My Journal, Part 1 (1998)

1: ~1/5/98

I'm uncomfortable, insecure, unstable; I'm moving again, but only in thought.
Do you know what it's like?
Of course you do, you've lived the human experience.
You are the human experience.
I am the human inexperience, well, I was for most of my life.
And now that I've done what I wanted to do, I wish I hadn't done some of it.
So I didn't know what I had.
No, you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone.
But it's not always better to have gotten it.
And then you tell me that it's alright....everything is going to be alright.
Historically, that's inaccurate.
Then again, things have turned out pretty well, haven't they?
You think so, too. You were one to agree with me.
You really think I'm resiliant?
How come I hurt so much?
You say everyone hurts that much. Why don't they show it?
So you're better at disguising it than me. How did you learn?
Well, I'm sorry if I get along with my parents.
And now I have friends, too, to get along with.
No, I don't know why or how I got them, they just kinda appeared.


2: ~1/5/98

And my diary was destroyed a few years ago. Ironic, isn't it, that a hard
drive crash deleted my record of five years of my life? My pivotal years
were wiped out just like that. But that's what happened metaphorically
that summer, too. My past was too marred to want to remember. Too bad I
only remember the bad. But that's not as true as I thought; that was back
when I could make myself happy. Ambition drove me, or ego, or whatever.
Now it's difficult to set myself in motion.
But then again, maybe it's what was to happen. Isn't everything?
And then I have those thoughts of universal vertigo, where nothing is
anything in particular.
Dismiss them I must, in order to retain my demeanor and composure.
I need them both.
And what of the invisible voices? They don't need to be attached.
Anywhere, anybody. Raw emotion, that's what she called it. Silly
computers.


3: 1/13/98

Despite being back in the company of friends,
I'm still lonely.
Despite being back where there are things to do,
I'm still bored.
Despite being home,
I'm homesick and sick of home.
Placeless, timeless, I am.
It's a lot different when there's not somebody out there. There's no one
to grab ahold of, and that's what I need. Too bad [I don't know if] there
aren't any interested parties. I doubt there are. It's not me, it's not
them. It's the combination, it's the way things have worked together.
She thought that it didn't really matter if she lived or died; I love to
live. It matters to me. I would be very upset if I died, all other
things equal.
Perhaps one day I'll be pleased to make their acquaintance, and the next
they'll be happy to be my friend. And then maybe they'll understand me,
cliche style, but of course they won't. Usually. Some have, some do;
I'm scared to think what they would think of me if they understood me.
There aren't any skeletons in my head's closet, as far as I know, other
than the obvious ones. Or is that oblivious ones? It's the same result.
How long can I maintain the emotional semi-solitude, the confinement of
being single again?


4: 1/16/98

So now I'll step onto the soapbox:
Attractiveness.
What makes it?
I won't even mention fairness.
Oops.
And now step off it.
Actions don't equal sayings. And vice versa. It's pretty annoying, but
that's the way it [obviously] is. Side note: I came up the following
dichotomy today: west coast : valet parking; east coast : parallel
parking. Just so I remember it, there it is.
Why are people knowingly self-destructive? Why do people engage in
behavior that encourages things they don't want? Instant gratification?
Is that the penultimate cause? But apparently is isn't, because sometimes
people save up for things (metaphorically as well as literally). Anyway,
the bit of outright complaint that I have right now is that I'm not
appreciated, but oh, well, another thing to shove into my pocket of
whine.


5: 1/23/98

Yes, I know how important people are.
I've even figured out how important physical contact is.
And, yes, my manner has been less than adequate.
And what about that I've forgotten how to find her again?
I mean, there's always been a "her"-- and it even started working out.
You think I can do it.
Maybe I can, but maybe I need a little help.
Well, maybe as much as last time, as much as she gave me, but you, you can
help me. I know it.
Yes, instigation has always been a fatal flaw.
No, I can't remember that Greek word.
You said you know I can do it, that I just need to discover this.
As trusting as I am, I am reluctant to believe you.
It's always been about how little I can do with people.
Sure, I see my life in those terms.
A good friend, only to those who find out.
I know that's cheesy & the like, but it points out the extent.
No, not at all the intent, I'm too shy for that.
I know it's an excuse, a cop-out.
I know I want things to fall into my lap, but I want to go out and get
them.
But I'm afraid of failure. I will be afraid of failure.
It's not worth jeopardizing, it's never worth it.
Why can't I say never?
You're right, I don't know the future. I know the past, though.
Yeah, perhaps maybe someday I'll try to forget it.
sigh. Where is she when I need her again?
And who is she? (this time)


6: 1/25/98

It's been two years now and in that time
I've
overcome
Naivete Anxiety.
Now I just have to
overcome
Loneliness, etc.
I didn't need pills as
anti-depressants
I needed her.
So now I need a replacement,
That hole is gaping.
And enlarging.
What have I done to alienate myself in this way?


7: 2/4/98

So now I sit here, not that
depressed
just melancholy.
Looking into the stagnant water
back at myself, and also around at
all the creatures of the forest.
And now there's the question
of uniqueness. Not existence
anymore.
Everyone is unique?
Nah.
I've seen the clones &
drones &
all the cliches.
Like me.


8: 2/12/98

Silent Jim lights his fifth & final cigarette of the day.
I check once again to see if anyone wants communication.
The phone rings; someone is disappointed that he's not
here.
(Are people disappointed when I'm not there?)
(Does it matter? Should it?)
I cough from the smoke and remember how the music was so
good
that night.
And how it was so painful three-quarters of a year later.
Jim thumbs through his CD's, trying to find his emotional state as
prescribed by Dylan.
People can be qualified by a musician. (Categorizing people is something
you -can- do here; I should tell her there's not much of a choice).
But then I wouldn't want to be. How scary.

Just because everyone else is doing it doesn't make it right.
Actually, it does. Morality is the majority.

So there's the seeping populism. I'm excusing it to explain my existence
as I've made it. The foundation is weak; the bricks are opinions. Should
my house of cards be based on twos and threes? But then that reminds me
that aces are one or eleven.

Addendum:
I re-read my earlier poems.


9: 2/25/98

Then again, maybe I was thinking something that was just a bit wrong.
Maybe I was thinking that I am something I'm not; trying to play the part of a role that
I just don't understand. Maybe I never will. Ah, that's too definitive.
I finally hope history repeats itself.
To her: where are you? who are you?
Watching television at 3am [and I'm lonely].
Damn, I need some...close personal contact.
Damn, I need some...affection.
But that all gets back to initiative, which I don't have, and the
Catch-22 of it is that maybe I need it to have what I need, but I can't
get it unless I have what I need. Ah, sweet confidence.
Now: if only I could get that back. I just need a break-- a good break.
A desperate cry for help would be in order here, but I won't be that
forthcoming.
Again, oops.