The music Pandora wants me to check out from my Dresden Dolls channel

Florence + The Machine - Drumming Song (done, plus others)
Regina Spektor, pretty much all of her
Kate Nash - Made of Bricks album
Puppini Sisters (done, long time ago)
Emma Wallace (no)
Lily Allen (what)
Vermillion Lies - The Astronomer 
lots of White Stripes (done)
Katzenjammer (done done done)
Really wants me to get into Lily Allen for some reason
lots of Fiona Apple (not opposed)
Shannon Wurst (who? Sixteen Tons cover)
Dirt Daubers
They really want me to smooch on Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Rasputina (Bad Moon Rising cover+)
Kate Nash again

The Last Christmas

Okay, I take it back.  Keeping a bottle handy is maybe not a great idea.  Not after tonight's Dr. Who Christmas special.  If I had a chance, or something to mix it with (I guess technically I had Ale-8 but the very thought of violating an Ale-8 with vodka makes me nauseous), I'd probably be drinking right now after that God awful show.

That, and other reasons.  For one, for the first time in months, I got a pimple.

Demon Kitty Rag

While I (and a majority of actual the medical field, from what I read) still maintain that there's a distinct difference between being a drunk and an alcoholic, this article sums up both problems pretty well.  In fact, it described what used to be me to a T until it only mentioned physical addiction, and not psychological.  Six myths about addicts and alcoholics:

• Myth #1: We’re permanently damaged goods
• Myth #2: We can’t get better until we hit “rock bottom”
• Myth #3: We want to live this way
• Myth #4: We’re lazy and dumb
• Myth #5: If we had any willpower, we’d just quit taking drugs
• Myth #6: Punishment is the best way to cure addiction

#2 and 3 are especially stupid things people believe, #5 is the one that hurts the most, still.

If willpower or the love of family could cure addiction, most of us would be healthy and happy. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy.

I just did the math again, and including mid-December 2013 to now, I've spent a total of nine months pretty much sober, aside from being contacted by the Ex, which makes me sad.  Still, I'm a better person sober, and without somebody who enables such behavior when it's convenient to their lifestyle.

To raise my spirits, here is my current song.  Katzenjammer's Demon Kitty Rag.

In Soviet Russia, blog writes YOU

Don't know why but the statistics say my blog has a sudden influx of Ukraine readers.  Just in case Homeland Security wonders, I had nothing to do with that.  Plus, guys, this is a big homo writing, so if reading about a big homo's road to sobriety and new life appeals to you so much, please turn me into a cult favorite like Pussy Riot.  I'd love to be on Stephen Colbert's new show.

Top Five

Every once in a while, I have to see something like Chris Rock's Top Five to be reminded that, as much as life can suck right now, it can suck a lot more.  You can have friends who only pay lip service to your needs unless your needs clash with their wants.  People who only remember you when you're successful.  You can chase after the wrong love and never find the right one.  And, the worst, you can be an addict.

Cranberry celebration salad is bookmarked in Chrome

Here we are again, at the edge of a precipice, wondering what comes next.

Some people have no problem with failure.  No problem with turning their back on the past.  I've never understood just giving up on somebody.  Even when I get all my proverbial ducks lined up and quacking, I always know they're there, shitting on the lawn.  (If you've never dealt with ducks, yeah, they shit a lot.  Everywhere.)

The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ

Well, struck a nerve I guess.

I don't have many friends who read this blog, or at least don't know of many who do, but apparently my point was missed in my last post.  This is easy to mistake, since I am an atheist and do not believe in a higher power.  I would say that I am agnostic, but that would mean that if presented with any kind of proof that a God existed, I'd change my mind.  I'm pretty sure no evidence will come forth, though, and besides, the basic tenant of Christianity is faith, and to quote Douglas Adams paraphrasing God, "Proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing."

You're my addiction

A few years ago I got into a discussion with a friend... kind of a friend... about addiction and the horrible costs that come with it.  I mentioned the recent studies about binge drinkers being different from alcoholics.  Got a very pious attitude from him about it, too, which was kind of new.

I've always thought that alcoholics should be pitied because they really can't help it.  They get nervous without their sauce.  Their bodies go through withdrawal, which can be hell, or so I've read.  Drunks can go long periods without drinking, and according to the recent studies most of them do, because unlike alcoholics, they don't have a physical addiction. If anything it's more psychological.  

Scar Tissue

The First Step

You have choices, and they can be good or bad.  Usually it's easy to tell which one it will be beforehand, unless you make it a habit of lying to yourself.  I know I am already a creature of habits, so the best idea for me to make important life changes is to take away my ability to make those choices.  And that is why, for the first time since I was eighteen years old, I have purchased shoes that are not Chuck Taylors (above).

Sometimes a bitch is just a bitch.

Well I'm pretty sure I'm on the cusp of a seismic shift (literally) in my life, but more about that later.  Probably nothing about it until the new year.  But it will be a very new change, so I've started the lifestyle changes, to be ahead of the curve.

Enough about that, it will come to fruition soon.  Today I'm all about accepting reality.  Most people can't.  I certainly couldn't, even when I could.  That is to say, I accepted it, but changing a bad reality to a good one isn't as easy as changing light bulbs.

If somebody tells you that you drink too much, there's a good chance they don't mean "as compared to me," but that you actually drink too much. Doesn't mean you're an alcoholic--you could just be a drunk, which is a little more pathetic.

If you're willing to suck off some guy you don't even know the first time you get together with him, and you get offended by somebody calling you a slut, well, you shouldn't.  That's pretty slutty behavior, no matter which role you're playing.   Just own up to it.

And consider the possibility that, if you must constantly deny being a bitch, that possibly you are in fact a bitch.  Qualifiers like "I just tell unpopular truths" and "I'm not rude, I just have the balls to say it" are completely glossing over the fact that being a bitch does not mean being a liar, it means, whether you're telling the truth or a lie, you're being a cunt about it.  There are plenty of ways to tell an unpopular truth without snark or sass or attitude, and if you're hurting people's feelings enough that you need to constantly defend yourself, maybe your detractors actually have a point.

It might not be that you have the balls to say something, but that you don't have the brains to say it without hurting somebody's feelings.  Granted, sometimes people need their feelings hurt to get a message across, and sometimes a shock to the system with a big dose of reality is necessary.  But if you are constantly defending yourself, it's entirely possible that the problem isn't how other people react to your attitude, it's your attitude itself.

The problem isn't just that you're a bitch, it's that you're a bitch in denial.

Having been in one of these positions before, and gotten myself out of it (seemingly), I can say it's much better to just admit what you are than pretend to be what you aren't.  At least the dignity you feel from admitting real faults isn't trolling for sympathy, which is usually the case with people who shuffle their toes back and forth in the dirt saying, "Pobody's nerfect."

Anyway.  That's how it has always looked to me.  But hey, nobody's perfect.  Maybe the problem is actually with me.

No.

I did not get the job.  I was a finalist, one of six... they narrowed it down to two, and I wasn't one of them.

It was in Chicago.  That would have been fun.  But I agree with them, I was not the best fit for the job.

So I continue.

The waiting is the hardest part.

Ring.

Ring. 

Ring, dammit.

Ring.

GUH.

A Series of Unlikely Events

One was having another grand mal seizure.  This was from drinking.

I had done so well for half a year without drinking.  Then June hit. and everything hit at once, and I didn't care anymore.  I seriously didn't care at all anymore.  I tried to stay on the meds, but why?  We weren't going to be friends again.  When that became obvious even to my thick skull, I just gave up.  I'd lost my job, the one I loved, and all care for the world.  I kept trying to get back on the Zoloft but it didn't feel like before.

I look at my bookshelf that I haven't packed.  I should throw away the Nexus 7 packaging.  Why is it still there?  Sentimental.  Mrs. Peregrine's Home For Peucliar Children... why isn't it sold?  You finished it, I never did.  More and more I think after my cousin comes help move most of my stuff into storage for me, I should give up and move home and get a job at the factory Keith works at. 

Last night, I got a gmail alert.  "Ding."

"Your friend xxxxxx has recommended you for a job..."

And I clicked the link and read about the job.

And for the first time in months, I'm excited.  Years, even.  This job was practically created for me.  My friend knows it.

So I cut short the trip this weekend taking junk home to come back and put together a more appropriate demo.

My head is spinning right now about it.  It is a perfect job for me and my entire life would change.  And best of all, the things in the past would become that... the past.  No longer something I need to drag out of the tide and examine the contents of.

Sure, I'd have to say goodbye to family, but once a year I'd see them.  Besides, I can see what I saw in Dad two years ago in Mom... her age is changing her. I don't want to see that.  Keith will be better at dealing with her.  Heck, he almost talked me into the ambulance.  Just was a tad too mean about it.

Finishing up the demo and crossing my fingers.  Maybe a new life will start soon.

But they keep dry clicking their revolvers at my head

I should preface this with I do not have suicidal thoughts.

But I do, in fact, think about my death a lot.

For example, if I had a stroke right now, packing shit up and stressing out, if I had a stroke right now, I'd die.  And nobody in the world would care.

My body would lie slumped over this laptop, drooling on the keyboard.  And a stroke would be a horrible way to die alone, being paralyzed and unable to call for help.  And then just knowing my mind would run through all my sins and would focus on myself.

And that's how they'd find me.  My little brother, probably.  Slumped over and half naked and decaying.

And nobody would miss me.  I'm part of nobody's life.  The funeral would be sparse.  Nobody would even leave flowers at my tombstone after the first year.

Makes me wonder why I bother going on.

nightmare.

Had a goddamn bad one.

Bad, bad, bad.

fucking Robin Williams

I was all prepared to be ashen faced and sad about unemployment and being kicked to the curb yet again by everybody in life and then fucking Robin Williams has to go and kill himself and fuck up my shit.

I remember the Mork & Mindy card game we'd play at Roger Garret's house.  We brought it there for some reason.  Roger never wanted to play it, but he was always wanting to do his own thing (also dead now RIP).  It came with an egg for some reason, which was important to the game... my memory makes me think if you got the egg, you basically won the game.  The game was basically Uno, if I remember correctly.  We only played it because of the Mork connection.

It was Mork & Mindy that made me realize how much I did not like summer.  It was nearly 9 PM and I realized if I didn't go inside I'd miss the show... yet it was still sunlight out!  Fuck that!  Fuck you sunlight!  I'm watching Mork!

In the mid to late 80s, we of course could not afford to buy a VCR, but once in a while I saved up enough from mowing yards to rent one.  One of the first ones we rented was a Robin Williams stand-up hour, cocaine-fueled and high-energy, and pretty damn funny.  I was always good at choosing which movies to rent when we rented a VCR for the night... even now those movies hold up.

And now he's gone.  Mork is gone?  I guess it should have been expected, but honestly, we were expecting a heart attack from cocaine overdose, not suicide.  I guess, most of us, anyway.  The ones with depression probably expected something else.

Just not me.

Valerie

Just had a bit of a meltdown.

I'd put together my new demo and was writing emails for it to send to various folk, and realized I needed a quote from V FOR VENDETTA.  I'd forgotten that the quote wasn't included in the movie, and if I had remembered that anyway, I'd already packed up the novel, but I streamed the movie looking for the quote, and came up on Valerie's Letter.

As far as I am concerned, it is one of the most beautiful pieces of fiction, ever.  I totally believed she was in a death camp, like Evey, and that she had written the letter to her just before dying. And when V revealed he hadn't written it, it broke my heart, because I believed that too.

I believed a fiction.  I've never done that.  The characters, so real in my head, how could they not be true?  But they weren't.  They were all just things made up in Alan Moore's demented head.  A head which also devoted over a dozen issues of a brilliant original comic Promethea to explaining all the levels of sex magic, so there's also that to consider.

It is a story of true love.  Valerie will not give up her love, even after being betrayed.  I hate to say it, but I know the feeling.  I reject what people said about him.  I told myself they were trying to console me.  That they were trying to ease my pain.  They did not realize how much it hurt to hear such things... because if what they were saying was true, it meant I was the idiot.  I was the stupid and selfish person, too, waiting in the shadows for a love that would never return.

I don't know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.

Overdrawn at the Memory Bank

Memory is not what you think it is.  

We think memory is like a video recording, collecting an exact record of what you saw and felt at the time the memory was created, but it is rarely just that.  It's also a collection of feelings that have changed since then, say towards a person, or desires of when something happened and what you wish had been said, instead of what really happened.  

This is why I always try to record my thoughts, somehow, of events as soon as they have happened, especially if they are important to me.  And even getting them written down, hoping they are unmolested by memory's delusions, they already are before they even leave my fingertips.  

I can say an ex treated me wrong, but there is just as likely a chance I mistreated him in much the same way I'm thinking he did me.  Obvious projection brought on by guilt, with a touch of immaturity... basically, "No I didn't, you did!"  And likely the same thing happens with my ex.  Either of them.

Being part-OCD as well as depression didn't help.  It made matters worse.

But still I look at old entries and I can at least recognize some truths.  I wasn't blind to my own faults... I wanted the people I cared about to recognize there was something wrong with me.  I  think, maybe, if they just said, "You need help," rather than "Stop doing this," that would have maybe been the best medicine.  Because "You need help" implies that they don't want to lose you... "Stop doing this" implies that they'd be glad to abandon you if you don't stop your behavior.

Well, not glad to, but willing to.  

But that's important to remember about memories, especially with people you were once close to.  Whatever drove you apart is likely shaping those memories.  One example is a close friend from back home who suddenly one day asked why I would hang out with my cousin.  At the time, I bristled at the question, and in fact stopped hanging out with that guy afterwards.  It was like he was saying I could do better than my cousin for a friend, and I did not appreciate that at all (he had said the same thing about others in high school, although not to me).

I avoided this friend through the years, which was easy to do as we grew up and apart, although once I started going back home more often over the years, we'd see each other.  One day I was talking about visiting my cousin and he asked how he'd been doing.  We had a good talk about Dave's stint in the army, and how he'd gotten married a few times and had kids.  This friend wasn't putting my cousin down, he just really didn't know anything about him.  

Suddenly I realized that all those years I'd been harboring a grudge based on what I thought was a snide remark the guy made, but he hadn't, it was just curious about my cousin, whom he really didn't know.  And my feelings tempered my memories of what he asked... I had been the asshole all along.

There are relationships I will never repair, partly because of my own stupidity and jealousy, but not just my own feelings.  Our memories are tempered and shaped by other experiences and are an amalgamation of this... knowing this helps, but not always, especially if the relationships are beyond repair.

Ok that was mean.

I still get bitter, especially when I see things like "A perfect marriage is just two imperfect people who refuse to give up on each other."  Because that's what we did, and we both did it, and it pisses me off to think of it.

We gave up.  You gave up hoping that I would get my act together.  I gave up because you were miserable and I'd rather not have you in my life than know I'm causing that misery.

If we'd tried, talked, we could have made it.  We could have been happy.

Then again I still would have been downsized, so maybe it doesn't matter in the end.  But it feels like it would've.

Muscleboy

...and this is a quote...

"I like  big bears to watch me flex my muscles and talk to me abut my guns and run their hands over them and all over my body then blow me while I flex."

I thanked him for his correspondence and closed the chat, saying I wasn't what he wanted.