I cannot be this way, filled with such a volatile mix of anger, sadness, happiness, and sorrow. It consumes my days and tires my soul, yet it brings highlights and magic when it feels just right. I spasm when night falls, and I fall when time stops; but I couldn’t be delighted more to take that plunge, I cannot be this way.

It is not a mystery to me how I got to be this way, only why I am so persistent to follow my routine. It is after all only a routine that I live; I wake and work, then work and sleep. At home I’m tired and apathetic, yet at work I’m exhausted and driven. I’ve enjoyed the thought that I’m driven to success, but alas my work offers but one thing of that, successful kind. The money isn’t great or even nice, the people aren’t so welcoming in red or otherwise; just the idea of getting through another day is the glimmer in my eye.

Indeed it is a waste to feel this way, but once and for all, I am just that way. I can never imagine a reason so well as to understand the folds of blackness, only to realize that it is mine to have and mine to give. If it weren’t for the goodness in life I would’ve surely drowned by now, for of the things I’ve endured, the greatest few end in one. Here it lies, not beneath a thick cover or under heavy shelter, but within a small shimmer coming from her eyes.

It is those eyes that breathe life into my day, and for the opposite I can write this way. It may not make sense to you, as if all parts of you do, but for those who know and who see, it is my inspiration to miss a single beat. Her limp form lying dazed on the floor, inches from her sofa and feet from her friends, she awaits her daddy to put her to rest.

Perhaps she knows nothing of it, but I do and that I cherish. Tomorrow will come once I quench this foolish hunger, just another day of wake and work, work and sleep, but on this new day I will play before I work, and play before I rest, maybe the joy will overcome the work. Tomorrow she will be mine, and together we will shine.

Now, to let thought cease, I will stifle my pathetic urges and fruitful desires. I must breathe deeply and close my eyes, drift into a slumber and walk the skies; but inside I know that only darkness fills my dreams, I’ve witnessed horrors rarely ever seen. But again I regress, they are only dreams and therefore not real, but if I see them clear and in vivid detail, for years and years without fail, could it be possible in my mind, to end what never began, and begin what cannot end?

I cannot be this way, albeit the way I am.

This evening an intriguing question was asked to me, and it is only now that I can really try to determine the answers, answers that I need to answer for myself before I can for anyone else, before I can do something about the quandaries they impose, before I can start getting back to me.

The question actually asked was more or less a series of questions that I simply brushed off by saying that I need medication, and while that is an option worth considering, it is not the option I am comfortable with accepting without some fight. My methods for living and getting through things, good and bad, have always been based on what I myself can do without any assistance. It is something that has caused more than a few unpleasant discussions with my wife, because every woman needs to feel needed by their husband, sadly the things I need her for are not what she considers acceptable; maybe she will benefit from this as well.

The questions can be summed up into one simply complicated question, what is wrong with me? The question was asked innocently enough for me to fully realize the true intentions of the question and how non-threatening they are, so now I am left wondering what the answer is. Right now I feel as though something is missing, and while I can speculate until dawn what it may be, speculations are why I am faced with this question to begin with. I am usually certain of myself heading into any situation, regardless of size or importance, but lately the certainty has been mostly speculation.

Bouts of depression have been hit and miss recently, and an obvious answer is our finances, especially now faced with adding another bill for a new and more expensive babysitter. Wouldn’t be a problem if our bills didn’t exceed our average monthly income by four hundred dollars. It surely doesn’t help when I’m getting ready for work each day trying as hard as I can to make my hair presentable, my hair which should have been cut two weeks ago if I could have afforded it then or since, or anytime soon.

It’s not really what’s bothering me though, I have been in this situation many times before and I know it will get better if we just focus on getting it done. Of course right now I have this lottery ticket in front of me that I bought tonight, it’s two dollars that could have been used for gas, but I defend my purchase knowing that I can’t win if I don’t play. I’ve contended for years that my problems would all but vanish with a few million dollars. I know money doesn’t buy everything, but it buys the roots of happiness, and that is a good start.

I’m feeling like my control is slipping away, I have been able to stay on top of myself so well the last few years, and now I think about the last few weeks and know that I’m slacking off, if some of my indiscretions didn’t feel so good I would probably consider changing those habits before they get too long in the tooth, and bite me in the ass.

It’s not just a matter of how responsible I am behind the wheel anymore either, and to be clear I’m not endangering anything but my checkbook, but it’s now extending to my need for self gratification, at the expense of others. I hurt those who I could pass by, and I aim for those in my path. I imagine someone getting out of their car because they are uncomfortable with how closely I am following them. I have always believed that the things we think of without any effort are the things that are the most certain and true, without being tainted by intention or agendas, no need to look cool or let off steam. I have to force the images out of my head once it gets to a certain point, and it’s the same every time, with the only change being in the person I am inflicting this on. I get the flash of he or she getting out of the car coming back towards my car looking angry, then I get out and without any cause or hesitation I throw the person into one of the windows on the car, that’s where I stop it.

I think it’s because that’s where things change if I were to do it, that’s when my daughter starts writing to her daddy in jail, and of all the harm I feel I am capable of right now, she is clearly never to be a recipient, at least not directly. It’s important for me to get back in control of myself before I do something to harm her indirectly. Of course a thought comes to mind now that makes my desire for such things increase, people who know me think I would never actually do any of this, or even come close to it, I am tired of people who are close to me thinking they know me just because of their status in my life.

One of the most effective ways to challenge their beliefs of me is to follow through, though the cost would likely exceed the profit. I will get my tastes for destruction quenched soon enough.

I am missing creativity, freedom, happiness, ability, my guitar, the feeling of love, sex (my own doing), and most of all, choice. My options are so limited right now; perhaps that is where my control went away, when my life became a predefined path with only a few possible destinations. But right now I am faced with a choice that I must make, and if I don’t do it carefully, I will end up where I will not live.

I realize most don’t care to read this, but along with posting this to my blog comes a sense of finality, and that I will take. It’s not complete, nor is this writing very helpful to anyone, so do with the knowledge what you want; I don’t care. I don’t care. I do not care.

Isn’t it enough to feel miserable without life adding it’s own quirky complications to it? It seems my most recent chapter has been manipulated by deceit, betrayal; and all seemingly at the amusement of someone beside myself. As of now I am complacent, not happy nor unhappy, in my life. A glance at my surroundings reveals little, as I am fully aware of what I do and do not have. Writing down my desires does no affect towards my moods and outlooks on things, as I gain little from seeing on screen what I see in my head.

Instead I am forced to look deeper into myself than I am comfortable with, not because of any fears that I may stumble across something I do not like, I’ve done that and it doesn’t bother me. My discomfort comes from the ability I have to do so in solitude, or lack thereof. Perhaps it would be helpful to retreat to my former methods of solving my problems, but alas, one my problems prevent me from doing so. If only fuel was less expensive or less important, either would satisfy my dilemma.

Computers have long been a passion of mine, though in many ways they have caused more stress than they allow me to relieve. It used to be simple enough to just use a computer, but then I had to go and learn how to fix mine, and now I am left fixing it any chance it gives me. It’s an addiction that must be dealt with sooner or later, though right now is hardly the time as I have become somewhat burned out. It is downtime that will not last long, soon enough I will be coming home from work to get on the computer for more than just my email, news, and fantasy leagues.

Automobiles haven’t been the help I’ve long since known them to be for me, not when every time I get in one I am reminded of all the small little problems it’s having that keep me from enjoying the ride so much. Today it’s my mother’s Jeep that is ailing me, but tomorrow it will be my car and it’s deteriorating CV joints, all caused by something I fear I will have to deal with sooner rather than later. The mechanic I took it to for a clutch replacement a year ago has always been worthy, but now with the existence of a circular piece of metal I never knew existed on a car, I am faced with premature repairs and I wonder, where did it come from? Could it have been avoided? These questions churn away, leaving more and more doubt behind.

But at long last, life has a hold on me that I can no longer break free from, countless miles on the darkest of highways void of any other life, and consumed by a particular compilation in the CD player would do me more good than I could ever articulate to you on this screen, if only fuel was less expensive or less important, either would suit fine.

Either would leave me to my thoughts, that’s the only time I can ever make the big decisions, if only …

I do not know what it means, only how it feels, to be such a sinner, without any true appeal.

Oh today, this god forsaken day, it has sent shivers up my spine, and lumps down my throat. It hasn’t all been terrible, only covered by this stench. Is it ever fitting to be honest or afraid? I think so, but others most certainly do not. In a brief revelation of my inner child’s grief, I have stumbled upon a disturbing trend that I cannot escape. Today was a woeful day, not a single doubt in sight.

It wasn’t magical, it wasn’t clever, though it did lead me in, I found my way back to the never. Once inside it wasn’t a dazzling ferry or whimsical tale, it was a horror the likes of which I never knew I’d seen. But I did see, and I saw it well, now if only I could remember, the beasts of this small tale, I could stand tall and stand proud, only to be seated without breaking stride.

I have a dark secret to tell, but I fear its release will only entrap me behind. It’s nothing to shout, nor is it meant to be hidden, but behind these blue eyes, lies the myth of the forbidden. No fruit can taste its sweetness, nor could a stone be so cold, if it were an animal I think it’d be best to just leave it alone. But alas it doesn’t matter whether I want it left alone, only that it won’t leave me alone, not now, not ever, not once I’ve been told.

Please don’t inquire, I will not show my face, I will only tell you a joke, and lie to your face.

I use’ta could write some, but not no more, I can spell, sure, but what good’s that for.

I’m tired and bored, yet I cannot sleep, and knowing just how fast the time will come for my alarm to sound, here I am still sitting at my desk writing my boredom onto nothing. That’s what writing has become, no more paper, pens, and pencils, just nothing, literally slightly more than a figment of my imagination. This document I color with pale lettering, a document that is nothing but a cleverly disguised series of I’s and O’s. It’s nice to know that my trash can won’t be full of failed attempts, that my desk won’t have tiny shreds of my pencil sharpenings, and most of all that my hand won’t hurt after only this much writing from writer’s cramp. But what do I do with it? That I do not know.

I could illuminate my dark imagination with some colorful story about anything from an extremely taboo dream that taunted me so seductively this morning as I woke, to something so simple as the way this documents light on my screen is glaring in my eyes. It makes no difference really, because my intentions do not include any publication of this, my ambiguous saga.

Perhaps I need a hobby to fill my time, or maybe I need only to get reacquainted with the many I’ve abandoned this year. It’s been bothering my soul lately, that I cannot even sustain interest in the things that I enjoy most, yet my childhood dreams and aspirations are coming back to me so clear, so fresh and wanton, that I could paint them onto a canvas of steel and pixels without so much as an opening of an eye.

It’s been suggested that I should figure this dilemma out, and soon, yet the thought of the effort entailed simply wears me out. I digress, as they say, and fall into the fold of emptiness that has become my mind. And sooner rather than later I hope to gain some perspective into what my brain has in store for me, for as this second ticks away, so seems that another word, or meaning, or dream or idea, fades into the dark, dark sky just past my sill.

Decades past have now taught me about life and the ill fates of many unknown, perhaps too well as they’re becoming my own. It doesn’t dawn the way it used to, and nothing shines so bright, if not for the love of my life, I think I’d slumber on, and on. Though to think of her living without those tedious nothings I have to teach through her next few years, breaks me into as many tears as missing her first one and one half. But it doesn’t suit to dwell on things past, only to move on and carry this load to a day so incredibly vast.

On I must now go, without a single glance to my rear, and a lesson I must learn, though the teacher isn’t yet here.