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at the same time.

amirite.

Why does everything change n always have to be so final???
I am starting to wonder if I'm allowed to be happy because everything gets wetched away, time n time again n it's just too damn much.
And always so final
but I have to act normal.

No I'm not allowed to be happy I'm just not.
It's easier to be miserable because nothing is lost then is it.

Same with codeine......
With with the family I was going to have......

All , all gone.

Now it's happening again.
And I have to act normal again.

Sigh
Ugh.

one dream a few days ago i was eating and then realized what i was eating were beetles, which could resemble scarabs.

there was a male friend, who looked hispanic with plenty of native american, south american native in him, but it was said that he was scottish. he did have a good deal of "caucasian" to his structuring, possibly. but his skin was darker. spanish.

we were in an apartment. i don't remember a lot. but we sort of shared a place. but i was supposed to be on a team with him, in some form, and i kept forgetting what i was doing- a feeling akin to joining a mission in a game, like grand theft auto, and then forgetting i was playing, neglecting the team, and failing, and this happened at least a couple of times.

he was a really nice, beautiful male. intelligent, rational, but at one point, he got tired of me dozing, and lifted up a gun and shot me in the head, i think. or he was going to. but that's certainly not the end.

i ate a beetle or five, not realizing what i was doing- thinking i was eating other things, and i know it happened multiple times.

a dominant color in memory was blue.

it might be easy for me to want them to be something associated and recognizable, as a scarab. i just know they were beetles. the only easy tie to scarab besides their look, generally, is that scarabs are symbols of rebirth, and this being in some apartment, which may have been a new home, resonates with my searching for a rebirth- a new apartment. that, and the fact that i think i was shot in the head and didn't die.

-------

i just woke up from a dream where i remember i was playing a game, as well. my brother was also playing. cars were being driven. there was ice on the road. there were kids, who looked up to people. can't remember a lot of it. it was like real life, mixed with a game. we had reached some level. friends were involved. i remember my friend alston was around. many people from my school- schools growing up.

but something changed. i remember woods. and being on some mission. and i was with a group, a small group, and we were gaining points, moving up, up a hill, there is a concrete and rock barrier. i raise up, and don't have my weapon drawn, but my team takes out the enemies. though, i feel a bit worthless, having forgot, again, to have my weapon out and ready.

my brother was in some vehicle. he entered an interstate, perhaps sliding down. i followed, and there was enough ice to where i had no traction, and was sideways.

then i was on roller blades, and i was nearly flying through the air, and when I would land, i would grind, on edges, but only very lightly would i seem to touch, and then i'd be off again, seemingly, like there was little gravity-- that i got to defy it.

once, i flew past people, thinking i would rest within their stream a little, but i just flew, and kept going, flying along in the air, clearing many obstacles with ease. the last part i remember was being over a track of sorts, or skating rink/track, with a central, park area, or just an area with a big rock or many, and grass, and shrubs.

i seem to remember a friend, brian... we call him burgy- short for his last name, who was living in a van, with his girlfriend. in her home, but in his van.

I went home and put some chicken in the oven, to wake me up- to give me energy before being away for another 4 hours or so. I decided to take a hit of DMT, while I waited for the chicken to cook. Not what I would usually do, but I wanted to get something inside my head, to stimulate me. It was a very light hit... From residue in the pipe. Before this, I was getting a little too warm, and zzz-ing a little in my eyes and brain. After, not much changed, but my mood was better, and I got a warm tryptamine feel. And I accepted loss. I accepted nothing. I wasn't afraid of nothing. I didn't care if I died, on the way back, from my run. But I wanted to complete the job.

I ate, and Tom called me at 4 to make sure I was about to get on the road, while I was. Yes. Planned to get on the road about 430.


It was about 440 when I did finally leave, which normally would be plenty of time to get there well before I needed to, but I did underestimate the effects of the sleet and ice it caused on the road. It ended up taking me right up until around 7 to get there, and on the way, I rarely could go above 60, and saw many vehicles had slid off the road. One truck had already jack-knifed. A jeep had rolled and the roof was crushed. A big four wheel drive truck was off to the side, in a ditch. Most cars seemed to not go past 35 mph in places, while I maintained about 60, flying past. I just got an alignment, as my car just got repaired, so this helped. I did slow considerably in areas, however. Once I reached around Batesville, or south of it, the roads got better. It was just water then, and I had full traction. By Cincinnati, I could drive completely normally, and I ended up at my destination, Delta on Kenton Dr, in Hebron/Florence KY, right at about 6:55.

Inside Delta's receiving, to tender, there was another courier before me. He knew the girl behind the counter, as they worked together often. He joked, and said that he was delivering a bomb- that his package was a bomb. And then she light-heartedly, but seriously acknowledged, "we're not supposed to say that"- that anyone else, anywhere else, would or could be detained. He presented his I.D. for her, and she took his birthday down (or expiration date, which is often the same), which was 9/23, as I heard spoken.

Her name was Kathy, and she was really helpful. By the time it was my turn, though, she asked what my cut-off time was, and I, never running these kind of runs, never tendering a package this sensitive/important before, didn't know about cut off times. The plane I knew was leaving at 8. I figured this was enough time. But the computer wouldn't let her enter it in at 7:05, so we had to communicate with my company, then the company we represent, to put it on the next flight, two hours later, to Atlanta. It's final destination, Kennesaw.

I was attracted to Kathy. She was older, and not little "vixen" hot, like I sometimes go for, or others, but something about her just seemed like she would be fun in the sack, and she wasn't married, and was just extremely nice, and forgiving, and willing to teach me the rules of how it is done/walk me through things there.

It took about 40 minutes to get everything worked out.

I played on OkCupid and got a match with a girl who was in Lawrenceburg. We both swiped right. But her town was Rising Sun, I seem to remember at first, and then it changed (But was it St. Something?). I told her "Good Morning". Her name, Cappe.

When 8 o'clock rolled around, driving back, I called Whole Foods, on the off-chance that someone found, and turned in my money order. Brandon who I was speaking with asked my name, and the amount it was for, and said he would call me back. At about 8:30, Brandon called me back, sounding positive, and said that they did indeed have it there. A customer had turned it in, and it was in the safe.

Relief.

The roads were good until I got closer to central Indiana, where they got steadily worse, from a little icy and sleet on the road, to more and more accumulation, and crawling traffic closer. I still managed to maintain 50-60 mph, driving by many who were going slower. Fresh alignment is great. Once again, though, I saw cars off the side of the road, and another truck-trailer off the side of the road, and turned around. I don't let my speed get out of control. I feel it all in my ass, and feet. I feather the pedal.

Picked up my money order at Whole Foods, saw Mel, again, from a distance, and the lady who checked me out told me stories about how she found a 6-thousand dollar watch on the floor once, somewhere, and turned it in, and at her old job, someone found a diamond ring in the bathroom, where a woman had taken it off to wash her hands and forgot it, and it was turned in, and nobody ever claimed that. I was lucky that whoever found it, did. It was blank, receipt attached. I wanted to give a reward of some kind, but I don't know who it was, so I might donate 20 bucks or something to charity. And they might have rewarded themselves.

"Cappe" said good morning back, right around this time.

I went home, ate some chicken, and put on Stargate, on Netflix, and then passed out.

-------

Order for Kathy Mackey, born 11/9, I thought of 9/11, I parked behind 661, John's vehicle, and my vehicle is 991.
Kathy was also the name of the last woman I dealt with, for work, besides some communication with, I forget who, and Jessica, at work, over the phone.
689 was 23 and fireman red at Kendra Booth's house, on Christopher, where on the way, after picking up a heart and veins on Guion (Guion- "Commonly, a banner, but ecclesiastically a cross carried in procession. In this case since it is distinguished from a silver processional cross, it is probably of wood."), I thought I lost a lot of money. Christ resonates with sacrifice.
9/23 after "bomb" from the guy ahead of me, at Delta, with Kathy, on Kenton Dr, where I took the heart to go to Atlanta/to Kennesaw as far as I had knowledge.

For plates, I could read into letters, but I try to streamline sometimes, and not obsess, or go crazy. I know that after I picked up Kendra's stuff, I saw a car that had a plate that said "Indian 1" and it seemed interesting to see, then pulling into my complex to get my phone that I had forgotten, I saw "Graham 1" ahead of me, driving through the gates. At home, a name with the meaning "gravel + homestead", or "gray home".

This was my uncle's bookmark for years (this is a copy that I requested after they read it at his funeral, that I found cleaning out my apartment). He died on a date of 5/1, and was born on one of 1/5.

From there, I went to drop off the heart and veins at our office, for someone else to pick it up later, to be driven to Cincinnati. Tom, my dispatcher, called me prior to me dropping off, to see if I would want it. I was already thin, and didn't really want it. I said "probably not". But then after dropping off, and telling him I might change my mind, if the weather wasn't bad (winter storm coming then), and that I would call him, I changed my mind as I drove away, coming back to pick them up. I figured, why did I say no to a 90 dollar run, when I just lost 480? Dumb me, I felt, so I went and got it. I said no at first because I'm off at 5 usually, and didn't want to drive on ice. The drop off time was 7 A.M. nearly 2 hours away.

So I went home, to eat something, and rest. And started to get a little tired. Kind of kicked myself for volunteering.

Tom called me with another order, which annoyed me, because I wanted to rest up a little. Maybe take a nap. Eat. Not that I had a lot of time. This order was going just a few miles away, in Carmel, to a nursing home. Picking up right where it drops off- Next door. He first called me once and I just watched the phone alert me of the call, grumbling, "you mother fucker", "leave me be"- along those sentiments. He called me right back, so I picked up. I like to wait sometimes and make them call someone else. It gets old being bothered at all possible times for 12 hours. And my patience was a lot times worse right now, given that I was trying to find out how to cancel a payment with Western Union, having collected the information for the order earlier from the vendor, and nearly everything to do with it was fucking automated. Every person referred me to an automated line, which instructed me to fill out a thing at the vendor, and mail it in, where they would research it, and by that time if the order had gone missing, blank, it would be used. It was all rather annoying, and was really strange to me why I couldn't just call them up and say "here is the serial number, I just got it, and lost it. Please stop the payment. Thank you.". Like I was being tested. So I had other things than working on my mind.

But I said yes, first asking if he had anyone else- to which he said, "no, Tracy and someone are picking up organ orders and...", so I said okay.

I went and picked up, in Carmel, on Rangeline, and delivered on Medical. The order was for Kathy Mackey, born 11/9 (birthday is required for verification in many cases). I parked behind a van, at the facility. I didn't recognize it at first, but the numbers were 661, which I recognized, but didn't make a conscious connection at first. I walked to the door and tried to use the month and year to enter, punching it in on the keypad, but it didn't work. I turned around and recognized the vehicle as John Dawson's. John is a courier with us. "WTF". I wondered why Tom told me he had nobody else, when John is there right then. Why he made me come all this way, when John was already there, and likes to just hang out in the area to gather up the runs around there, as that's his route, commonly, 6 days a week. I called the living-facility because I couldn't get in, and a girl came out and let me in, telling me the numbers I pressed were right, but now you have to press star at the end. New keypad. Inside, O'Dowd (or O'Doud, meaning descended from the dark one) signed for the order, and I went looking for John, to see what was going on... If he was asleep, or phone didn't have reception. Nowhere to be found, where I looked, so I left, and called the office, to bitch a little at Tom (I'm always nice though, more asking what happened, informing), but couldn't get in touch with him as he was taking a call. I talked to someone else, a girl- I forget her name as I rarely have to speak with them, and asked for John's number. She was friendly, and gave it to me. I called him, told him about what happened, and he was surprised, and laughing, but also mad enough to say "I've had it", and head home. He had been waiting for two hours at that point. And was passed up. Tom, apparently, didn't know John was on schedule, but he is always on that schedule, and in the area until 4 A.M. It was then about 2.

It had started to sleet.

My first order, last night, was a pick-up of medications at a place in Carmel, going to Fairland. I had time- they weren't going to be ready with it yet, so I delayed a little, and decided I should get my money order taken care of, for rent... even if I decide not to stay where I am, just to get it out of the way. So I went to Kroger, and nobody was there at the customer service desk. I had time, but not that much time. I said "What the fuck", or "Mother fucker", or both, as I waited. I only waited about 20 seconds, though, before a very petite Latin-looking girl came my way. I quickly changed moods, as to not let it wash over. I understand how things go. I was just in a rush. But that is me. She was nice.

As I was at the counter, another male- Young Black, came and got change for a five. The money order was for 482 dollars. On the way out, I walked out first, with the money order blowing in the wind in my hand, and he was walking behind me but quickly overtook me from behind. Here, I did have a thought as he was behind me, "what if he ran up and grabbed it out of my hands"- and had a thought to just give it to him, after. To let go of the money (I kind of wish I had it to give).

I went to my car, and drove across the street, to Whole Foods. On the way in I don't know why I still had it with me- the money order, but I folded it up and put it in my pocket. I bought some apple cider vinegar, that I had forgotten the first time I went that day. In line, I went to "Mel"'s line, and a male nurse was ahead of me. Very tall, bearded, and wearing bright colors. Mel began to re-tie her apron, and as she did I sort of checked her out, as it exposed a rather shapely, sexy body, as she made it snug around her. The curve of her back, to her ass, and her breasts from her chest and to lower abdomen. She turned her head to see me, and smiled, as I did, to her- the social smile we all do to disarm each other/ourselves. Once it was getting to be my turn, I turned around and saw a lady, who also did the social smile, as I did back. Mel said goodbye to the towering, bearded male nurse, but it was actually hello to me. I thought she said "have a good one" to him. It was "how are you doing?". It took me a second to process it back, but then caught it, and laughed, and explained, and she joined the laugh.

I dropped my money order in there, but didn't realize, until later.

After there, I went straight north, to pick up the order, a couple of miles away, and it wasn't ready yet, so I went inside and hung out in the presence of the girls who were packing it.

They told me it was promised before 10, but that they had told the customer that it might be later. It was about 9:10 by the time I got loaded, about a half hour after it was supposed to be done.

After this, I went to get my phone that I had forgotten at my apartment. This would still put me there at about 10 or before, at the destination. I need the phone for GPS and to receive orders. And the apartment isn't far out of the way. But I picked that up, and then as I sat at the gate trying to figure out which way to go out of it- which way was faster- right to Michigan down to 65-465-74 or left to Ditch to Spring Mill, to 465-74, I got a call telling me of another order, picking up a heart and veins at an organ procurement place. At first the dispatcher intended to have me do this after, but I told him where I was, and we both seemed to think that I could get there to pick that up and make it to the other drop off, not much later than I was supposed to be there- not much later than 10. I was wrong.

By the time I picked up the heart and veins, it was 9:50. At this point I had 10 minutes to drive a half hour's worth of driving to make it on time. And as I got in my car, I realized something: My money order was missing. Nowhere in my pockets, or car. I cursed God, many times, starting then. I wanted to die. It's better to be/have nothing-- Nothing can be taken away. I was really frustrated. I had just lost my rent money, and didn't have surplus. I'd have to ask my dad, again, for cash, for help. This messed me up, on the way to Fairland. I got on 65, wanting to go back and retrace my steps but knowing it was important what I was doing now- knowing I had to keep going, despite myself. But my mind was taking me north. I didn't stay on 65. 65 and 38th street run together where I entered it, sort of. I missed the fork to go on 65 and stayed on 38th, and went miles out of the way, in city traffic. This wasted a further 20 minutes, or so.

By the time I got to Christopher Ln, in Fairland- the location of the patient, Kendra Booth, it was 45 minutes late, and I just realized seeing a nurses car from St. Franciscan, what kind of order this was... One of those where they come out and set up chemotherapy (or something), and teach the patient and family how to do it. The license plate of this vehicle began with 689- numbers I see "23" with. They add to 23, and of any combination of numbers as are standardized, they are the most balanced, together (visually), and share commonalities, in that they all have the circle, like 0. They are like zero. Blood vessels are circles. Eyes are circles. Orbits. Circles of legs as they propel. Joint movements. Eggs. Stars. Earth. Hmm. Try to argue it. I know you want to. I'm just so obvious that it's hard to accept. So simple. You can fight it (you will), but you will lose. The circle is just simple. Common. Balance. Flow.

The husband, Brian, signed for it. He didn't express anger, or anything, but as I turned around and saw the wife, Kendra, she seemed a little annoyed at how long it took. I apologized as much as I could, without going over. The husband was wearing a shirt identifying membership to a firefighters union. He had a red-beard, and hair.

In my dream my dad gave me a bandaid, at a dance, where my old soccer buddies showed up for some reason. I showed up with them. We were older. My ex was there, but it as if I didn't know her- not that I didn't remember, but like nothing effected me. Nothing like that mattered. I didn't hate her. I just didn't see a reason for interrupting her life, or mine, with her.

She was at her last winter dance, for her school. She was still in high school, where in life she is out of college. She was telling a story about when I was with her, I heard. I remembered one time trying ecstasy, but with her friends, and she decided not to take any, in the dream- like her story. And she was totally naked, she said. I seemed to create a memory of this. Her friend and I did- a guy friend. Maybe another.

There was a closeness with myself and the guys I was with- my once team. They were more conditioned than me. I had forgotten about playing soccer. They had played since high school. But there was a physical comfort of being near them. Almost like one would feel with a girl, minus sexuality. I was wearing the clothes I fell asleep in. My pajama pants, and a faux fur-lined hoody, unzipped, and I was very chill, and at times in other parts of the dream, so weak that I couldn't speak, such as earlier, when I met other friends, and again was too weak to speak, or move at times.

In one scene a guy who used to give me some problems- gave everyone problems, yet was himself very intelligent, and talented, he gave me a ride home, and we got along fine. He no longer tried to act dominant. I didn't take anything to heart. And we both seemed to be eating these nicotine candies. Discs of white, where pieces would break off in the shape of pieces of pizza. We were eating these, and both seemed to be passing out, or very, very weak.

Once he gave me a ride home, from where we were. My place was like a studio, with a back porch, and a back yard. His car seemed like you had to lay back in it, or else there would be no room for your head. It was first a tiny car, but he dropped me off, and it seemed larger, like a Jeep Wrangler, when I saw it earlier, as he hadn't moved. He just fell asleep in it, as I slept inside. And I thought about being nice to invite him inside, but I figured nah, he's fine, or didn't want to bother him. And I went outside and he turned into a snake. A very giant snake. Moving around rapidly, through my yard. I laid down on his car, and only once was I afraid of it hurting me. It was maybe 30 feet long. Really it's hard to be sure because it might have been only 12 at times, or less. And it may have never reached 30 feet but it didn't seem to only be local to it's position. I could only keep track of so much of it. Only once was I afraid. Then I had faith. I knew that it would either hurt me/kill me, or not. The only thing I wasn't looking forward to was continuing pain.

When my fear went away, the snake didn't seem to have any interest in hurting me. It just moved about, very fast, in the air, and on the ground around me.

I remember people were helping me move. Stuff was here, then it was not. More and more was going away. I was slightly embarrassed by the shape of my love-seat, as the cushions are missing their covers right now, and I usually just cover it with a bed-sheet. My marijuana pipes were sitting out in the open, and my mom and sister could see them, but it didn't seem to matter. Some people I didn't know where there.

At some point I went and saw this girl who has been showing interest in me, who works at Whole Foods. She works the register, and sees me coming from a ways away, lighting up. Last time I did go, Melissa next to her, a woman I've known for about 8 years, as she worked at another market I frequented, and I worked there for a second- she said she can take me in the lane next to this other girl's, Lora's. She said "Jeff I can take you over here", and Lora expressed excitement over learning my name, telling me that I never introduced myself to her. Though, I run my credit card every time. But she came over and stood within an inch of me, talking to me, as I was being checked out, talking to me. In my dream I met her and her friends in a food court, but I soon passed out with my pajama pants and unzipped hoodie, mouth probably open, knocked out, face toward the ceiling, and they left.

Then I talked to Brian, a friend from my home town, who I used to always hang out with, and then sort of lost contact with over the last 8 years. I apologized that I was always suffering from some reaction, and it was hard to talk. I'm not even sure if he understood (dream).

Back to the dance, which was the very end of the dream...

I remember pictures were taken of me, that I didn't remember. Us guys were also couriers, and we were waiting to enter a room that was accessible by the dance floor/gymnasium. The room had packages for us to deliver, that we usually picked up by 2 P.M. Not sure why the dance was at that time, but anyways. And there was water in the room, too. Places where our packages were, was a big mobile dumping thing with lots of water in it. Or just.. thing that you can put stuff in, that is deep. I didn't see inside but I somehow knew.

The pictures taken of me, were model like. They were perhaps taken of all of us, and we were also, apparently, part of the show, "The Bachelor", but we were all this (and, in life, they are not, some of them). "Hot dudes"! One picture of me, I had a cock in my mouth. I was going down on a guy. Not sure who. But I only remember my picture being taken, by a ghost, seemingly. And I was always nearly passing out, or very, very relaxed.

I didn't quite mind this. I didn't care what people thought. Even if it wasn't real/That I can't remember actually doing this, it just wasn't a big deal to me. Those that it matters that much to, to change much how they treat me, would not matter to me. They wouldn't know me. I still knew I liked girls. But I did play into it, when asked by one person later if I'm the guy in that picture, saying that "I'm not, but uh... I don't know. Could explain why I don't get along with women"- which isn't exactly true... Just that to this point I have not had a successful relationship past a certain point (when it wasn't).

The party died down. Only older people were left.

My dad gave me a band-aid, after writing a letter, with strange writing. I just realized he had heard the entire thing. He didn't seem phased, or to care.

He gave me this band-aid, and I wondered, and said perhaps "why did you give me this band-aid?". No answer. But I do remember him saying "Claim it with a passion!". I'm not sure, still, what he means. I'm not gay. I still want and want to be wanted, by girls. I love the attention of any. Guys mainly flatter me, if they do show special attention in that way. I'm not ready to accept that. It's not as natural. It's not the end, for me, that makes the beginning- the new. It's a dead end. It's a side-game, at best.

I took his, my dad's, "claim it with a passion", as toward my apartment. The one he would tell me to do that with is 531, here in this same complex, which I have again been leaning toward moving into. I just want them to install recycled carpet with low voc glue, or water based glue, and I will try it. I like having the ease of my own washer and dryer. Nothing has really jumped out at me as something I want, that I have seen, enough to make a change. They all come with their own problems. Like gas stoves. But I can buy a countertop, portable oven, for what I make. I never use the stove tops, anymore. And I can buy my own portable washer and dryer. I'm considering another, 1250 sq foot apartment, as well, but it has the gas, and would be a bitch to heat in the winter. Expensive as hell. Unless I just brought a space heater where I was at.

But he gave me this band-aid. I had no idea why. It was a prominent question.

I woke up, shortly after, and my foot went straight down on a light-bulb that I had seemed to miss the other times. I usually don't get out that way, but I have a line of clothes yet to be folded on one side of my bed- the side I usually get out of. All I heard was a loud cracking, and soon a little pain. Then blood, as I checked it. Pulled the piece(s) out, and cleaned up. Bleeding stopped with hot water. No band-aid required.

"This Life Counts! Im humoruse, I'm a writer, an artist and a musical genius. I love cooking. I am a true spiritualist."

:D

I met a girl yesterday. She gave me a tour of an apartment, at a place called Fountainhead Apartments, one community north of the one I am in, which is Reflections.

She reminded me a little of a little of the girl I asked to marry me, Alisha Finch, who wanted what I wanted, but this is a long story, and I let her go. It was in her eyes- Tricia's eyes, that she looked very similar, though hers were blue, and Alisha's were green. There was just something familiar.

As we entered the apartment that she was showing to me, she mentioned her son having a reconstructive ear surgery just recently. She said he lost two of his ear bones to an infection/disease... That they were ate up by it. I'm familiar with this, as I went through the same thing. I said, "cholesteatoma?", and she said yes, surprised I knew, and expressed relief to find someone who knew about it- who identified, and who had had it. I was the first person she had met, besides her son, to have had this disease, and she was the first person I have met to at least be this close to it.

I advised her to get her son tested for food allergies. Milk is a prominent allergy, and is said to be responsible for many cases of chronic ear infections- the cause of this cholesteatoma. Allergies don't often cause obvious symptoms, to ones who wouldn't know what to look for. I know that I could have been saved a lot of trouble had mine been identified from an early age. I only realized when I was 27.

I said something, asking about her husband, and she said that she is not married. And I looked at her ring, saying "what? uh, I thought..", and she said that she bought that at Wal-Mart because a guy was filming her when she was showing him an apartment some weeks back. That it was recommended by a sheriff that helps with security there. I got an erection, then, and had to try to maintain stability in conversation, as before I approached her respectfully, as a non-single lady. And she was open, and was quick to tell me that she was not married. And, with our connection (shared disease, among them), and her comments on liking my five finger shoes, and not being in a hurry to get back to her office, nor even answer her son's texts (8 years old-- I told her to, but she kept talking to me), it seemed she might be open, to me.

At some point before or after, I showed her a picture, on my phone, of millipedes that I found in the apartment I was supposed to move into in my current complex. She said that her son has the same phone.

I saw some ants once, in the kitchen, walking down the wall next to the bar. Two of them, walking together. She said that she thought that they were cute, and I thought that was cute.

I noticed she had a patch of facial hair, under her jaw-line, on the left side. I had to do a double take. Otherwise she's very feminine, and not unattractive, though not perfect physically- not fully aligned teeth/crooked, yada yada, not perfect form, yada. The hair, understandably, might trouble a male to see. As much time as girls spend on their face, I have seen far too many that totally miss hair under their chin, or along the jaw-line. Not a lot, but still.

Alisha had the same thing. But I made her aware of it. And I think it made her insecure, even though I was trying to be as unarmed about it as possible.

I'm not trying to be shallow. Just that it connected. I am certainly not perfect.

Alisha, who I asked to marry me (the only one), who had my mother's maiden name, and who's name can calculate to 23 by numerology, though I didn't know it then even though I went on and on about the number to her, first of all (for girls), has the average sum of all four names of the four girls who I dated seriously, in life- those ones I invested in. Names Marilyn, Alisha, Sara, Katie, beginning with Katie, and ending with Marilyn. Mask.

I think she- Trica had the surgeries her son had mixed up, but I am not sure. I got the impression that he got the mastoidectomy in November, on the same side as mine, and if that is the case then he will have reconstructive surgery about 8 months or so after that, to give the disease any chance to grow back (it's a benign tumor), if it would- it would in that time most likely. To give that chance, before attempting reconstruction.

Later, I went to Whole Foods, and ran into a guy that I frequently talk to, named Matt. He works behind the meat counter, and has made a point to remember my name. He is often hard to hear, speaking without enough volume, because his ears are messed up. He told me he is supposed to wear hearing aids, but doesn't. I ask him to repeat himself. He also asks me, sometimes. But he's not the only one, because my problem is similar to his, in that I have ear problems, and I also speak too quietly for people, sometimes... Or used to. I don't seem to have any problem lately, with the common person.

I seem to catch Matt on his breaks, a lot. He'll be going on break when I am there. It could just be and probably is because I go often the same time each day, though yesterday I went at a different time.

On the way out, a girl, Lora, a girl who seems to have taken a liking to me, tells me I am a machine, when she asks if I am still drinking so much apple juice, after I told her I am also drinking 16 oz of apple cider vinegar a day. I said "we're all machines". And she said that I am like Optimus Prime. I was a little perplexed by her comment for a second, and smiled, saying that that is a compliment. She smiled, and said "I know".

Today, as I am getting to my car, I see a girl next to it, messing around with the trunk of hers. It was closed, and as I walk by, she opens it. Her car is a hatchback. I first did notice just her, and a slender, but in shape body, with tight, black pants on like so many girls wear. Straight, healthy looking brown hair. I look, but of course try not to stare. She opens her trunk to situate something inside, before going inside the Whole Foods. I see a picture of what looks like a bus, going into a tunnel. It is a watercolor painting. The bus is greenish. Teal-ish. It is a striking piece of work. It caught my eye. So I did stare at it. She noticed me looking at it, as I put stuff away in my trunk, next to her, and seemed to hold off shutting her hatchback. Then I asked if that was her art. She said, "If you can call it art". I went closer, and asked if she minded. She said she didn't, and then moved a steering wheel cover that was laying around the greater part of the image, to let me see more of it. She asked me if I was an artist, and I said, "eh... I don't know.", and she laughed.

She began to explain the image to me, and I noticed her accent. Eastern European/Russian. From her speaking, I thought she was older. Older than me. I hadn't yet made direct contact on her face... only her shape. She explained her image as inspired by selective hearing. There were "thought bubbles" around, and some on a traincar (but I said bus, before, in this), going into an ear, which I had just noticed. Above, it said "To Brain". At the brain- or closest in where the brain might be, there was a clock. It was hard to tell at first what everything was, but it was all interesting to look at without knowing at first. Something about the details. There was a lot going on. It was cool to find out what it was.

We made eye contact, for the first time, and I was struck with how blue her eyes were. Very light, light blue. Hair dark brown, straight. Skin smooth, white. Looked younger- mid twenties. I asked her if she was Russian, and she said yes, but I could tell there was some hesitation. I told her I worked with a lot of Russians, when I delivered pizza for Dominos, some years back, and she connected- her father worked there for many years. She told me his name, but it didn't ring a bell. He stopped working there before I got there. But, she knew Vlad, and some others who worked there. Alex, too, and others. She said that this is a "small town". I think I didn't catch her expression, as she seemed serious. I said, "eh, not really"- as it's really with about a million people or so. I don't know. Around there.

At some point she worked in that she was actually Estonian, when I asked another question. I sort of apologized for assuming she was Russian- that it was her accent, but she basically said she is- and that her parents are from Belarus, and that they all speak Russian.

Her name is Anna. Ah-Nah.

So, I've just finished reading yet another frothing-at-the-mouth hysteria piece about a "deadly new drug corrupting our youth"; it goes without saying the drug is relatively benign compared to some the shit you can buy legally. (I'm referring to kratom of all things btw) they were even trying to claim people have begun snorting and shooting it..(ha!) Rather than get depressed about the blatant sensationalism of our gutter press, I decided to write a spoofy little news story of my own. Here it goes, and I apologise for the length of my first blog: (it's lampooning the media's methods, and people who have strong opinions of drug users, while remaining ignorant of the nature of addiction; I am an addict myself btw)


The Daily Disinformation can reveal worrying new reports of a deadly new drug ravaging our nation: it's called homeopathic morphine, and every day millions of your poor, innocent children are becoming trapped in its deadly claws. It's fatal, It's addictive, and we have absolutely no medical evidence to prove this. People are flocking to homeopathy clinics in record numbers to obtain this vile poison, and nobody can testify to this fact more than brave recovering addict Irene Puddlefish:

"It's destroyed my life. I would go "doctor shopping" for homeopathic morphine, paying up to 2000 per visit for consultations and prescriptions. It all began when I started searching for a cure for my terminal hypochondria. Conventional medicine wouldn't help me; they said i was neurotic. I found that cure, and I found a world of pain and misery, in homeopathic morphine. It gave me a mild sense of well being and relaxation. (Although that could have just been my imagination). I would visit these doctors at least 5 times per day, and I'll never forget the deadly anticipation I would feel as they were filling my prescription. They would hand over the little sugar pills treated with a single drop of water, containing one part morphine per 100 trillion parts water. I was driven, and utterly obsessed. Until the day I discovered I was addicted, and would suffer the most excruciating withdrawal symptoms if I missed my fix. They were terrible: I would get a vague sense of being off kilter, and a mild sense of being ill-at-ease (Although that could have just been my imagination). At least until the day I decided to check my myself into a 5000 per week rehab clinic. The detox process was hellish. (Although that could have just been my imagination).

I'm clean now, and I'm doing the right things; I'm determined to save our poor, innocent, helpless babies from making the same mistakes I made. ( I have no children; I don't really like them, if I'm honest. But I feel strongly about preventing people from getting high). These days I drive around my city, hissing and snarling at those awful,awful people at methadone clinics. I also enjoy guarding the lobby of my apartment with a loaded handgun, and forcing everybody entering or leaving to take a drug test at gunpoint. Once, somebody tested positive for cannabis when he tried to leave his home, so I shot him in the face. Twice. It was the only way to help the poor man; i had no choice. The government gave me a medal: Brave Hero of the War Against Drugs. It was the proudest moment of my life."

We at the Daily Disinformation do not condone shooting recreational
Drug users in the face. Parents, if your worried about your kiddies becoming addicted to homeopathic morphine, we strongly advise you to do the smart thing and drug test them regularly. Or you could just drag them to a rehab clinic, just to be safe. At gunpoint, if necessary.

We think its high time somebody finally says: wont somebody PLEASE think of the children!?

Editors note: Irene Puddlefish is a fictional character; we made her up on the back of a fag packet to make you take us seriously. It's been a very slow news week. We're confident your not reading this, however; it's more than likely your already grabbing your pitchforks and torches.

Normal week at school, last night we bout 3g, got a bus down to Croachy and Angus got a lift up. It was just Me Ethan and Angus. Went down to the bridge and smoked only two joints, the sky was amazing before we smoked anything.

After the two I was higher than I had ever been before. Everything was shaking and fuzzy, peoples faces changed into a completely different person. Everything was flashing and swirling. Even though I had walked that road hundreds of times in my life it was like I had never seen it before. I was hyper as hell for 4 hours or so.

I remember feeling like I was soaking wet, drenched in water and soaking wet hair. I started pretending half a pineapple was a fish, and that the room was a fish tank and I was underwater. Mother was just laughing I was so baked. She told us not to smoke anymore but of course we did, which annoyed her. The next 2 did nothing relative to the first 2, they were just like normal joints. We played halo for an hour or so and went to bed after my Mum started shouting at us. Still a joint sitting in my box Ethan forgot. It was his weed.

Mum is now in town doing stuff and getting me new phone. Jack le maitres mental sesh tonight isn't worth the hassle, no-one is going. Its his birthday as well. Poor fat guy.

Imagine you've lived your whole life in the US, or another 1st-world western nation, being told every day you're free.

Look at the people around you.

Now tell me which ones are free?

Free from debt?

Anxiety?

Stress?

Fear?

Failure?

Indignity?

Betrayal?

Discrimination?

Free from being told what they can or cannot ingest?

How many would consider themselves free?

How many wish they were born knowing what they know now?

Ask yourself how many would do things the same way all over again?

Hiya Everyone

Please can someone help me delete blogs. I use them to vent when angry as a way of TRYING not to do so in the threads. But when I do so, it says I do not have permission to do so. It's so frustrating. I've already put a thread in 'Support,' about this but I really would like to delete my own blogs.
If there are any administrators / moderators reading this, please, please, PLEASE help me with this so that I am able to delete my blogs.
As I use them as a way to vent when I'm angry I really don't want a list of negative blogs for people so read so if anyone could help me with this I would be sincerely grateful.

Please take care everyone and all the best,
Evey xxxx

Things are simple, got baked off powdered pollen yesterday at lunch. Was very anxious for some reason while smoking it but walking to ASDA in the sun I felt a general sense on contentment. We got more after school and met forbes for the first time in months. I enjoyed being with him as he was fairly mellow, but still pretty boasty. Last night I was completely zoned out. Everything looked like a sketch or drawing, was enjoyable.

Only problem was we watched a film last night that I thought I had never seen before, although it seemed strangely familiar. About half way through I realised I had seen it before, but when VERY high so remembered nothing about it. I still remember very little of it after watching it a second time... Not sure that's a good thing.

Does my drug of choice really make me a bad person? Is the scarlet letter on my forehead truly deserved? What have I done to you? I carry no ill will towards you and I am genuinely sorry we cant keep being friends. I wish this could have ended differently.

Wiki: "In the context of bipolar disorder, a mixed state is a condition during which symptoms of mania and depression occur simultaneously."

Its pretty fucking weird and I don't like it and when it gets to be too much I go back on the meds again. I just took 20mg of Celexa (which has been upped to 40 but I haven't even started taking it). Tommorow night I will start off with a small dose of Seroquel and prepare for weeks of deep sleep. Oh well atleast I'll be sane (in my own way).

No more self-medicating bipolar with weed for me. It worked to an extent but it can't do the job on its own. Its amazing that I have as severe of a case of bipolar and was able to make it for quite a while only taking a low dose benzo for anxiety and smoking a half a gram a day or so of pot. No crazy meds needed.

Chemical lobotomy here I come! At this point I welcome one. Peace out bluelight. I've got to figure out whether I'm happy, sad, or pissed the fuck off.

Edit: Oh and best of all even though I still like to smoke pot and drink on the meds I pretty much can't. Once I have taken a Seroquel I'm good for maybe 3 beers and then I better have my ass in bed.

I am most likely going to have to go AWOL from Bluelight for a bit.

I am quitting smoking as of today and doing everything I can for my health. I am in good health but I am still quite concerned for my well being.

I also have a great deal of things I need to handle in my personal life and that must come first.

I will check in from time to time, but my main concern is my health, doing right by other people, and not causing any harm to myself or anyone else.

I am placing my faith and life in the hands of God and am doing everything in my power to make amends to society and my friends, family, and the human race.

I am sure I will be alright. I have a long road ahead of me and its not going to be easy. I am not exactly worried because I know what I have to do.

I will be OK.

God bless all of you and I pray for everyone's happiness, health, wealth, and well being.

Most sincerely,

Dopemaster

after 1 years,I smoked rock again the other week.
it was my internal driver,my "dark passenger",that out of nowhere put me in a cab from
where I live to downtown.
it can happen.i thought I was safe with my little life in suburbia.
I was a street dope fiend for 10 years.
I changed,became a father,moved as far away from the drug scene as possible.
I have a normal life.I smoke weed,but nothing illegal.
now suddenly I have this huge unrest in in my life.
this secret.(my wife appreciates the weed).
I CAN NOT go down the crack route.
I rearranged my life to never smoke crack again.
I see my kid a lot.
I have cravings ,but not too bad.heroin was my drug,my love.
it was after the subs I found crack.
i hate crack.
my mind is chaos.
thanx those who read.

In my mind, as I wonder by,
I think, re-think, then over-think and give a frustrated sigh,
Inside my mind, so many thoughts,
As I try and count up the numbers, I find myself still in the noughts,

So many issues, somehow all related,
Yet I sit here, powerless and frustrated,
As time goes by, quite an age,
I know, as hard as I try, I'm not on the same page,

Over and over, one tries to do what's best,
Getting overwhelmed not letting things rest,
One tries to so much to give,
Thought what is highlighted is the negative

As I sit here, let the mind wonder, why oh why,
Out comes yet another frustrated sigh
Inside, traveling oh but many miles,
Unnoticed, and unappreciated, one does not recognise any smiles

So many thoughts, over and over in the mind,
Wondering what would happen is one can press rewind,
As inside, far and wide, the mind continues to wonder by,
Asking endless questions; why oh why

Evey - 23/02/2014

I haven't played in a couple of months or so. I injured my thumb a while ago trying to get my car out one day for work awhile back, after there was a lot of snow, and this made videogames very painful to play, and one like Halo, where fast movements are made and the left thumb is frequently clicking the left thumbstick in to run, excruciatingly painful. So I took a break from all games for awhile, then only played GTA 5, as it allows some relaxed play. Finally, my thumb is above 90% I'd say, and it's safe to play Halo, so I did.

The game loads up. I enter multiplayer, and see the list of players I am with, as the game is loading me in. I first see the letters "DEVL", as it seems placed where I would look first, at the beginning of the list, or something. DEVL is the callsign (what is shown above the head, making it easier to call out to people mid battle, shorter than full names) of HG Devilicious- a player on my team, and when I am entered into the game, I realize it is well in-process... That I am being thrown into one, and not started fresh. It starts me off spectating DEVL, as he is launched from the base from some kind of player-launching thing I can't remember the name of. I make a connection. It's been so long since I played Halo. My name is Prisoner of God, on XBOX Live (though allcaps). I struggle with knowing, or not knowing, what is going on. And I have synchronicity in life, that I don't quite know the full "meaning" of. I don't always notice it, or incorporate and focus on everything... I believe some "random" or at least unseen, is necessary. But when I play these games, I often see order in the names, it seems. And numbers.

What does it "mean" that I saw DEVL to start, as I did? I don't know. I just took it to heart.

"Am I the devil? Am I God? Am I an angel?". "Am I dead?". I'm not sure that they are exactly exclusive.

But it threw me in, and I ended up getting a killing frenzy, where I kill 10 players without dying. I killed more, and finally did die. So it's kind of like the break didn't hurt me. I came back as one of the top players. At the game's end, I had the highest score on my team, with 370 points. Coming out on top made me feel good, having entered when they were over a quarter of the way through it seemed, and all the time off.

DEVL was the lowest scorer, on my team. He got a negative 14 kill/death spread. We lost by one kill, and I was this close to killing the guy on their team who seemingly got the last kill. They were right next to me.

Our team was red, and theirs was blue.

I struggled not to make sense of it/to make sense of it. There was more, but I don't want to get too complicated.

The top killer on my team had 23 kills. This came on the 23rd, which was my first day back, and 23 is a special number to me... Not that one two and three aren't, and 45, but I have noticed 23 in a certain way, and I don't think I paid much attention to numbers, before I did.

My kills were at 21, but my assists and other awards pushed me higher.

The devil brought us down.

(Devil had his clan-mates with him on our team, and they were HG VirulentFang [FANG], and HG Monk of Zion [MONK]- the only one in his clan in this game with a positive K/D spread. The top scorer on the other team had the callsign DEAD, and his name- TZK Fighter. Lowest scorer was Countrystyle00, callsign ZERK...)

Not worth it.

Jesus
built my car.
it's a love affair...



Ministry - Jesus Built My Hotrod

soon i discovered that this rock thing was true
jerry lee lewis was the devil
jesus was an architect previous to his career as a prophet
all of a sudden, i found myself in love with the world
so there was only one thing that i could do
was ding a ding dang my dang a long ling long

ding dang a dong bong bing bong
ticky ticky thought of a gun
everytime i try to do it all now baby
am i on the run
why why why why why baby
if it's so evil then?
give me my time, with all my power
give it to me all again (wow)
ding a ding a dang a dong dong ding dong
every where i go

everytime you tell me baby
when i settle down
got to get me a trailer park
and hold my world around
why why why why?

ding ding donga dong dong ding dong
dingy dingy son of a gun
half my time i tell you baby
never am I all for sure
why why why why why baby
sicky sicky from within
everytime I stick my finger on in ya
you're a wild wild little town bitch
now how 'bout ding a dang dong dong dong ling long
dingy a dingy dong a down

everytime you tell me baby
when i settle down
got to get me a trailer park
and hold my world around
why why why why?

in my dang a ding a ding a ding dong
a sticky sticky son of a gun
ding a danga danga dong dong ding dong
why why never know
why why wack a dong a dang ding dong
then you take it on the bill
ding dang dong don't dong
whoa!

i wanna love ya!

why why why, why why darling
do you do you tell me to play?
half the time I talk about it all now baby
you know what I'm talkin' about I said
why why why it'll
ticky ticky ticky ticky
son of a gun
ding ding dong a bong bong bing bong
ticky ticky thought of a gun

bing bing bang a bang a bang bing bong bing a bing bang a bong
binga bing a bang a bong bong bing bong bing banga bong

bing bing bang a bong bong bing bing binga binga banga bong
bing bing bang a bang bang bing bong

aarrrhhhh...

ding dang a dang bong bing bong
ticky ticky thought of a gun
everytime I try to do it all now baby
am I on the run
why why why
it'll ticky ticky ticky ticky ticky ticky
dawn of a gun
bing bing bang a bong a bong bing bang a
ticky ticky thought of a gun
bing bip bip a bop bop boom bam
ticky ticky through the day

if you got a doubt 'bout baby
the memory is on the bed
why why why why why
darlin' uh it don't know
when my time is on
might tell me never do it on his own
if my time was all as is yours
make me burn a wish
when my time with you is brutish
no I'll never not ever

why why why why why why baby heavy hell
alone and it's here it's this thunder
the thunder oh thunder
oh!

jesus built my car
it's a love affair
mainly jesus and my hot rod

yeah, fuck it!

This morning, I found a lost kitten in the garden. It was wandering around in the snow crying. It trotted up to me when it saw me. It was gray with gray stripes that are hard to see. It had blue eyes. It looked very much like my girl friends parents' lost cat -- they had lost one while traveling here to visit about 2 years ago. Their gray cat was small, about the size of a half grown cat, the same size as this cat. Their gray escaped from their car while they were stopped at a gas station in northern California about 600 miles away.

I thought it was possible that it could have found its way back here. So, not knowing what to do, I left it outside and went in and told my gf about it -- she was still in bed. Hey Aelys, your parents' cat found its way home (it had lived here for 1 summer 2 years ago.

My gf is a sucker for small animals. She has rescued puppies, kittens, and recently, baby squirrels. About an hour later, gf crawled out of bed and went into the garden to see if it was still there. It was. As soon as she picked it up, it started purring with that loud buzzing that kittens make. She instantly fell in love with it and brought it into the house and gave it a plate of food. She checked it, but it wasn't her parents' cat. Their's was a female -- this was a male. I hadn't bothered to look. She's already got a cat, and I told her somebody is missing it. It has a collar, after all. No name or address, just a collar. She has now put up "LOST KITTEN" flyers all over the neighborhood.

Anyway, she has already named him Walter. He's extremely gassy and emits a bad smell every few minutes. You can't even touch without making him fart. I didn't realize a cat could stink like that. What's he been eating? I call him Farting Walter. I hope somebody claims him soon.