2015 17 February :: 1.55am
:: Mood: exhausted
:: Music: Bal-Sagoth - Summoning the Guardians of the Astral Gate
The nascent get-back-into-shape regimen has commenced for wifey and I tonight. She wants to lose weight, and I don't want to be a weakling any longer. She does her thing, and I embarrass myself by overcompensating with the weights.
Fortunately, I remember how most of those dern contraptions work, despite not having set foot in a gym for at least thirteen years. When I was a freshman, I was a force to be reckoned with. Still got beat up and taunted, but I looked incredible with my shirt off.
Wifey-pants is on a tear to achieve superficial beauty, and I support her inasmuch as it remains of the healthy variety. I think she is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, and don't want her to go the route I've seen so many females go down on the mad search for an "ideal appearance." However, if she wants change, then I stand behind her.
Digression: She bought Stree Overlord for Valentine's Day as a suprise, and boy...lemme tell ya, I didn't notice it, but she referred to the sex as "crazy." I suppose inhibition was tossed to the wind, and chemical energy allowed for things typically reserved for those who never started smoking.
In a word - brilliant. Potentially dangerous mix of whatever and viagra for bulls, but certainly worth trying once, says I. Doubt it'll happen again, but it was worth the repercussions the next day.
Three hours of sleep in the past two days, must be at work in four hours.
I'm slowly becoming non-corporeal.
Very sad that I never see my friends, and there are few people in the real world I can talk to. Also bummed that I didn't make a bigger impression on my environment when I was younger, and had more opportunity to do so. I was never interesting, and now I never will be.
Life is work, home, repeat. I need action, or I get wilty. I bought a shillelagh because I figured I would eventually tire of everything and go beserk on some hapless fool that rubbed me the wrong way, but I doubt that particular fortune is in the cards. Far too reasonable to be that much of a prick; however, there are candidates a-plenty that roam my new neighborhood.
I imagined that life would be sex and violence and drinking until I died in my early twenties, but now I'm old and wizened and responsible for things that adults tend to be responsible for, and it's too late for dickish behavior of that sort. People who fall into the persuasion of loon-with-a-death-wish don't know how lucky they are. Never a dull moment.
2015 9 February :: 12.21am
:: Mood: nostalgic
:: Music: Heavy Metal Kids - Delirious
The ol' high school reunion is around the corner.
I took a gander at the Facebook page and realized I don't remember 90% of the people who are planning on going. I remember the people on my friend's list, and a handful of other people...but since most people's profile photos are of their kids, it's hard to tell whether or not they have a familiar face, because honestly, I'm shit with names.
That, and I don't remember much of high school other than being the weird kid, not having a ton of friends, being rejected by girls, and skipping the majority of the second half. Other than that, I was rather fond of it....well, perhaps not; but if I go, it'll be a gasser to see what these people morphed into over the past ten years.
2015 31 January :: 4.22pm
:: Mood: awake
:: Music: Toots & The Maytals - 54-46 Was My Number
Well....I suppose I've quit drinking. Drinking with frequency, and imbibing liquor that invokes the devil, that is.
Mellowing out after a day of OT with a (single) glass of champagne, wondering where all the negativity welled up from, and hoping wifey-pants will forgive some of my behavior of late....some is beyond forgiveness, but I hope she'll understand it and its roots.
Never again, as the Jew said.
Things are going well, and falling into a quagmire of despair is a nasty force of habit that needs to be broken once and for all. Can't continue on like this, as I'm already losing hair and going grey - not quite thirty years of age, mind you.
P.S. Purchased Lovey some early Valentine's Day swag, and it made me feel good. The trick is getting the rest in time, because tardiness is one of my many foibles. I even had tell that I can toke a bit, now that she's aware that it assuages my nastiness, and I don't do it habitually. She is without a doubt the one.
2015 19 January :: 3.20am
:: Mood: sick
:: Music: Adrenalin OD - Going to a Funeral
Under the weather, and in desperate need of snooze.
Moved the last of my earthly possessions from my old place, and preparing to hand them over to the thrift store, so the vulgar masses will have a chance to share in my good taste and partake of some culture that doesn't center around cars going Vroom-Vroom and shite country music. They'll thank me later.
Other than that, I feel like death is giving me a massage, and I'm awaiting the arrival of a Brooklyn Crusher, because therapy costs too much and is about effective as a broken condom.
It's late, can't sleep, everything sucks; business as usual.
Wife has requested that I don't ask her for sex for a few days, and it is a reasonable request, but sent me storming off the living room before she fell asleep to fume and sulk. Selfish prick, much? Indeed. But it was a bad day, and my typical fiendish disposition ruined the night previous, and it seems to carried over to tonight.
Garden variety feelings of worthlessness snowballed from the afternoon until coming to a head after work, and Liz went about the evening as always, and I was upset that she wasn't as sympathetic as I would have liked her to have been. But in the same breathe, I didn't want to be coddled because it's not her duty to be a 24/7 cheerleader whenever I scrape my knee (in the half-assed figurative sense).
There were some other minor incidents that pushed fomenting teenage angst into full-on grownup tantrum, but those details are too embarrassing, even for the internet. Consider yourself spared. But they struck a nerve, and now I'm pissed off, mildly chilly, and alone in a dark room ranting via a keyboard.
If I were born with a sufficient amount of testosterone, I'd just go out and hit another male, but I wasn't, so I'll sulk like a wee boy.