is not. At least most people I'm related to and friends with.

Meeting new people isn't hard. You just need to put your balls on the chopping block a little bit is all.

Anyways. I haven't been sleeping well lately. It's the same old tune, like a broken record skipping over and over again, that's been getting in the way of restful rest: nightmares. I'm used to waking up in a cold sweat or yelling or thrashing about. That's fine. These are new nightmares, which is different, because I've been running mainly through the same six since I was eight. The one where I turn into a shark, the one where I'm hunted by body builders, the one where there are dead bugs under my skin, the one where I cut off my own arm, the one where I walk across the country to find all my loved ones dead, the one where I explode. I can deal with those.

No problem. They're my bitch, at this point. I wake up, I go back to sleep. A lot of the time I recognize them as nightmares, as fiction, while they're happening and I can make them stop. Sometimes they can turn out differently.

But now there are these new dreams. Quiet desperation dreams. Heart poundingly real dreams. I'm not getting hurt. My loved ones are getting hurt. No one's chasing me. They're just about strangers. People I've never met. Freaky as fuck. Like the one with the girl--whom is maybe twelve or thirteen, right on that first cusp of the puberty overdrive--where she's been crucified beneath a bridge. Copper wire wrapping around her wrists and ankles, biting into her cold, cold flesh. Then this other girl, on a pier, she comes to me and says, "Let's go make fun of her." So I say, "That's a great idea."

I bend over to dive in and my cell phone falls out and into the flooded river. So, appropriately, I'm like, "Well, shit." I dive in. It's a lot deeper than I thought. I get my cell phone. Suddenly the view point changes, I'm nowhere around, the other girl with the moon face gets up close to the crucified girl. The crucified girl opens her mouth, there's a bunch of fangs, a real assload and then I'm up in cold sweats.
 
Oh gosh those really do sound awful, I'm sorry.

Really wish I could offer some kind of advice. Best I can think of is just try to shake it off as best you can, which I know is not helpful. Find, personally, the more I replay a bad dream in my mind, the more often I tend to dream it, though not sure if that's how it is with everyone.
 
It's good to write them down. I write mine down in a book in great detail, this allows me to read over them, see if there's any connection between them in any way and then try and work out what's going on in my life that could be causing them. It doesn't necessarily stop them, but at least you understand why they're happening and can work towards getting them sorted.

EA.
 
Thanks.

Basically, I got a new job, instead of being a factory lackey (again) I am now a fundraiser for a charity that does sponsorships. It sounds sleazy, dunnit? So I save babies.

On a side note, I mourn the loss of the fork lift. Her name was Big Bird and she was my friend.
 
Awww... *pets ZG*

And I love the contrast... sleazy sounding job that does a whole lotta good. Love it. :)
Seriously, it's a good thing you're doing and I'm glad you are. I think you'll be great at it.
 
Yesterday it came out my new nickname (at work) is Dolemite. For those of you who, like me, are not aficionados of blacksploitation films Dolemite is a pimp who simultaneously fulfills the roles of villain and hero. His actions transcend that of the antihero when looked at from the crime/lawful dialectic, combining aspects of the two to complete his pimpery, epic black fu and horribly low production value.

It was the outcome of last Friday's drunken misadventures. Apparently get six or seven drinks into me over the course of a couple hours and I'm Dolemite with a splash of Charlie Sheen. This will explain a lot once I show you two videos.

The first.

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkjExJqf34o[/video]

The second.

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9QS0q3mGPGg[/video]

Just a splash of that, mind you.

But I hope this explains the kind of drunken misadventures and the kind of women I get with. Anyways, from the pimp in me to the pimp in you,

I
AM
DOLEMITE
MOTHAFUCKA
 
Well. I had a doctor's appointment earlier today about my appallingly frequent sinus infections. As it turns out, I will need sinus x-rays and most likely surgery as the outcome of the series of childhood ear infections that left me deaf for four years before multiple surgical interventions mostly restored my sense of hearing.

Well.

That's a story and a half for you. Basically, in my baby years, my family was very far below the poverty line. We lived in an area that was known as the War Zone. No one gave us any problem as my mother's husband, my biological father, is a raving lunatic with a whiplash temper and freakish propensity for the practical applications of violence. However, the people who ran the clinic were 1) overworked, 2) jaded and 3) apathetic so my ear infections went largely untreated.

Fast forward four years to first grade. There were these hearing tests. As it turns out, I was deaf as a fucking door nail. Which explained my not knowing the names of colors, not being able to read, not understanding math. As it turns out I was just really good at reading lips. Didn't have a speech impediment to give me away. Just the kind of monotone voice I have to this day as the outcome of that. That was in September. The school waited until May to tell my mother I was deaf. May.

To this day I am dealing with the consequences of a bunch of apathetic layabouts who can't keep straight that it's a community that raises a child. It's not just mom and dad; it's the schools, it's neighbors, it's the parents of other children, it's doctors and nurses and receptionists and bus drivers. It's everyone who ever meets that child.

ADDENDUM: Kill the Irishman is a fucking excellent movie.
 
I so hear you on that. About the parents AND those your child interacts with regularly helping out with the child's growth and development. Each type of person tends to see things differently not to mention notice different things. It's when these other people step forward that a true difference can indeed be made and often times for the better.

That said, I'm sorry to hear that those you interacted with took so long to come forward and speak to your mother. That honestly floors me. And it makes me worry about the sorts my own children will interact with. Maybe that's partially why I have a slight fear of letting go. I worry that those 'others' won't understand my children's needs, won't come to me truthfully and promptly if there's a problem of some kind, etc. I could go on and on.

At any rate, I'm totally rambling on. Basically, I'm just astounded at this piece of your back story. However, it does go to show that even hindrances such as yours can indeed be overcome. So, here's to that!!! (Even if you might still need surgeries due to their earlier 'fuck ups'.).

<333
 
There's this little bastard that lives a block away. He shouts freakishly loudly for a nine year old. He also has one eye.

Anyways, I think he's sped. But let's travel back to the first point.

He shouts freakishly loudly. All the time. Between six and nine. This morning he's yelling "MOM!" and singing fucking Edelweiss at the top of his lungs. That's how I woke up this morning.

"MOM!"

"EEEEEEEEdelweiss, EdelwEEEEEIIIIss; e-VERRRRRR-EEEE MOOOOOORning YOOOOOOU GREEEEEEET MEEEEEE!"

Fuck! I'm tempted to write a fake letter from the Washington State Department or the City of Seattle telling them to get their kid to shut the fuck up before their shit gets imminent domained for the betterment of fucking humanity.
 
I have Fridays off, right?

That little bastard woke me up with some kind of bestial fucking screech.

I am seriously considering impersonating a public employee to get him to shut up. It's impinging on my mental health at this point. Like, I honestly don't give a fuck if your kid is special needs, don't let him cry "MOOOOOOMMMMEEEEEE" and let slip loose the retard of war.
 
Last night, at a coworker's insistence, I went to his place to play King's Cup and Texas Hold 'Em. The card game was followed by Spanish 21, Never Have I Ever and finally King's Cup. I brought good beer for us to drink. It was good.

Until my coworker started telling his fiancee about our coworker whom (allegedly) has brain cancer. The guy's a giant fucking douche, don't get my wrong, he's mean and deprecatory toward everyone around him, constantly tries to push your buttons and assumes he's smarter than everyone else. Dude with brain cancer is not a likable guy is the point I'm driving at here.

But.

I do believe he has brain cancer wholeheartedly. Earlier yesterday while we were working he was having troubling standing, had to have help being walked up and down stairs, was deathly pale, coughed until he puked, had random facial twitches and, my favorite, he hallucinated a little bit. Not crazy movie hallucinations. But real hallucinations; shifts in colors, previously unseen or now newly made patterns, surfaces shifting. He thought a dog was blue. Anyways, I've seen shit before with this where he's randomly puked on the side of the street due to neither alcohol nor immune related causes.

However the drunken coworker I was spending time with last night tried to get into an argument with me over this. He did. This is his thing. Here's the train of logic.

1) Cancer-coworker is a liar due to the nature of our job. Let that sink in. We signed a myriad of agreements upon signing up, one of which was to be honest. As a corollary to this our employers occasionally pay professional investigators to follow us.

2) If cancer-coworker had brain cancer then drunk-coworker would be able to diagnose it with his magic Google fu and cancer-coworker wouldn't be out talking with people all the time. Cancer-coworker would allegedly be full of shunts and stuff, in a hospital two or three hours a day, due to his extensive experience with these things.

3) Cancer-coworker must be lying since drunk-coworker would totally do that for attention, and if he's ethically and morally bankrupt yet still more likable than cancer-coworker then cancer-coworker must not be sick at all.

Yes. Those are his three arguments. My rebuttals were:

1) That makes no sense. We get fired if we lie, ever. We get regularly mystery shopped and if we fuck up everyone gets their pay cut for a month.

2) As it turns out, neither drunk-coworker nor his fiancee nor even myself possess that most mystical accreditation: the M.D. Neither of us could go by Doctor Whatever. Not to mention brain cancer being what it is, there is no common set of symptoms or treatment.

3) Argument number three makes no sense. It's a false comparison. There is no causal relationship between objects A and B, in this case the drunk guy (object A) and the cancer patient, ergo one cannot say that some apparently pretty poor standards of morality will literally cause those same feelings in object B (the cancer patient).

His three suppositions were capped off by a less than polite version of, "I thought you were too smart to buy his bullshit, Z.G." To which I basically said, "I'm going to see you on Monday, have a nice night drunk-coworker's-fiancee, have a nice night drunk-coworker."

I guess it's better to learn that the drunk guy is a self-centered, narcissistic, stupid, unobservant, petty, spiteful, condescending sack of shit now versus, I guess, even a day later. This is still disappointing as up until recently I'd had a lot of fun in and outside work with him. Now it's gonna be really awkward and full of silent rage since we work right next to each other. Up until recently we worked really well together. For instance we raised over five thousand dollars in contributions over the course of an hour and twenty minutes on Saturday. Which is good, as we're looking for about a thousand amortized over the course of a couple years at a time. It normally takes seven or so hours to raise about three. So we did really well.

Now I'm going to be full of festering hate for someone who called me stupid, was a drunken idiot at me (one of my last favorite things) and made me so uncomfortable I took a really expensive taxi ride back home. Taxi ride was fun. I chatted with the driver. He definitely took a little more roundabout route, but it was worth it.
 
Anywho, I've been surprise-busy lately. Apologies all around.

There are basically four things that have been driving me to distraction.

1) I've fallen for a lady like a brick off the Eiffel Tower (brimming with goddamn perkypositive).

2) I've decided to move--not in a big way, like when I moved here initially. My apartment is nice and all, but, I've found a place to relocate to that's a. cheaper, b. better commute to work which will add nearly an hour to my me-time, and c. homeless men don't get beaten to death a half mile away. So I'm spending what little free time I have apartment/duplex/house hunting.

3) I'm bucking for promotion. 'Cause if I can't weasel my way into a position of increased responsibility within two months of working for the company I do now, well then, I'm just not Z.G.

4) Started volunteering again. I got kinda burned out at SASS and the SARC here won't take me, so I'm cooking at a homeless shelter on Friday nights. Which, by extension, has cut down on my drinking which was getting to be a wee bit much again.
 
So, I'm taking the day off. Maybe tomorrow, too.

What it comes down to is that my Saturday was horrifying. It went like this.

--> drank with coworkers and boss after work
--> went across town and continued to drink
--> danced
--> sharked a fool at pool
--> we were collectively cut off
--> went to another bar
--> joined a bachelorette party
--> danced
--> drank
--> cut off again
--> talked our way into free limousine ride
--> drank
--> went to get champagne
--> came back in the midst of coworker being raped by driver
--> separated coworker and driver
--> verbal confrontation with driver
--> physical confrontation with driver
--> safe place
--> private powwow with male coworker and male boss
--> verbal confrontation
--> physical confrontation
--> acceptance of mutual liability for events
--> talked to assaulted coworker
--> held aforementioned coworker throughout night

All excuses aside. We handled it poorly. Myself, my male coworker, my boss. We should have handled these things in a more cerebral manner. We're smart guys. It was like something short circuited and we each stepped from laughing to seething, bottle swinging, rage monkeys. That is unacceptable. Violence just begets violence.

But I wrote down the driver's name and address off his license when he was suitably distracted. License plate, as well.

ABX9100~

I'll never forget you~
 
...

Nothing excuses rape. Ever. EVER! I hope the motherfucker gets what's coming to him. And though I don't condone the violence and do agree with you that it could've been handled better, etc. At least something was done. I hope you turn that ass in and I hope your co-worker (though I know it'll be hard for her) files a report and goes to the doctor. All of those actions will help her with a case should one occur. Not to mention she has witnesses.... yeah, that sounds kind of cold, but I think you get my meaning and why I say it. That nonsense aside, I hope your co-worker is all right. There are no words to describe the mental state of someone after such a thing happens to them. I'm glad to hear that you guys were there for her and able to help in some way, to stop it from progressing into anything worse than what it already was. *shudders at the thought of worse* She's lucky to have you all and I hope that fuckhead goes down. Painfully. <3
 
I think she's okay. She's a trooper if naught else. Smart lady, blunt, honest, strong.

But.

I think a court case would be difficult. There's already bias towards sexual assault survivors and we had been cut off by two bars already before that happened. Bunch of people in their twenties go out, spend six hours getting drunk, whose to say that she didn't offer to blow the guy for a free limo ride? That was his line, by the way. Which given the situation made no sense.

The kit's best within forty-eight hours, so she'd be beating the buzzer if she shimmied to a hospital to get one by the end of the day but then only if she hasn't showered, bathed, gone swimming. And I'm certain she's already cleaned up. So there's that.

The whole reporting system is fucked-up.
 
Yeah.... it is. And I do know how hard it is to even go there. In your head you think.... DO IT. But, in reality, your instincts do the opposite. And for the reasons you gave. Trust me. I know. It's emotionally hard and yep. The system is messed up in terms of reporting it. I mean, the first thing you want to do after such a situation is take a goddamned shower and clean that area with a fucking brillo. Ok. Not a brillo, that would hurt. But you know what I mean.

Regardless, glad your friend seems ok. Just be there for her. Support her. She's going to be in a dark-ish place for a bit. The main thing is to just adapt to how she feels about it and to treat her normally. Save when she needs you for the comforting. You'll know. She's very lucky to have you as a friend. My thoughts are with her.
 
Oh gosh! I am glad you were there to help her, ZG, and I can completely understand hy you'd kick that guys ass, he really deserved it. ><

Yeah, the system is rather fucked up. In trying to look out for the rights of the accused, it's become hard for victims to prove their cases, and harder yet for them to get justice for what happened. Still, I do encourage the woman to try, because there's a sense of closure in putting the man away. At least she did have witnesses to the assault, and I'm sure you'd be willing to testify on her behalf.


Anyway, Like DA said she's probably going to need your support, and I am glad that you're there for her.
 
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