Man. No matter how many times a pretty girl stands me up I've always got that hope. Hope is a terrible thing, it grows from nothing and pops out into something that burrows into your heart. Then it puts up its beautiful head and just begs to get ripped out. I'm done. 

Reasons to date me

Reasons to date me

• I can sometimes open jars
• Nobody will try and steal me away
• Fat guys love fires and marshmallows
• Awesome cuddler
• Sometimes I'm funny

Social

I don't do people so well. 

I find it difficult to be completely open with someone. 

I stumble over words and phrases.

 I mumble.

 I fear what others might think of me.

 I'm afraid of people not liking me.

 I'm afraid of people. 

I don't do well with small groups I don't really know.

I don't do well in large groups.

I afraid to hope.

I hope too much.

I hope for too much.

I invest my heart too much.

 I'm too needy.

 I'm too much of a pushover.

I don't know when to hope.

I'm funny (at least I think so).

I'm fairly easy to get along with.

I love seeing people smile.

I love people laughing.

Hugs are good.

So I think we can all agree that I'm no good with people, regardless of how much I like having them around. Luckily I sometimes get these people in my life that can coax me out of my shell and I can manage to ramble out a few sentences here and there. I can sit around and talk. Not even about anything important, just words coming out about how I might feel about a particular subject and they answer and can actually kind of maybe connect... sort of. It isn't half bad. Most the time I'm usually just content with being around people and listening to what they say. 

I wish I wasn't so prone to giving out my heart and wearing it around on my chest. It betrays me too often. It really hurts when I finally get to the point where I trust someone enough to open up and  then they disappear. I guess it's better that they disappear then, but it'd be nice to have someone I could depend on. Oh well. I really should pick up my feet and keep plodding on, but that can wait. Everyone needs time for a pity party and I'm choosing now for one. Never understood why they call it a party... it's more of the opposite, an antiparty. 

Some thoughts

Hey.

I'm sorry for not really relating anything good to you guys. It's just that I haven't really felt  like there's been anything good worth sharing.

I've been thinking.... a lot.

Thinking isn't something I should not do. I wax philosophical and tend to do things I normally wouldn't do (okay, things that I would normally only imagine doing). Like finally understanding that sometimes I just need to come to terms with certain things and realize my position in other peoples lives. That I really should just find those that care about me for me and make them the important people in my life. If others cant find it in themselves to care about me and how I feel, to make that little amount of time for me, they really aren't worth my time. 

Then I come up with little one liners. A  lot of em . I really should start writing them down.

Listen or your tongue will keep you deaf.


\\

I'm so sick of being just a convenient friend. I am done with being blown off time and time again. I've got three friends I know will always be there for me, and sadly all of them may are mostly memories. I'm just done with all this. Done done done done done. If I weren't such a nice guy and if I didn't have a conscience I would be living as I could elsewhere. Preferably out of country.

5 Minutes

TOP 5 REASONS I LOVE CHIMICHANGAS

1. They taste like victory!
2. They don't talk back!
3. I get to use my mouth!
4. They are there for me!
5. They love me back!

Sooooooo

A needle pulling thread

You guys totally didn't miss me.  But that's alright.

I didn't miss you either.

Here. Have some funnies I had lying around my hard drive.

We all know what his font means! If you don't know... well you haven't stalked my blog enough. 

Ummm... once upon a time there was a (not so little) boy who had friends. Sometimes he'd even speak to them. Then magically there came an enchanted friend who made this boy very happy and filled his life with joy. 

Wasn't that a lovely story? I liked the part when the boy had the imagination.

Gone

I'm so sick of caring.

Words say one thing, but your actions say elsewise.

I so wish I could find it within myself to trust. I'm sorry. It just doesn't happen anymore. Every time I've tried it just hurts more and more.

Longing

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

Is it wrong to cut just to see the blood spill?

To watch it as it hits the ground?

Watch as it fills my thrill.

Forever bound.

The promise of the razor blade

To love the blood, the color, the smell

These scars, Handmade.

Every time i say a farewell.

In a note, I write my Goodbyes.

All my regrets and Lies.

Here i stand, blood split, all said and done.

I have lost.

The thought of death, won.

Lonely Life

Lonely on the land I walk,
Lonely cross the sea I sail,
Lonely air of beach I stroll –
This lonely life doth take its toll.

Lonely trek of woodland trail,
Lonely mist in haze o’ dawn,
Lonely spies the bird of prey
In lonely circles all astray.

Lonely be the dark of night
When sleep is but a yearning wish,
To dream of sweet companions close,
As wine would pair with diner's dish.

Lonely do these thoughts me make
That draw my blood of precious life;
Replace with stream of flowing pain
To bless my veins with coursing strife.

Lonely years are now my friends,
Lonely cries bereft of sound,
Lonely tears that cool my face
In lonely life of sullen pace.

  --Mark R. Slaughter

Busy, busy, busy. 

Busy here.

Busy there.

All I know are busy everywhere.

Never here. 

Never there.

My heart is busy, somewhere.

*Heavy sigh*
I'm tired of waiting. 

I'm sick of being forgotten. 

I'm jaded by hope.

All around I'm just sick of emotion.

Maybe if I disappear for awhile life will be better.

Yep

So once upon a time I posted fairly often. These past six months or so I've hardly even visited this place, and most of you know why. 

Here's the post where I let all you people in on what's going on for me, but I find I have been having such a hard time portraying what I feel with words. In their stead, I shall post some songs with some lyrics that may or may not render me to tears.

My father is dead. 

Nothing fancy about it. He's dead.

If you want to know the worst part, go look at the post prior to this one. That made it hurt so much.

In other news, life goes on. The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning. 

Best not jinx myself here... but it's getting to be springtime and you know what that means for me. Yeah. It's pretty bad this time. I'm afraid.

Frustration

Frustration.

I just have so much of it right now. Frustration from doing two all nighters in a row for work (the second of which ended up being an eighteen hour shift, projected to only be nine hours), frustration for more than a hundred unsold pies, frustration about work becoming my life, frustration, frustration, and even more frustration. I could rant on and on about my frustrations but I won't subject you to them all. Today I really just need to vent about one thing: my father.

Right now I suggest looking up a song called ''Out of Thin Air'' from Alladin and the King of Thieves.

People always ask me why I call him father rather than dad. To me it is a simple answer. Dad is a term of endearment, of familiarity, of love. He is my father. He imparted some of his genetics to me, started that spark of life. There used to be a time when I called him Dad but sadly that is gone.

You see, he used to be engaging, a people-person. He used to be able lift forty pounds and walk a straight line. He used to laugh and enjoy the little things in life. He used to get up before dawn every morning, just so he could watch the world wake. He used to be the man I wanted to be like.

He was so much. Now, now he isn't much of anything. He picked up heavy drinking about seven years ago. At first it was only sparingly at social events, then only at social, then sparingly at home and you see the pattern. It really jumped at the beginning of that last recession so many years ago. He had been a realtor and housing died, so no work. Details overlooked, he crawled into his bottle. Ever since then he has been perpetually inebriated, only sobering a little for a shift at work then back to the bottle. Passed out at home, waking long enough to yell about how inadequate the rest of us were and to stick some food in his mouth followed by liquor.
 
The past couple years was worse, more often than not he would forgo the food and only drink. Family fights escalated, so much so that he started striking my mother and I broke some of his ribs. The list goes on and on.

Now, now he is paying the price of his lifestyle. For years I had told him he was going to die before I got married if he carried on the way he was. Two weeks ago he got ''sick''. He missed work, he wouldn't get out of bed, he wouldn't eat, he bloated. This was a Thursday. The next day, Friday, he missed again and had swelled considerably. We implored him to visit a doctor, he denied our requests. The man hadn't the strength to get out of his own bed unassisted but still refused. This is when I noticed something, the white of his eyes were yellow and he had difficulty concentrating. A quick google search later and my suspicions were confirmed. Cirrhosis of the liver. He had pickled his liver, turned it into a mass of scar tissue. Apparently on that Saturday my family convinced him to go to a doctor who only reaffirmed my conclusion. This doctor also told him that he had to stop drinking alcohol completely or he would die within the year. When I returned on Sunday, I returned to a sober father. I can't tell you the last time that ever happened. He also had several prescriptions and was scheduled for bloodwork and plenty of lab test with a specialist. Its been about two weeks since and he has gone more downhill. Now he has a chemical imbalance which has increased his overall level of confusion. He is now hallucinating as well. Regardless of his mental state, or the fact that his arms are widest at his wrists, or that his legs are little bigger than his arms, there is some good news. Last night, after finding him in my room at two in the morning and after returning him to his bed, he looked me in the eyes and said something. It was such a little thing. ''We'll compare scars in the morning.'' It such a stupid line, it stems from the movie Lethal Weapon. The beautiful thing is I used to compare recent bumps and bruises and scars with my Dad. For that small moment when I looked into those dulled and yellowed eyes and saw a glimmer of playfulness and hear that sentence, I was overcome by hope.

For this, I am thankful.