I had all these feelings earlier that I had intended to rant about; I can't for the life of me remember them. It's funny I should forget them, as they were my feelings and they sure as fuck haven't gone anywhere... but I keep finding myself numb and impatient with it... On to the next one.

My life becomes exponentially simpler the longer I remain isolated. Tasks are completed; assignments are fulfilled; appointments are met; finances are balanced; promises are kept. I am the last remaining liability to... myself. Yet it becomes incalcuably more complex. Any time a void becomes bigger than your desire to fill it, bad things are bound to happen... I become completely and utterly turned off by all people. I miscalculate my own capacity for misanthropy. I forget all the things I love and fret over things I miss. I ignore my capacity to create because all I want to do is destroy.

Sometimes I wish I'd just explode into a million pieces rather than the lazy, heartbreaking unravel that keeps me awake at night and puts so much pressure on my lungs. Or that I would just get an Rx for Valium and call it a day.

Two parents who seemingly despised eachother, created such an emotionally-charged disaster that in the end it seemed they resented me. But it took me about 20 years to realize none of this mess had to do with me. There was nothing I could have done to counteract forces that were in place long before I was an afterthought tossed onto the Universe's to-do list. They hadn't made peace and I was simply the living breathing betrayal. Certainly--It was a fiery, tumultuous disaster manifesting itself as hate. 

Hate is a reaction to fear, disappointment, hurt, vulnerability, maybe even guilt. It is the dark sister of failed love, more similar than it is opposingly different. Perhaps just a more extreme version of love, even. They are at the very least, symbiotic.

So this disaster at one time came from love, or the nearest interpretation two broken people could fathom. And this disaster made me. Just as the omission of fact can share the bed with a lie, the lessons our parents don't teach us are just as potent. Lasting. Sometimes the most important, are the lessons they don't teach us because they themselves have not learned, or the lesson we never understand until we are older and forced to confront two distinct paths.

Hate is born from the same passion and desire for validity, security. Hate comes when you have failed to process the shortcomings of love and hope in external world to make internal amends, projecting it onto a person or thing, the mirror that has shown you this failure. To truly be devoid of love you must move beyond hate, to a state of indifference which does not allow for the failure of an ideal to consume energy.

When you have removed the validity and security that the sickness founded as it latched deeper into your Self, and reach indifference, hate becomes irrelevant. You are now free to move about the cabin.

I struggle with writing. Not in the technical aspect; I have impeccable grammar, solid mechanical skills, and an innate sense of style which can be adapted to Chicago, AP, internal or personal metrics. I was a Rhetoric major for fuck's sake, which also required courses in Logic--breaking down each sentence, statement, argument or whathaveyou into components of a mathematical equation that meet the four basic requirements.

No. I struggle with what to write. I read stories I wrote in my pre-teen and teenage years; they are often overly precocious, rambling illustrations of impossible and unnatural sitauations. This is in part due to my heavy LSD use at the time, and a marked lack of structure in my upbringing and emotional development. I read all the articles I wrote while the Editor In Chief of my HS newspaper; they are idealistic, well-intended but arrogant, boorish even.

There are days I wish I'd written a million books by now; but the other side of that coin? I think it is strange to write about my life as some grand adventure, so early in the game. What business do I have writing a memoir? It's just horse shit. It just feels narcissistic, myopic even. Friends have urged me to write about my life for the sheer fact that my outlook is entirely different than most although I come from so many tiny histories shared by millions of people the world over. 

Another issue I face, is that I have been urged not to write about my family and my life until my mother has passed. That is just an awkward conversation entirely, as my mother and I have yet to undergo the necessary steps to rebuilding a healthy relationship, in whatever capacity is suitable for this late in the game. The more I learn about COA dysfunction, and our own family, the more I understand her. Yet I hit a recurring roadblock; my maternal Grandfather is likely the missing link to a lot of the way that family is, to things I want to know and understand. He died when I was seven.

But I have yet to fully accept the fact that these are my own fucking memories and I have every right to them. So, then... If I am to accept this fact and move forward... where the FUCK do I start?!

I took a dark, boring, internet-less night last month and wrote up a bullet-point list of highlights across my years. I didn't want to miss anything. I didn't want to get the details confused as one horrible event lead into another, and compromise chronological integrity. I ended up with 19 events / topics and slowly began to illustrate these vignettes into small, digestible pieces. By slowly, I mean I only completed about four of the 19 items. The process is much harder than I expected as I relive the details, remember the colors. And now, my list has grown to about 34 items. The more I fill in, the more the disjointed fragments come together. Now, the only things I can guarantee are: humor, and truth. And a lot of discomfort.

I've got pictures with my darlings Jill & Drew yet to post from NYE 09/10, and a heart full of more of the same: love mixed with adoration mixed with utter frustration. I couldn't have wished for 2009 to end any differently—A smile on my face and not a drop of blood on my heart. Now 2010 begins with the futility of trying just within my grasp, and the reality of what the last year has been on the doorstep of the back of my mind. I've got a desk full of unexposed film and blank canvases. I'm remembering what's important, and loving it while I'm still here, before it all goes dark. I've been climbing all the wrong fences. But sometimes there's just no reasoning it... Que es lo que es. It's not up to me now to want more—what's right will be revealed in time. I just hope that I can make use of every mistake I've made up until now. Even if I can't ~calculate how far the plummet is... fuck it, I'm jumping~. If you need me—you know where to find me. I'll be true till death.

Dug these up from 1997 ~ 2000ish. Uh...

my heart goes out to the handful of friends who (no joke) all got into serious car accidents over the last week. i thought mercury was not only in retrograde but PMS-ing the fuck out but then you know... it's not like shit happens "for a reason." the world isn't here to give a fuck whether you learn some lesson from it or not. shit just happens. the world does one thing, then it changes and does another. you're either there or you're not. if it wasn't you, it would be someone else.

i've been trying to reconcile my own needs and conscience with the people around me... not everyone is perfect for our lives but if you pay attention, you learn something from each of them, about people, about yourself, about life. maybe you fill a void, a need, receive a validation. maybe you finally learn what it is you love and what it is that kills you. and maybe then you stay, or maybe you move on.

we have the funniest habits, too. the things we rely on to be who we are or convince us that nothing can hurt us... "What's wrong with ____ ?" Well - nothing. Except those around us, those who love us, and those who grow up with us, rely on us, and learn from us - will learn to believe that is how people just "are." you're breaking hearts before they even have a chance out in the world. and they'll believe that's OK.

sometimes when you stop for a minute... you realize, just how fucking real shit is. the noise up there at the surface - the things people do, their bullshit, their armor, their pride, all the shit that is fake as fuck - when you tear it all down, to the gritty fucking truth of character and who someone ~REALLY~ is... it's intense. the fact, too, that they could be gone in a blink of an eye. it bleeds my heart out and cuts the oxygen.

i appreciate everything. everyone. stop - go. slow down, keep up. sometimes, chill the fuck out. we mess up a lot just trying to be fast.

So just a few moments ago, I rattled off the inocuously-intended sarcastic Tweet: "I think I'm a misogynist." My Twitter updates my Facebook status (of course it does, asshole), and within 3 comments someone I barely know had deleted me from their Friend list. We weren't actually friends of any normally-defined sort, so no harm no foul. (Ignore the irony of continuing to read this post while the stripper song plays on loop... You can hit stop if it's just too mind blowing, see top Right column).

"Write it on your heart
that every day is the best day in the year.
He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day
who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.

Finish every day and be done with it.
You have done what you could.
Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in.
Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day;
begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit
to be cumbered with your old nonsense.

This new day is too dear,
with its hopes and invitations,
to waste a moment on the yesterdays."

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I'm out of control and sometimes hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."

Today's class topic in these sessions I am required to complete, was a stress assessment of both positive and negative stressors in our lives. Our window of assessment was the last 12 months. One of the inventory items with a higher point-value was "Death of a family member or close friend." I skipped over that one, but then realized I needed to check that item off. 4... 5... 6.. 7... times. I don't know, I ran out of fingers/ patience in remembering.