blog through the fog

That about says it all. Most of my days have been a blur of professional arena bullshit and frustration, punctuated by the stress-aggravated overindulgence in any substance at the ready. Two consecutive days found me at the elephant room after work, downing drinks and praying for a swift end to the week. At the end, there it was: my gleaming tower of excess. Mestima and I threw together a dance party in our teenytiny airconditioningless house and it was HAWT in every way that something can be. People dripped, dropped and poured outside for gulps of fresh air and cigarette smoke. An obtuse melange of records were spun and damn if it wasn't beautiful. One of the more enjoyable nights in recent history.

At the end of it, I was whiskeyed up enough to get into it with a friend of mine and ended up crying semi-hysterically for perhaps the second time in my life; the first time with a witness/crying pillow. Kind of mortifying, but also something I probably desperately needed to do, for all the various tributaries of despair going through my world right now.

Yikes. That makes things sound kind of bad. Maybe they kind of are - maybe a little glorious. I'm fighting to hang on. I'm trying to carve what I need out of what the world is offering me. I'm trying to find a way to reclaim the lifestyle I so prefer - as frustrating as it is to feel so much is wanting...at least it's better than complacency. I feel I can more actively pursue that now - before I was just forced to accept it, without the energy to dream of it ever coming to an end.

I'm trying to get a semi-fantastic new part time job that I actually stand a chance at, if I get my shiite together. Now, I am dreaming of walking out of that which is eating my soul like the obese at a dwindling buffet. And it will be glorious.

Otherwise? Made contact with an old friend currently living in the former Soviet republic of Georgia. I found this book by my old creative writing teacher at UM (we'll see if I dislike it as much as his other novel I read prior). My brother is going back to school in MT for a semester and then wants to move to...wait for it...Portland, Maine to...wait for it...study maritime law (?!). As someone profoundly on the latter side of the financial eight-ball, I have new appreciation for this kind of decision-making. Also, I think Maine would be a badass place to visit. My brother is someone who seems as capable as anyone can be in ability to balance levity and fun in a life like that - I wish him nothing but the best.

Currently reading the end of "The Sandman" by Neil Gaiman and goddamnitall if it isn't unbelievable. My friend Dale has suddenly been revealed to me as the old man from the bookstore in The Neverending Story, cleverly disguised as a young man. Between exposing me to that and various New X-Men trade paperbacks, there can be no two ways about it. Now, I must return to my resume and start breathing deep breaths so I might properly walk half-high into work.