For last night’s transgressions, I am being punished with a developing pimple on the end of my nose. How ridiculously fitting.

The gears and cogs of the Inter-Web clicked in such a way that my mailbox was finally attacked by all of the LJ comments that I had missed while the email address was down. Who’d guess that this would be part of putting things back together?

I’m still wandering in a bit of a fog, and I decidedly did NOT remain on the crag and watch the weather. Instead, I took my warhammer and smacked myself in the head over and over and over again. For some reason, my warhammer resembled half of a fifth of Jose Quervo Especial tequila. While I had consumed the entirety of that inebriating liquid in forty-five minutes, I was paying for it for many, many hours to come. Not this morning, though, no hangover.

I also owe and my life. They watched over me, forced me not to go to sleep until I could focus my eyes without getting nauseous, and pampered me the entire time. I also vaguely remember paper towels with cool water being patted on me. I cannot thank them enough. More later, when the world pulls itself together a bit more.

I can picture myself standing on top of a rocky crag, the October wind and rain whipping around me, my heart skipping a beat and my face glowing. I’ve visited this cliff often, and the dirt is shuffled with prints from different styles of boots and high-top sneaker. Yeah, this place is familiar. I crouch down without using my hands to balance me (something my knees have recently allowed me to do) and draw some random designs amongst the sole prints.

Behind me, where the land is solid and flat, lightning crashes overhead. Ahead of me, amongst the mountains, valleys, and crags, the snow has begun to fall. I feel like I could be here forever, watching the weather and the rocks. Just breathing and living.

I really, honestly, truly, deeply feel that it is the daily battle with the concept of “hopeless” that opens my brain up to appreciating every little tiny mundane detail that comes my way. Appreciating the most ridiculous courtesies or looks or pattern of raindrops or comment or anything at all. So tonight, I will sit on my crag and watch the weather.

Once upon a time, in the land of Who I Am, there was stability. There was a life that made sense, that progressed from point A to point B to point C, in a clear and healthy progression. Confusion was for suckers and religion was a crutch for those that were too weak to deal with the world around them, and the cold light that infused it.

There was once a time, in the land of Who I Am, where the landscape was not alternately scorched by raging, insane fires. There was once a time when all-consuming and all-drowning floods did not hide the land beneath them. When it was safe for me to stroll along the landscape, admire the serene and orderly architecture, and stare at the wondrous, perfect, stars.

This, of course, is entirely delusion. None of this has ever been real in the land of Who I Am. Except, maybe, the stars.

The fires have always raged, the floods have always engulfed, and the stars have always shone. I have always been.

The music changes, slight shift in beat, and a corresponding shift in plans. My primary mode of getting to those nasty lettered points is in the infirmary, hopefully to come out mended and healthy. My bank account will be pleasantly surprised on Monday, as my father has visited to once again save me from myself. City Club is no longer my destination for this evening’s festivities. Similar amounts of people-watching and higher amounts of Skippy-Torment ™ will ensue at 603. Intoxication, inebriation, and balls-to-the-wall drunkenness is also extremely likely.

Happy endings are really happy middles or happy beginnings. Or, they could just be happy events, and there might be no such thing a beginning, a middle, or an end. That’s most likely correct, and the hardest to deal with in this human mind of mine.

A happy event has graced me. More accurately, the negation of an infuriating event corrected the cause of an unfortunate grim attitude of mine. So, yeah, a happy event. Two important results have been birthed from this event. The first, and most important in the long run, is that I haven’t been dicked over one more time by corporate America. The second, and most important in the short run, is that I’m gainfully employed. Both of these, while not completely renewing my faith in a system as broken as the one we live in, are happy events.

There is a dirty, grimy, disgusting place filled with vapid people, angry bouncers, and spilled drinks. It’s in the middle of downtown Detroit, and it’s a goddamn amazing time. I’m going there on the night preceeding the traditional day of rest. and will be joining me, and may even get me to shake my sweet, sweet posterior to the sternum-vibrating bass. I’m of the opinion that you should join us. Especially you and you and you and you. Now that I give this a second thought, I think everyone that is here should be there the night after tonight.

You know you want to. ;)

It’s early enough in the morning that I can actually feel it. That feeling of new and fresh and possibility that seeps into you while the hot water cascades around you. I come out of the shower, and the steam-heated bathroom, and remember Sundays with newspapers, doughnuts, “coffee secret”, and Dad. No matter what the weather is like outside, there’s a feel to the morning.

Getting into the habit of saying “no” was a difficult one for me. Fighting back the tide of people that were only out to use or step on me was a difficult task, as I had refused to believe that people would do such a thing. I still have that instinct, to trust people initially. To this day, I must steel myself before I go into a situation where I must stand up for what is best for me. I feel that this morning. In twenty minutes, I’ll be informing my superiors that I cannot afford to spend time working without a base pay of some sort. Heft the WarHammer, bring it down in a swing, use the left-over momentum to come around again from the other side. Swing, crunch, swing, crunch.

I shockingly recognized a demon of mine yesterday. It’s said to be a green beast, and it hides in the most tiny of nooks and crannies, refusing to be exterminated. It’s something that must be lived with and ignored. Its pestering and annoying gibbering can only serve to feed paranoia.

Onward through the day.

A day that is humble and slow and gradual and enjoyable. A day that has yet to finish, but will do so on a good note, I’m sure.

The serial novel experiment of Stephen King lies back on its shelf, the nook and cranny of each letter having been devoured by my lustful eyes and mind. I count myself lucky that the movie (which I also own) did nothing to spoil the novel version of the story, nor vice versa. I leave that little universe knowing full well that there are people in this world that are much like John Coffey. How do I know such a fantastic thing? I’ve been lucky enough to bask in their existence from time to time.

A good evening and a decent dinner was had with a Texan. We ate in the middle of the movie-set mall that just went up on Lake Lansing Rd. Eastwood Towne Center, or something nearly as plastic. I had no excuses for my friend when he asked why I was stuck on my novel, and I thanked him for pointing it out to me. I wandered throughout Schuler’s Books, and realized that I can bring people into my world, and share my stories, and twist and bend their minds to conceive of something just outside of their boxed realities. I can do this. And I will.

Now, I rocket forth to a shop with the name of our current block of 100 years to mull over my characters and then to watch rapidly changing drawings originating from the Land of the Rising Sun. I put my trench coat on, and say that none can stand in the way of my brilliant smile.

Eventually, wrapping the comforter around you becomes less comfortable than actually getting dressed. That tinge of taking the bed, even the sleep itself, with you around the apartment and to the computer wears off. That’s when the desire to turn on the shower (takes a bit to warm up) comes to me.

There was this girl that I was close to for a few days. I was baffled, amazed, and thoroughly distracted. It was a whirlwind of pure good. She’s planning on going away in the near future, to a warmer place with warmer weather and warmer people (well, maybe not warmer than me), and I find that I will miss her as much now as before we turned down that closeness dial. Thinking about it now, it may not be such a long drive to visit.

There was this job that I interviewed for. Network Administrator. In more detail, it was Remote Network Administrator. I have discovered that either myself or the job had been put through some kind of gateway or portal that effected a change upon the situation. The word “sales” bloomed into existence in all its malicious glory. It latched itself onto the Network Administrator title and began to suck the life and the hope out of it. This twisted plot did not lie long without violent reaction from yours truly. I have begun to take the vaunted War-Hammer to this demonic “sales” entity and have struck a few blows in the name of ethics. The outcome of the battle is yet to be seen.

Now is the time to immerse myself in steaming water, that perfect engine of cleansing. Fear not, my compatriots, I shall return.

On a note of relief and sanity, and I have decided to be good friends.

If you want to know my point of view, I think it’s the best thing. I need to learn to trust my instincts.

If you want to know her point of view, ask her. :)