Those booms have busted with the fluctuation of so many market dynamics. When numbers stop going up the economics change as do demands and so go the production schedules. They lie fallow like this blog, unpeopled, forgotten, unproductive, gone for a while.
We're in the midst of a building boom otherwise. It appears that here it's in medical research and healthcare in general. To build an eleven storey high-rise dedicated to neuroscience reveals the possibilities in it and the deep pockets of a certain Midwest private college that is a homonym with "wash you." I'd be credulous not to believe that they'd be diving deep into the brain-computer interface, and sacrificing a lot of animals to that cause. We'll see. They tell me the basement is full of wash outs and pens for housing the scientific chattel for such an operation. In essence they'll be defining the human apart from the animals they're destroying while blurring the lines between humans and computers, and if futurist Youtube videos are any indicator then the novel materials they're implanting in the brain become like some fungal hyphae to which our dendrites migrate and grow on. Strange days indeed.
I'm alone. So fucking alone. And it's all my fault. I beat this yelping, bleating, dying, retreating little shit of a dog too much. It's me in time, reliving a past that is gone, but which I let echo through me to this day. Motherly rejection is a chronic attitude, and as much as I get chided and chide myself over what it has made me it has a very real impact on my day-to-day. I avoid most everyone aside from while I'm working. I end the day and retreat to my kennel, like the abused cur to which auto-abusive self-identity has led. Sad really. My last resort is to show off my new house.
On Friday, October 7, 2022 I hand over a cashiers check and get handed the keys to my new house and its adjacent garage. It fits me, tucked between two larger homes and ducking, half-hidden behind a street-front tree. But it's a gem all its own with a lot of endearing qualities. It has plenty of rehabilitative potential and like on the front mentioned above I intend to put the love and care into this house that could and should be put in to me to make me better, reform me, at least show the world, in spite of my behavior, that I'm a decent man, a worthy man, not a scared man, fighting for his life against an invisible enemy in his midst. Dramatic, this is, yes, but I have literary license, so buzz off.
I am fighting a flea infestation that I'm certain the cat I'm watching has brought into the house. Just when I think I have it under control I pull another off his fur with the comb, give him another dose of Capstar, and check my pant legs for clingers-on. When I think of clingers-on I think of a certain girl who is a bartender whom I fell for so many years ago when she was just a little girl server at this same bar, the bar that I rarely visit because of her and the conflicted feelings I get when I wrestle my demons in her presence. It's a sad little histrionic firework show that I put on. I should apologize to her for that, or maybe at least find a way to explain my situation to her without sounding like I'm doing such a thing in such a clunky manner. She's keen to keep others around in our presence these days. I had a brief one-on-one experience with her and it was intoxicating to feel that I could have conversations with her, something she makes harder and harder for me to accomplish these days. And that's ok. From her perspective, over there in the thicket of her ego, I'm just a freakish little shit that is from my thicket just being difficult to understand. Understanding, that one thing that women seem to want to master in the men they keep around. Otherwise, quantity unknown, kick it to the curb like the demon seed itself. The one cynical observation that came from all of this, one that I mentioned to a thinking kid with whom I was working, is that women are used to being in control. They don't normally cede it, not all. Women go through puberty first and mature first, so when the dating scene begins they tend to control the psychological space. Guys run on simple attraction, and run into the barbed wire that women place up simply to measure their interest. It's rather coarse and asymmetrical when it comes to sexual relations. But it's a millennia-old practice baked into our very DNA, and I'm pissing on that long-roaring fire like a doofus. So be it.
I hate nothing more than being public, be discussed in the public, being judged by others, being seen. I tend to hide all of my intentions. I'm ashamed of having my motives known. I normally say my piece and retreat for a while because I see my saying anything in such a manner to be a burden upon the other I'm saying it to. And so to this poor young bartender who just turned 30, I am sorry for wasting your time all these years. I wasted mine too. And all I learned throughout is that I have hang ups larger than my love for you can seem to hurdle. So you can accept the guy standing on the other side of the wall that I place before himself before he even got to your walls or forget him altogether. My god it hurts when she doesn't see or pay attention to me. And every time I try to take control of that emotion, to distance myself from that very potential, I end up alienating her. It's the quiet little war we wage. And I realize now that the majority of this journal is about me and some girl whose name has not been mentioned, nor will it.
Peace. 5:27 am Monday, October 3, 2022.
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