It's remarkable how one can geel stronger and yet worse at the same time. Or perhaps its the strength that comes from doing what is necessary, when its the opposite of what you want.

Recently I began to question my sanity. I had been led to believe that things were a certain way, when they weren't. I was told I led myself to believe that.

But this time I had proof. This time I had a copy of what I had been told. It wasn't my fault.

It wasn't my fault.

Of course, having said proof didn't make things better, it only made the person I had it on mad.

So. Here I am, with proof of my sanity, but other things slipping away.

Nevermind that in the middle of said altercation, I get blindsided by my mother, out of bloody nowwhere.

It's almost as if a unilateral feminine war was declared on me, heh. Okay, that's melodramatic, and not entirely appropriate.

I don't want anything that's unreasonable, out of me, or anyone. I just want a shot, a chance, a legitimate chance at happiness. One Fighting Chance, thats all. That's all I need. I have within me greatness, as all people do. Some let it pass them by. Some deny it, and settle for mediocrity.

I desperately need to acknowledge, accept, and act on mine. It wants out, it desperately wants out. I want to share. Colloborate. Create with someone. But I do not know how.

I used to scoff at the idea of the biological clock. I did. I'd hear about it from people and laugh, saying "Hah, I do what I want, when I want, how I want."

Now...I'm reminded of it constantly. I have this interminable dreadful feeling that the Clock Is Ticking, and it's the fourth quarter, and a hundred other sports euphemisms to make it more manly.

Patience is necessary. But it's a necessary evil that may drive me insane mere moments after having proof that I am not.

The irony is not lost on me.

I want to write. Somehow I can't. My emotions are in a whirlwind. I can't think. I can't sleep. Not eating either.

I need stability. I need....ten tons of shit i can't have.

There's a hole in my soul that was formed at birth, and hardened and greatened on april the ninth 1993. And all the liquor, cigarrettes, anger, and anything else i try to fill with it doesn't do it.

And the thing is, I finally know what might, and i can't have it. Is that irony? Poetic justice? Dumb fucking luck?

There is no patience left in me, and that's what's most necessary right now.

The DEEPER irony of it all, comes from the fact that having conquered my anger, i have doomed myself. See, in times past, all i had to do was get mad, hulk up, and kaboom, i'm invincible.

Now i don't even have that. I just feel empty. Echoes of better days.

Why am I writing this here? Who here knows me? Maybe that's the point. One of you knows me, the rest of you are only peripherally aware of my existence, and that's okay. I'm only here due to the one person that knows me anyway.

I don't feel better. I only feel the same. Getting it out accomplished nothing.

The temptation to crawl back into my cave, and try this again in another decade is very strong.

Not sure how I feel about this one...

You scored as Angel. Angel: Angels are the guardians of all things, from the smallest ant to the tallest tree. They give inspiration, love, hope, and positive emotion. They live among humans without being seen. They are the good in all things, and if you feel alone, don't fear. They are always watching. Often times they merely stand by, whispering into the ears of those who feel lost. They would love nothing more then to reveal themselves, but in today's society, this would bring havoc and many unneeded questions. Give thanks to all things beautiful, for you are an Angel. Angel 75% Mermaid 50% Dragon 34% WereWolf 33% Faerie 33% Demon 8% What Mythological Creature are you? (Cool Pics!) created with QuizFarm.com

Blame Anniina

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 80% Hulk 65% Robin 60% The Flash 55% Superman 50% Green Lantern 35% Catwoman 35% Batman 30% Iron Man 30% Supergirl 20% Wonder Woman 10%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

Sunday Side Job Hell.

Well, I had intended to go out drinking, but that didn't happen, I got a call for my side-job, which I will describe for you here.

Ok. I do Spider-Man appearances at children's birthday parties. I have a keen costume, and "webshooters" that shoot silly string. I get a job doing this about once every couple of months, I don't advertise or anything, it's primarily friends or friends of a friends that this gets done for.

Several Rules I follow include never drinking, smoking, or cursing in costume. Spidey has to maintain an image, you know, set the example.

Basically I show up, dance about, shoot some silly string, do some cartwheels and stuff. If the roof is low enough, I'll make an entrance by jumping off it. I drop off a present, and then generally spend the rest of the time as a babysitter.

Now. These are sort of cool things. However, there are some sort of bad things that always, always seem to happen.

1) Invariably, half the children go dead quiet upon my appearance. The other haf begin to scream. This usually takes about an hour to overcome.

2) Some child leads an attack on principal, and causes all the children to try to unmask me.

3) Some lady who has had too much too drink tries to fuck me. Ahem, Spider-Man, not me.

4) Some man (usually the wife, husband, or lustful cousin of the woman trying to fuck me) picks a fight with me.



Sigh.



Yesterday went alright, with the exception of mising a cartwheel and nailing my feet on a chunk of concrete that busted them both up pretty badly. It hurts to walk. Oh, and super-heroes get crap health insurance. The docs frown on secret identities I guess.

After the party I limped back to the car, and changed back into Dave.

Wow, that was really fucking wierd to say.



Anyway, I went to the bar. There's no smoking in bars in El Paso anymore, but we were all doing it anyway. I guess living in an area of town the cops don't come to has its perks in that way. I ended up sitting there staring across the bar into the mirror at myself while listening to someone play Bob Marley's entire catalog on the jukebox.

Didn't have a drop to drink, just water.

My legs are tired and sore from crouching and jumping about. And my feet, of course. The rest, I don't know. Rib's a little tender, I guess I'm not healed up all the way after all.



Oh, and no Mary Jane to webswing home to sucks.