TUESDAY, 6 DECEMBER 2011

Well blogy, the term ended well, if not shenaniganly, with Her, whom I really do think myself properly to like. To wit, I have been, this slow and lazy, cold day, spent incamerated, dozy reading, thinking on her, and smiling, remembering that which she did. A genuine like for her qua person as opposed to someone of whom I can say, to myself or to others, that she's my girl. It's perhaps a bit annoying that Christmas comes, and thereby a month's separation, but well. I live in some sort of hope that things could be good for me, in the year that is to come.

THURSDAY, 1 DECEMBER 2011

And so, life, thou comest around with thy vital ways, and december is upon us, the days darkling at noon, the new cold unexpected and bracing, and the still point in this turning world Watt academically dwells. And this still point hopes to have a date on Saturday, the third with the girl, and he hopes to eat and watch and maybe, just maybe, get somewhere. But he is nothing if not a philosopher, and induction, with its brute main force over our ideas, associates ill with the transition: Watt has a date, so it will go well. And associates big with the transition: Watt has a date, so it will go bad. But there is a fact, as there was two years hence in MC's, in her cerebellum - and hereafter let her be only Her - and it may be as tristful as MC's. But then so it is. The new year brings new opportunities. But if it isn't, you, Watt, are to have to nerve to get through to another, whom you like. Let us see how Saturday, which I am investing with value, goes. I will try.

MONDAY, 21 NOVEMBER 2011

Getting with the modern world and trying blogging from my phone, so ignore the odd pseudonym, there is an explanation but it is not an interesting one. Anyway, the motivation for this little post is the angst consequent on trying to predict the behaviour of others, specifically.my new beliked, whom i predicted would text me tonight but who probably won't. That other people are just so darn inscrutable, that i'm trapped in piddling obsessions over nothing, that i am not liked, or, if liked, unable to determine this. Being with others is just darned difficult. Let's see what happens.

Ah, il corpo lasso e un poco triste, ma non so perche; non, so. This is liable to be a bit angsty ( so what else is new amirite? hmm, been reading ed a bit often, tho not so much that I actually use 'amirite' properly, evidently). I was darned wrong anyway in the previous post, we went out, it was nice, but around the world turns, I still would like some unambiguous sign, that would comfort. But, I guess that's not how things go. The fact of my having to go thru each time the anxious woe of uncertain asking; that she doesn't remonstrate greater, isn't more communicative. I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE I'M BOTHERING HER. But she's given no indication of this. So it's probably I'm thinking ill. This is a pretty awful entry, entertainmentwise. I do apologise, my humble reader.

Ah well, they do say, isn't it, that history repeats itself, and history is repeating itself, namely the history pattern - roughly speaking - of first approaching then being rejected by a first approaching then withdrawing shy person, with the horrendum dictu result that I remain as lone as ever. But well, fuck it into oblivion, least I know, least I tried.

Well blogy, a date with a girl this friday past. Went pretty well, I think. We went to the theatre, thereafter walked thru the town for like 1.5 hrs, talking. I like her; but she's shy, and it's very hard to see how things will develop. Nevertheless, I'ma try, but I'm hampered by schedule for a while. I'm wondering whether I should conversationally text her, whether she'd like that or find it bothersome. Will try anyway, and try to arrange to see her again. If she should say 'no', then so be it. I don't need to push it with her, I'm not to be horrid obsessed like she with whom this blog began in earnest, MC, the now shadow being. I fear however I fall into the pattern of choosing non-expressive girls, whom I must then chase, and whom's then nonremonstration denotes ambiguously either shyness or uninterest, and how the devil to tell?

What a - calender - week. Postclass coffee with my new beliked, 5 course meal. Day off. A few hours marking in new home w/ new beliked, 5 course meal in evening. First time ever on the teaching side of a class, under- prepared and slept: didn't go great; frantic attempt to finish essay all day. Finish essay in morn, classes, walk, in the newly minted winter 7 dark w/ beliked. A supermarket. She doesn't like pasta. Outside supermarket, I ask the girl out. She says yes! I retrace my steps back thru the town, smiling, stopping off to urinate in a shopping centre. Morning; criticism of essay, valid but annoying. The fear that I can't manage this work; that I'm not as good as I thought I was. A temporary postponement of date for scheduling reasons, from this weekend to next, leaving this weekend mawful. Anxiety thereabouts. Then the realisation, camped tired on the floor: this is life, the fear that one can't manage, professionally, socially, the hopes that one can and will. This little cloud of being prior to inevitable death. I live, I test myself; I just need now patience, I will continue, in the silence you don't know, I will go on, I will go on.

oh lord.maybe 12 days in, and dire, drunk, despairful; will liver and psyche survive this? How tempting, to cease upon this night w/ no pain. The LOST ost, that speaks to that pain that's infinite, that's hopeful. And a mother zu hause, durchgeleidet. And one day, ofc, I will be dead; and let's hope that day's soon. No, that's too harsh. But imagine, you can tell in an instant that certain people aren't going to fit into the academia; you can tell to, let's hope not, that people aren't going to fit into people. Always to be alone? Can I even contemplate that? Let's note that since I began this blog I have not had a girlfriend, and that having a girlfriend was the one thing I have sought.

That one can sustain, sober, a sort of minimal level of being, that one can walk the streets and run errands and smile shyly at people whom one's awkwardness awkwardizes; that one can drip, in a darkening 4 pm, in a mislocated argos buying a lamp, waiting, 11 minutes of life here in an aloneless that's among; and then walk home, and the vague animal thoughts that accompany the journey, that the rain makes bothersome.

And you sneer, slightly, that the rain discomfits, and you think of the pellucid lies that you can tell of what you did, and pray for monday, coz empty friday, empty sat'day are far hence, and everybody hates monday so you, hating everyday, are accidentally normal. No, not hating everyday.

And yeah, this is silly, but YOU, sober Watt, reading this; as read this you will - because you will sober and rue this - and you will library and lie, and spend next weekend beastly alone

Ah disappointment, the appointment one must keep at Dis redoles quiet this friday late afternoon. Well - and I know to what extent this is eerily familiar- internet gal has stopped writing , although I'm not overly perturbed thereby, and I have just received negative news re my otherwise outstanding academical career, which two pieces of information, or rather certain thoughts in the vicinity of the former, namely my constant failure blabla, have conspired with a lapse in willpower to leave me slightly unsettled. But the key is here of course to get back upon the meditative horse, to realize that set-back is merely the fret upon one's soul that makes it sound, that it is metaphysically necessary that where there is life, there is suffering. That these sufferings are different for different people; that before a to be enjoyed dinner is a to be enjoyed future, and that I should now briefly work to restore calmness and equianimity in myself.

Well blogy, it's that hour quand l'homme - cet homme - est las de manger camembert, and who knows of what la femme is, and so the former which breaks his silence, partly to speak of the spectral latter, who is both the femme archetype, and also yet another watt girl, to join the baleful list detailed below.

Which is a paragraph, ruminative, trochaic, intended to - as portentously as possible - sketch the argument of no doubt the coming months, namely that I go abroad in 1 1/2 weeks, in search of love and knowledge, to a reputed university, and am talking to a girl on dating website living 58 miles thence, whom i've been emailing i think for 3 weeks. She is: .... I hesitate, for to say of someone, that they are F G and H is to categorise reductively, to judge, to limit. She is a living walking waking human being, with a past and a future full of potholes and scenery, a human being goddamnit and not an idea thereof, tho perforce it's only ideas i've so far or human beings ever ( more pessimistically) come into contact with. And I think I'm prone more than most to paralysis of choice, which is perhaps easier than the fear consequent on the making of a choice. I need to remain, whatever this should happen to mean, open to the other.

Yes, I need to remain open in general, body posture wise, experience wise. I am going to be undergoing an interesting change soon; living further from home, and able, crucially, to make a new start, socially, since at my last uni I started fuck poor, unwilling because unable, unable because unwilling, or neither or both, to socialise. I want to work on my negligible social skills, but I don't think really they're too bad. What I need to learn is how to hold a conversation w strangers. To wipe off the rictus of panic that buggers my CNS in such situations. I think I am at a nice stage whereby if nothing amatory should happen, I will be ok. Obviously, projecting this indefinitely causes heebie jeebies; but there's no reason thus to project.

Anyhow, a long summer has passed; some good intellection, not much else. Still roughly following a buddhist path, trying often unsucessfully to keep unpleasantnesses far hence, of sound mood mind and body. Perhaps I'll keep this blog up; I should.

Written a few weeks I think earlier:

O lebensbaum, o wann sommerlich? Well well well, darling, if I may call you that, it has been a while, hasn't it? Wherein gluehenden coals, burning easy, traversed here and there with the asperities of the hot-coal worker, whose feet burnt scurl reddens, as the face of me reddens when's instantiated nearby the topic of this much awaited blog: sociality.

Let me put that in english. The months have burned away gentle like drowsy embers; but the odd vicious pain, the oh mon dieu who am i, how am I still in my monoautic bla bla bla bla.

Hypothesis: that 'thinking makes it so'. Russell, of course, in his Philosophy of Mathematics of 1903, says something similar. Take the belief that Watt is socially adept. In order to understand this, I must stand in a relation to a proposition consisting of me and socialadeptitude, knitted together by some sort of exemplification relation. But if I and socialadeptitude were thus knitted - o kallifragious thought! - then it seems like I am socially adept, and there's no need for my face to burn when a stranger says 'hi'.

But seriously, folks, could this not be the case? That thinking makes it so. Noel Edmonds wished for a tv show and some other jizz, and by crickey, he got it. NOW I'm no Noel Edmonds, but is there not precisely revealed here THE ESSENCE OF SECULAR PRAYER? Namely just think. Because Noel betokens in english and hebrew 'No God', as of course you know.

Now now; there must be some_ limitations to that which thinking makes so. For it's unlikely I could think that there's no such phenomenon as quanglement, but perhaps that I'm a cool dood, that the ladies want my shit ( so to speak, obviously)?

Radical condensation of the foregoing: I want to find a way to reprogram my brain. Not to find myself in the sputtered argent fields of headiness, of one's brain being tranched by invading chemicals of panic, waving the red flag dermally, "I surrender this social exchange, please back away from me posthaste". Cooly and calmly to breath; to know that others don't give a sainted piss about you, really.

(nice dfwesque illustration of my malady. When I walk, and I walk past somebody, my face tightens up because I feel myself to have an odd face in repose, and am selfconscious thereby. Now a) I probably don't b) It probably is so that when I tighten my face it looks odder als wie zuvor b) Most people aren't such arm tors as to wonder how their face shd look in repose, since they're aware that people don't give a shit about no face-reposey bs).

Now unfortunately this blog's somewhat got away from me, in the exhiliration ( sic) of prose. But it reflects a serious train of thought.

Fuck it, I'll talk some more.

Hypothesis: That one's phobic reactions, tho clearly physiological. AND HERE IT ENDS.

Ach, du scheissiges blutscheisser. So I gots to - horrendum, given the sequel, dictu - liking another girl, for a couple of weeks, too young for me but I thought reciprocated, only for her to drop, mild und leise, that she'd a boyf, on thursday. I mean, lol. Any large scale thought about the prevalence of unluck of love of me breeds thought of fate. But no, just as is. And this surge of pain i've responded to v badly, w analgesic and hypnotic, and gps, to use an occluded wattic shorthand, and short inhalations and exhalations accompanying me, despaircum. It's a 4 o clock sunday afternoon, and i'm hypnotised, tired and hotfaced, having unsuccessfully tried to dull away the anxiety consequent on drinking coffee and travelling. And this particular vista on a life's not fine: tired and empty, hopeless, in fremder land, specifically without hope of love, as the term gets to wheedling to a close I think the hauptausdruck of this blog must needs once more be coined: I can't go on, I'll go on.

So, my buddhism fails in the path of proper pain, where warming pills dare to tread and deaden. But karma? I think I guess I felt karma would be good if god wouldn't, forgetting karma, in the form where it'll take many lives, perhaps, to get your reward, that is the only form that'll save the phenomena, is just another name for god, that theoretical posit posited to make sense of proper pain.

So what's the plan for the day, the week? I need to get back on to terra firma. Do not, tonight, go gentle into that dulled night, but rage, rather, tho it be dolourous, tho let the senses be somewhat draped, we're no hero, no, no hero. And then tomorrow, you, mache dich mein Herz rein, or'tleast reiner, and eat vegetables, and don't think masturbatory thoughts, and work, and don't dull or live to dull.

***

A few days later...

Well, it's kind of melancholic in my wonted way that I am, this evening. Tho i shouldn't be, really. I have what could be considered a date tomorrow, tho I'd have to imagine it won't be, and she'll be married, or just wanting a friend, and I'll trundle back here sad. But maybe not. And I'm such a spa, I'm almost in exactly the same position i was last term, where there's a normal girl who's unattainable and unsuited to me qua normal, and beboyfriended, and a not so normal girl (potentially) in to me, and I absolutely, positively, cannot mistake the mistake I made last time, of trying to turn the unturnable, and focus on the attainable, whom I think's really special, and perhaps just scarily, unfathomably deep, and funny, and bright, with a really good look. I mean, what's not to like? And moreover I know she'd just be so receptive of who I am, qua alcoholic. And in fact the same pattern recurs in my life, of wanting the unattainable and not the attainable. Can I reverse engineer myself suitably, that the faulty bit of code causing this be corrected?

And look at this, 17 I think occurences of the reflexive pronoun in a small passage, absurd considering that the self doesn't exist, the 'I' doesn't refer. All there is is this evening, and all these simply dumb, empty fantasies that I waste my time on - and I'm somewhat altered, on account of pain - do you really want to know what i've been thinking? Coz it's been truly, truly fucked. I've been thinking of our having sex so I could tell my friend that we had sex; of our having a relationship so other people could think that I was having a relationship. So it's all exteriority, and I'm entirely forgetting this is about another person, that is, and is out there, and is not a mirror of a monadic I, is not constituted by the amatory concepts and erotic forms of the understanding. How wrong do I think? I mean this girl is special, and I guess last term with Polyhymnia, my concern was entirely that MC satisfied the propositional function "I am going out w x" better, qua fact about me. And that's just wrong. So let's think. There's a girl; should I give her a name? Let's say meadow. Right, and she's too young, and just one of those friendly sorts, thus not into me, and moreover normal. But qua normal here company's easy. I need to just excise the possibility, to remove her from my thoughts.

But more than that, I need to just forget about myself. There is this night, where the wind it howleth, and that's all there is. Tomorrow will occur, and think, god damn you watt, take the opportunity to connect to another person and don't be thinking past oneself.

And be nice, and charming, as you can be, and hope that this girl'll be receptive, and if she isn't she isn't. You're improving constantly.

Things go, as they do. Still hanging on by a thread to the buddhism, but struggling to find the time. There is at least one potential girl option on the cards. Pros: intelligent, funny, perhaps good looking. Cons: not entirely sure, somewhat difficult, somewhat far henceical, I think, like not orbiting the same planets, which I know makes no sense. Had potentially an option to ask her out today which I kind of fluffed, she sort of suggested. I could potentially email her, open up an interaction. Ah, the same problems! WWBD? Well, ponder the matter, but don't over ponder. Just be cool, distant from o\s. When you're going to act, just act. Also, and this can't be stressed enough: right view, right intention, right speech, right action right livelihood right effort right mindfulness right concentration. Had I remembered that today!!!! But no. The task for this eve is just to live in this eve. Sufficient unto the day are the pleasantnesses thereof.

What I learnt today

So, I went shopping, and one thing that I learnt that I do is that I always try to give the money as quickly as possible, too early in fact for them to receive it, so I then have to retract it, leading to a mild flustering. And what does this betokeneth? Well, obviously that I want to get the fuck out of dodge quickstyle. Allora, tomorrow, or the next day that I need to purchase something, sois brave, o mon couer, et tiens-toi plus tranquille, be the confident, and moreover importantly, remember about this, and so work to change it. I hope that each day I'll be able to make a slight improvement in my social interacting, and perhaps record it herein, which is not any longer to be a tale of love, but of just developing the basic skills required to live. A new project, projecting ahead. Good.

I've really fallen out of blogging mode of late. Suffice it to say a pleasant but nonfurtheringmyplanforlove christmas occurred and i'm now back at college, at present buddhistly minded, aiming to not care about the social opportunities, or lack thereof, keep addictions - most especially the one to fond fantasizing - far hence, and just try to live, to play what i'm dealt, so to speak. If pain and loneliness should come, then they will come.Remember this moment now, when you feel relaxed, this mild pinch in the belly from hunger, but analgesic, in times of strife to come. There is no cosmos out to get you or not, just abide and endure en hypomene, tho not, let's get this clear, of heaven, but be patient wrt to, quite literally, nothing. There's no guarantee that things'll ameloriate, but you can try. Most importantly, try to be different. Realize that the worst thing that can possibly happen to a person ever is not for another person to think their weird, or gauche, or awkward, and that this non-fact certainly shouldn't make a person, as it has done now, for at the very least 14 years, make like an oscar wilde aphorism and closemouthappear openmouthremovedoubts likes innit. Try to say things, try to bear the eyes on you; engage in conversations which interest you, which is to say conversations about nothing, seinfeldstyle. BE HONEST. I seem to have a sensation that I hide, that I'm desperately concerned about what people - often, by the nature of the thing, complete or relative stranger - think about me. And this is a truly absurd way to be, when you really think about it. So, as it were, court embarassment. Try even getting into random conversations. Smile at girls. Because change is possible, remember that, and keep trying, and you never know, after three months here of decent enough effort, come next year I'll be something akin to a normal person.

In filestube, somebody googled (filetubed) kyrie eleison. I like to think it was the despairful cry of someone with no-one else to whom to turn, and not just someone looking for christmas music.

I am lonely. Lone-leeeeeeeeee. The word glides off the tongue when it should stick like a cock in the wheels of a bike. The three words, those three words of the English language; fuck the others for whom other three words are the pertinent ones, fuck them in their stinking asses. These are the three, threnodic, galling, abalienating, their to-be-spokenness exuding, an essential property, one I possess in every possible world.

Lonely; and never not lonely. And a disastrous attempt not to be; hope at start of year in PH, whom my lack of preference for whom chased away, from that yclept MC, founder of this blog, who never liked me. But not that: that no one's. Ever liked me. Nor, perhaps, ever will. Possibilities there are not. Just the gut shot of a persevering loneliness, et nunc, et in perpetuum. And would not a graceful God just simply be buggered looking down, at the meal for one industry?

לֹא-טוֹב הֱיוֹת הָאָדָם לְבַדּוֹ

the ipsissima verba.

Can GOD exist, and I alone? Is it possible that I can be so fucking twattish? Can GOD exist, tho life exists? But still: I need to hope, to God, to eutuche, to karma, to the weltgeist, I need to hope to. Give me a chance, send something my way and I won't make you disappointed again. Sad.

Ah life, you shitty fucking cunt. No, that both oversells and overanthropomorphicizes that hallowed l word. But yeah, the year's over. I remember - I thought I wrote it here - that I thought that year was going to be my year. It hasn't been. That's sad, isn't it? Luckily I'm not too depressed about it, but it's sad. I just feel: why me? Why eternally cut off? I try to be a good person. I tried to improve myself, physically, mentally. But the cause of this was an illusion, an illusion after whom i still pine. A fine year, I guess, not in general completely fucking depressed, but no progress, and a painful rejection. It's not like this for other people etc. etc.

Been sleeping well thanks to pills, at least. FUCK IT. There's next year. That verdant cunt hope bleeds eternal.

pathemata mathemata. Just revealed to my best friend my traumata, namely alcoholism. Bit of a disburdening, but still, to reveal that shit is shitty. Also, just went to a bar, wherein MC was, drinking, it was awkward, I only went because of the aforementioned best friend didn't want to go alone. The feeling that I just can't fucking banter irritates, being drinkless. I shouldn't have gone, it's just depressing. But I think the plus side is that i'm pretty fucking over her, tho that may've been because she was so evidently not under me. Thus, pain. But: I decided to go, to leap, and hopefully God's purpose was that I do that, to get finally over me. Because in vino veritas, and was revealed in her cups not one jot, nor an iota of feeling for me. So thanks be to God for that disambiguation! And let's hope, as we go forward, that it remains so, that my feelings be dead to her, and I can move on, if not this year, then the next, and that I can jubeln dem hochste Gott. I do feel perhaps, that this was his purpose. And hopefully my feelings herein expressed do accurately express my feelings.

OK, I'm in. 14\11\10, I profess in full earnestness to follow Jesus Christ. The earnestness of my earnestness jars, but it's needed

That means pistis, elpis, agape. God must exist; suffering is too unnatural, real suffering. It is calm but, and well slept I write this. Let all the critical concerns, at least at present, fall away. Jump in. I am under no illusions; things won't become great. But I need something, mankind needs something. Something is offered, many reliable witnesses inform us of this, and taken, and fucking works. So from now on, it's elpis, it's pistis, it's agape. It's seeing through the suicidal despair, the despair of Abraham, the peculiar psychological state, and having faith that there's an auditor; it's, tho i've been doing this more and more anyway, it's putting myself second, because it's what we're told to do and it's good. Yes, yes. There are no pleurs de joie, no wind battered dark windows, no hunched french bloke in paroxyms. There's sun, and mild anxiety and the fatigue of a flu, but nevertheless a decision properly made.

Well, I did it. And no. Have been putting off this. I don't want to pore over the details, but a poor night's sleep has made the hurt come back, the deep, deep hurt that arises from the fact that i've never been happy, in the wide sense, that i've never known people, and that there's no reason to believe i ever will. I continue to try on the dating site, to no avail. Why me? Why born into such a family, why lumbered with such shyness? Why always alone and often lonely? Why me?

NO! BY NO MEANS. ME GENOITO. BY NO MEANS; LET IT NOT BE. And like but the thing you have to realize is that my peers are not like me, they don't know the haranging, dismal woe, the howling fantods. But is this not another Why me another drink? That I'm like fucking special, insignis dolore. And you just need to fucking ----- ABIDE, abide in the pain of this 2 o clock afternoon, with the hangover feeling without the pleasure of drinking from sleeping ill, the short sharp shocks of the rejections, of the neverness. Yes! I may be illstarred, I may continue to push against the cages miserable, as if dead, that is cut off in perpetuum from all human contact, but fuck it? Is that the best you can do, universe? No; the universe doesn't care, it's cooly indifferent. Praying, even if there is a God, will not make things improve. Or will it? Do I just need to hold on? I need, right this very moment, to submit, submit to what my life was, is, and will be. MY life. But also like no; If I feel this way about others, that they are wellstarred, I need to say it here. Or do I? And but like the point is that this this, this very moment, this pain, this is mine, this is what i've got, PCDN, by the inexorable workings of the atoms, and the regularities that breed, from shy alcoholic offspring shy alcoholic sons. BUT THIS IS ME. And the fucking GLORY of the human spirit is that it can't go on but does, so, contrary to hypothesis, it CAN. But is this glory or rather the very fucking definition of hell? To be, as Simone Weil'd have it, afflicted, dirempted from God and man, purely alone and suffering, with no admixture of relief now or in the future forseeable ( tho of course it can and may come). To have the heart in you thump in pain, the heart banging Bang of Leben. The stomach in you churn, witnessing the others, whose flesh we can touch, at an - and I don't like to over- and wrongly- use this word, but - infinite distance. Jest. esti. est. (wherein is represented those languages like me, without copulation). I need to get in contact with fellow sufferers, post haste. But I need to accept it. I can take this afternoon's pain, I can abide in it.

My heart is pounding. For I have decided that tomorrow I am going to tell MC how I feel. My hands are shaking...Well, having known that she was going to be in the library this evening, I just went to return a book, hoping to find her and unburden myself. I didn't find her, but my heart is beating less frantically now. Please, please, let me have the opportunity to say my piece tomorrow. I am of course confident that things will turn out for the worst; she will have a boyfriend, or not see me that way or..., tho I do think it's possible that she certainly did see me that way, in the past. And then I'm going home thurs, so I can dust myself off and return, and return to PH, or perhaps this internet girl, and I can finally, finally be over her. Tho on the negative side, I will finally be over her. It's just like going to the dentist, really, or at least making the appointment. I didn't know what the outcome would be, but I had to do it. It's just with my track record, of not being liked, never no-one in perpetuum. And things'll be soured with someone whom I do really like being around.

But come on, there's evidence. But I fear it could ALL be interpreted as just friendliness; but surely in the past it was something more. So then something would have changed. But it seems that nothing has, in fact, changed. There's touchyfeeliness aplenty. Today I told her my dream, that I dreamt last night, that we were a couple. And she didn't react negatively.

But this is certainly, certainly the rational thing to do. I just have to man up, and, like the dentist, take the pain, in order to be free for the future.

The more I think on it, the more I am certain that it is just friendliness. Her pupils do look pretty big in my company tho. Fuck it, all these thoughts are to no end whatsoever. It's to be done. God, help me to do it.

Ah man, history is repeating itself. She shows interest, I misinterpret, I make a move, she rejects it. Messaged her re a meet up 2.5 hrs ago; no reply, and when it comes, I doubt it'll be positive. But why does she so overtly seem to flirt with me, only to be cool the next day? I guess I really just need to say no, no longer, I don't want to be caught in the anguish causing games of the end of last year. To give her up. And indeed, logic suggests that if the heart doesn't. But I just like her presence so much. And, well, horrendum dictu, I've taken to drinking alcohol again. May this cup, quite literally, pass from me. I feel incredibly far from God, marred in vice, and a God in whom I barely believe to boot. What is the substance of this 10.30 friday, alone, when messages sent to 2 girls remain unreplied? It occurs that it's halloween, that everyone's everywhere, that I am nowhere. They - MC and PH - may be somewhere. I play scrabble online, mulling, kicking and snorting like a disgruntled mule, heavy with the sound of laughter without.And another can goes down, and it's just so _easy_ to do; it is literally, knocked back, 30 seconds. 3 x 30 seconds and you've got a drunk on, if you're me, and a bad tomorrow on, also. And there's no - well, the first time there were scruples, there was going in and out of the kitchen, picking up and putting down the can. But this - the third time - there is nothing. It is automatic. I stand in the dark kitchen - below my window there seems to be a couple embracing under lights, so I don't turn on my light, lest they look in - fizz the can open and drink deep, as twere my life depended thereon.(And still no message). Then tomorrow'll bring, like today did, the utter shock of the hangover, the sick tired empty anxious low feeling, with which I lived literally eveyday for years. Imagine, dear reader, a good night's sleep. Now imagine not having one for literally years. Imagine that for a life. And yet I return. And so groundless, just, like everest, because it's there. Because I can, and can get away with it. Imagine 6 years of lucidity, for a person hating lucidity. Does it feel like I'm home? This is truly the Hauptfrage.(And still no message). No, I just feel a bit bleary and irritated. I mean, why not just simply reply? An excuse is all that's needed. Fuck it, I need to ask her, just like, wtf? Why be all nice and then not? Surely she realizes that I'm someone who can't take rejection? And yet she rejects, then unrejects.
This blog post has taught us two things: that I shouldn't blog when ineb'd, since I seem to channel a 15 year old twat, and that life is a fearful misery.

Oh life, oh life. Well, it appears that MC and me are back. I don't know what the hell the story is with her guy, but it seems that we are back. She's back to her flirtatious self; I took a look at her pupils, and them suckas were dilated to buggery looking at me, tho the room was dark. And there is another variable, which perhaps needs revealed, but, paranoid that I am that anyone, tho it is impossible, given the info i've revealed, unless you already knew me very well indeed, should recognise from these unread writing who I am; this variable could be altering things. But I don't think it is. Moreover, at present I am somewhat impaired. I know what this means, but again I'm scared to reveal it in foro externo lest whatever. I need to think of something to do re MC; it is now perhaps fitting for me truly and earnestly to make a move. Could this year sneak up and become mine? Ascertain whether there's a bloke, tho the question pains, and move from there.