Molten Boron

Sleep, friends, drunk, friends, sleep.

My new phone’s keyboard is nice, but if I’d thought I might want to write I’d've brought my laptop.

Horrible myspace/bathroom-mirror photo attached.

Long day, not enough sleep. Not that I ever think I get “enough” sleep.

It’s 1am and I’m tired and achey, but I hear the Marriott lobby party going strong.  The open core of the hotel is thick with hoots and shouts and the constant burble of drunken chatter through a door and eight floors down.  It’ll be louder than this the next few nights.

I want to sleep tonight, and I know I’ll wonder what I missed.

I want to put my shoes on and go rum things up with strangers, but I know I’d regret waking up after noon tomorrow.

The imagined feeling of missing out on something has haunted me for as long as I can remember. Is it one of those things everyone feels all the time? Somewhere, right outside, lots of people are having fun.

It’s like being a wallflower at the biggest party in the world.  The only thing keeping me from joining it is me.

Why? I think there’s something I want from it all, something I expect, that I know I’m not going to get. Something unrealistic.

P.S.,

Jim, stop being such a dick to Malachi and Kimberly.

This is stupid, but maybe typing it out will get it out of my head. It’s World-of-Warcraft-heavy, and it’s disappointing to me that I’m more ashamed of *that* than my continued irrational responses to all kinds of stimuli.

I was having a stable evening. Dinner. Little bit of rum. Video games. Things were okay.

Figured I’d collect some valor points on my warlock, so I joined the Zul’Aman/Zul’Gurub queue. The queues for DPS tend to be long, so I wandered around collecting herbs and fish for twenty minutes. Boring, but it was okay. I was multitasking.

Got into a group for Zul’Aman. Dropped a soul well, summoned up a soul stone. The other DPS were a hunter and a paladin. We got the first boss without incident, then wiped out. The priest quit, and was replaced by a shaman. Killed the boss, moved on toward the second.

I’m watching the damage meters. I’d just upgraded some gear and rearranged enchantments and what-not, so I was keeping an eye on it. The hunter and I were alternating for top dps, with the paladin coming in it about half ours. It always fluctuates for me; some fights high, some low. Average warlock damage tends to go up the longer a fight lasts. I was doing alright.

We finish a trash fight and the hunter says, “lock start pulling ur weight.” I debated telling him to pull my dick, but I figured the charts spoke for themselves.

One fight later — the meters show I did the most damage, but the hunter had a higher DPS rate — I’m voted out of group.

Poof.

Furious.

Follow this with six hours of watching shows on Hulu and playing Serious Sam, and it still makes my innards feel twitchy just to think about it.

…is why being drunk is fun. I can forget all the things I shouldn’t say, and just fucking say them.

Unless I forget.

Let’s see.

I’m still unemployed. I haven’t really been pushing it like I should. It feels like there’s a mental hurdle I need to cross first. The one interview I had went well from a technical standpoint, but met with failure in the business aspects.

Visited Kevin in New Orleans at the end of March, which was a whole bucket of fun. I proposed to a stranger at a bar. (In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing she turned me down.) Kevin’s a gracious and forgiving host, and his girlfriend (despite an unfortunate crayfish habit) is fun.

Dad’s done with his treatments until September, when they inspect him to see if anything’s grown back. We were going to lunch after his weeklies, and that was nice. Had a lot of good Thai with him.

Chad and I still aren’t talking. This bothers me a lot; I’ve had several dreams about it. (In one, Chad performed heart surgery on himself and blamed me for it.) I’m angry, and don’t really know why.

I contracted shingles, of all things. A week and a half of severe back and leg pain before any rash showed up. Antivirals and hydrocodone are doing their jobs. Now I just itch and avoid pregnant women and sick people for three weeks.

Found a lump in Shada’s belly, and took her to the vet. They recommended removal. Spent the morning trying not to freak out. Surgery went well, no complications. Bought a cat-carrier for her, which she spent most of the evening hanging out in after I got her home. She seems to be handling it well.

I’ve skipped stuff, but insisting on documenting everything would prevent me from ever updating at all. Gotta get back on that horse.

It sometimes feels like they can, though. I resigned my job a couple weeks ago. Wednesday was my last day. It was a straw-vs-camel kind of thing; I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I don’t have another job lined up. I don’t even know what I want to do or where I want to go, and I’m okay with that for now.

I’ve been sleeping and reading and watching things on Netflix. (The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, all of Arrested Development and Better Off Ted, 2001, and 2010.)

I took all my old Sailor Jerry bottles to the recycling bins by Hobby Lobby. Total volume came to about 23.75L over two years, not counting a couple fifths that were retired off-site.

I quit eating/drinking a lot of sugar and caffeine, and that lasted for just over a month. It’s slipping back into my diet, but I’m trying to keep the levels low. I tried changing Shada’s diet, too, but I think it’s only made her cranky.

Dad has been in and out of VA hospitals for the last six months. Starting with a heart attack and pneumonia last November, leading up to having tumors removed from his bladder last week. He’s not in great shape, but could be a whole lot worse. I think he’ll be alright.

I need to write more, but it often feels more like something I’m supposed to be doing rather than something I want to do. I know I’ve got plenty to say about the things I’ve summarized here, but digging through the self-criticism (and fear of other-criticism) will take more than I’ve got in me right now.

li iced tea
Corona
Tequila sunrise
SoCo n choke
As ong 1 rock n roll hoochi coo
2 you’re no good you’re nogood
Second drink looked lika a watermelon
3 little sister don’t you do…
Drink: green aple smthng
4 gimme the brat bous n fre my soul
5 .. I’M a red neck woman…
6 hang on loosely
7 hot me with you r best shot
? Bobby mcgee
? Stone temple pilots
? Tool? Rlly?
? Fatbotto mgirl
? You got to chang your evil ways
? Wheel in the sky
Bought yay grr bombs for doghouse n cheryl n me
? Favorite mistake
Bartender name is Shayne
? Mustang salt
? Smrhbog bu marvin gaye Lets get out on

Ohmy gof lost track of like five out six drinks.  I think thr bartender is reusing to serve me baileys. 

Omg thw are doing Rush gilded cage

? Stevie nicks will you ever win  Rhiannnnnnnnnnnon 
? You can leave type hat on I your a crazy bitch

(barf)

Sar live (later ediT: the band is naemd ‘some assembly required’)

   Crazy train

Left..too drunk. Walking home.  fun

I guess I should clean them out of here some time.

I used to think this was good for me, but I’m now wondering if it’s simply enabling; a way to let me have the small audience I want but don’t need. This provides a podium. A pulpit. A place it feels safe to speak.

Sounds contrary to how I think of myself. That’s not an objective viewpoint, though.

I need to get back on the whole self-improvement wagon, but have been fighting it. I’m not happy with who I am, and there are things about my personality and behavior I want to change. At the same time, that’s… me. Who am I without these aspects? Without these feelings?

I feel like I have things to post, but when I go to post them, there’s nothing there.

Bits of Dragon*Con were enjoyable, but I spent most of it in my head, and you can imagine what that’s like.

It was good to see some Cookeville- and Atlanta-friends again.

Talked to Donna yesterday. Just chatted about random stuff. It was fine.

And then I crashed.

I felt lousy the rest of the day at work, then went home and straight to bed. I was better when I woke up–a soft-reset usually helps–but still not great. The prior week’s worth of relative steadiness was blown.

It wasn’t even about Donna. It was everything.

Now I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t want to be here, but I can’t think of anywhere better to be.

Around and around and around.

Why am I excited about Dragon*Con? When I get back, nothing will have changed. I’m still going to hate this job. I’ll still believe the things I believe.

I feel like a fool.