No. More. Drama.
Mar. 6th, 2002 07:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jakebe
Hey there, all...
Well, I'm back from work. I sold another 36 shamrocks, bringing my grand total to 402. I'm in the home stretch, and I'm sure I could reach 500 if I don't do anything to get myself demotivated.
Don't you hate it when you know you're still hanging on that little cliff of depression, and any sudden gust of wind can blow out of nowhere to just tip you over?
I was thinking about the play that I'll start working on this weekend, "Hope," and I realized that somewhere along the way I've given up the hope that I ever *won't* be depressed. I don't really think there'll come a day where I won't be moody, have swings, regret all the ghosts of relationships past, wonder why I acted so immaturely, why in the world I fucked up some really good things I had going...
Part of this, of course, is healthy. It's, at the very least, the recognition of a fault. Now, I can find ways to deal with it...now that I've accepted it. I'll always be tortured. I'll always be haunted. I'll never be safe, I'll never be sane, and I'm beginning to sound like an overplayed Everclear song.
It's really weird, because even though I'm depressed, I'm content. I don't try to stop crying any more; I know what function it serves...it's as necessary as laughter. Regret is as necessary as joy. Disappointment is as necessary as satisfaction. It's all a part of the same fortune cookie. I know this. I just have to get through it.
Anyway, went out to the mall yesterday with Joey to get my cell phone; they didn't have the style of cell phone I wanted, but that ultimately didn't matter. It turns out that because of my credit rating (which hopefully will change over the next few weeks), I'd need to make a $500 deposit just to get the goddamned thing. I mean, who the hell has $500 lying around, that they could just give to someone to hold for a year, 'just in case'? I sure as hell don't. So I won't be getting a cell phone, at least not now, and that sucks because it means I'll still have to scrabble to call the people I would really like to call. :P
So, to drown my sorrows, we went shopping instead. Suncoast was evil to us; Joey succumbed to an Evil Dead shot glass set and a set of buttons, while I bought a Moulin Rouge poster (swooooon!), a Clifford the Big Red Dog videotape and a set of Fight Club buttons. My coat now says, "I want you to hit me as hard as you can." Rock.
I also bought this really kick-ass Clifford bank off a customer for $3.00. I swear, you can land the sweetest deals working customer service, especially if the particular target is some Wendy's worker having a nic-fit. ;) Hey...where did my morals go?
I worked a bit more on "The Way Things Are". I don't know when it'll be done, but I've got a sort of clearer vision on it than I did before. "Hope" is coherent enough that I can start writing it now, and I'm gonna give learning to draw another try, since I've written the first 30 strips of "The Bane of My Salvation". Hopefully, after a month or so of really diligent practice, the squiggles on the paper will be somewhat recognizable.
I'm really scared to talk to anyone these days. The more I see of the world, the more I want to hide from it. I don't know what I'll say to piss someone off, or weird them out, or make them back off, but it'll happen eventually I'm pretty sure. It works that way. So even other people who're hurting I can't really say anything to. I'd give my right arm to be able to make things right, but my silver tongue doesn't work with people I really care about and don't want to bull-shit.
Since when has trying to be honest been so...unrewarding? I'm pretty sure I was a plantation owner in a past life. Yes, that must be it.
Ah well. I'm going to go and keep Clifford company for an hour or so.
Well, I'm back from work. I sold another 36 shamrocks, bringing my grand total to 402. I'm in the home stretch, and I'm sure I could reach 500 if I don't do anything to get myself demotivated.
Don't you hate it when you know you're still hanging on that little cliff of depression, and any sudden gust of wind can blow out of nowhere to just tip you over?
I was thinking about the play that I'll start working on this weekend, "Hope," and I realized that somewhere along the way I've given up the hope that I ever *won't* be depressed. I don't really think there'll come a day where I won't be moody, have swings, regret all the ghosts of relationships past, wonder why I acted so immaturely, why in the world I fucked up some really good things I had going...
Part of this, of course, is healthy. It's, at the very least, the recognition of a fault. Now, I can find ways to deal with it...now that I've accepted it. I'll always be tortured. I'll always be haunted. I'll never be safe, I'll never be sane, and I'm beginning to sound like an overplayed Everclear song.
It's really weird, because even though I'm depressed, I'm content. I don't try to stop crying any more; I know what function it serves...it's as necessary as laughter. Regret is as necessary as joy. Disappointment is as necessary as satisfaction. It's all a part of the same fortune cookie. I know this. I just have to get through it.
Anyway, went out to the mall yesterday with Joey to get my cell phone; they didn't have the style of cell phone I wanted, but that ultimately didn't matter. It turns out that because of my credit rating (which hopefully will change over the next few weeks), I'd need to make a $500 deposit just to get the goddamned thing. I mean, who the hell has $500 lying around, that they could just give to someone to hold for a year, 'just in case'? I sure as hell don't. So I won't be getting a cell phone, at least not now, and that sucks because it means I'll still have to scrabble to call the people I would really like to call. :P
So, to drown my sorrows, we went shopping instead. Suncoast was evil to us; Joey succumbed to an Evil Dead shot glass set and a set of buttons, while I bought a Moulin Rouge poster (swooooon!), a Clifford the Big Red Dog videotape and a set of Fight Club buttons. My coat now says, "I want you to hit me as hard as you can." Rock.
I also bought this really kick-ass Clifford bank off a customer for $3.00. I swear, you can land the sweetest deals working customer service, especially if the particular target is some Wendy's worker having a nic-fit. ;) Hey...where did my morals go?
I worked a bit more on "The Way Things Are". I don't know when it'll be done, but I've got a sort of clearer vision on it than I did before. "Hope" is coherent enough that I can start writing it now, and I'm gonna give learning to draw another try, since I've written the first 30 strips of "The Bane of My Salvation". Hopefully, after a month or so of really diligent practice, the squiggles on the paper will be somewhat recognizable.
I'm really scared to talk to anyone these days. The more I see of the world, the more I want to hide from it. I don't know what I'll say to piss someone off, or weird them out, or make them back off, but it'll happen eventually I'm pretty sure. It works that way. So even other people who're hurting I can't really say anything to. I'd give my right arm to be able to make things right, but my silver tongue doesn't work with people I really care about and don't want to bull-shit.
Since when has trying to be honest been so...unrewarding? I'm pretty sure I was a plantation owner in a past life. Yes, that must be it.
Ah well. I'm going to go and keep Clifford company for an hour or so.
