The Folder LOVE Has No Messages

That's what YAHOO MAIL said when I finished deleting the contents of that folder. I went one by one, reading (skimming) old electronic love notes, and then deleting them. Cleaning house? What, am I going to war here? Am I joining a monastery?

It occurred to me tonight, as I tried to talk up a camping trip idea, that everything in the world is just a rearrangement of the particles that form everything else. It's all the same stuff, like building blocks, only shaped into something new. Like this trip: I begin to see what I've always known (and managed to forget) about everyone else I try to become involved with. I always seem to end up in the same place with people. It feels as if nothing ever changes. Like two boxers who keep having rematches and keep fighting to a draw. But this goes against the supposed (the alleged) chaos of the universe.

Or maybe it's myself who never changes. Could it be?

Sometimes I sense there's an order to life, but I can't grasp it, for being too much in my body, and too involved in the material world. People's reactions to an invitation to go camping suddenly seem familair, like repeats of thikngs we've attempted before. Perhaps I have to do something different.

I have this desire to drop everyone in my life. I wish I could change what I represented to others, but i guess others will always see you for who you are, better than you see yourself.

The night before last, I awoke having a terrible lucid nightmare. A cobwebby, dusty hunk of fluff had fallen from the ceiling (or from somewhere up above the ceiling - like dreamland) and landed on my face (as I lay in bed) and it teemed with tiny, aggressive little flies. It was so nasty. I sprung from my bed and rolled right out the door of my room, naked, into the hallway - slamming the door behind me and wiping my face as if it was covered in flies. Breathing heavily, i reached for the knob, and opened the door a crack, as if to inspect what heinous, supernatural fly-infested attic-fluff had landed on me, but of course there was nothing there. Nice.

The same night my dad dreamed, as he recounted to me later, that i'd had an altercation with a black guy, in some crowded public place, and I went after him with a socket wrench. Pop said the dream had an underlying feeling of doom. Needless to say i played it real cool the next day, smiling at everyone, and joyfully waving pedestrians by me in the crosswalk. Funny symbolism a socket wrench. I wonder if that's in THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF DREAMS. Something that ratchets things down, and only goes in one direction. Sounds like my life.

I don't know who reads any of this, so i gotta keep it on the up and up. Maybe I need some other repository of my thoughts than BLOGGER.

Another day of flat nothingness. Unless I'm missing something. Perhaps these are dynamic, vivacious, ass-kickin' times. But I'm just not seeing it.

It's the damn fog. This dirty, griity, grey mass hanging 20' over the sidewalk. Well yeah, no wonder everyone walks around in a daze, talking about conspiracy theories.

I really don't know what my next move is going to be. I'd be thrilled to go camping for three days, and just sit, and draw, and write, and smoke cigartettes and drink coffee. But I'll probably end up going alone, because most of my friends are too out of it to get it together.

Sad but true.

I miss L.A. I miss something. Something's missing. I hate having roomates. I just avoid the house. I sat on the front porch for something like and hour this evening, not knowing where to go. Maybe I'll move into the basement, or one of the flea circus hotels on Mission street.

I keep checking my e-mail, waiting for J to hit back; not knowing what I want for an outcome. What a muddle. There's nothing worse than muddled love, when you're trying to assess whether this other person cares about you. When someone else relates such thoughts to me, my response is usually to tell them that their doubts are well-founded. If you have to ask if said person cares about you, then it's not coming across in their behaviour. Seems obvious.

But it's different when it's me.

Problem. I can't write about girl issues here. People might read it.

I can't write about dog issues.

I'm not going to write about my job.

And that doesn't leave a hell of a lot.

This is a bad day for blogging. Unless there's some great thought in my own mind that even I can't see. Just there behind the thicket of painting and realestate drudgery...

B comes to mind actually. I gave my notice today, which was friendly. And then we conversed a lot about firefighting (one of my areas of vicarious expertise). This is real guy-bonding stuff; expressing affection w/o confronting any akward issues.

B wanted to be a firefighter, but he couldn't get into the dept. apart from volunteering (affirmative action). He finally gave up and became a contractor full-time. If you talk to him about it, it's clear that was the defining non-event of his life. It's too bad, because he's a nice guy, and probably would have been good at it. I asked him why he didn't apply for Oakland or Frisco, and he said he wasn't mentally prepared to do the job in a big city - at least not at the time.

I was like: "Shit dude! I'd do it."

And probably get myself into a world of trouble, as I mange to do with everything else.

I told N today that i viewed my life, and most everyone's life as default of their ability versus their circumstance. Whatever we do, it's the most we could make, of what we had within ourselves, and we we were faced with from outside ourselves. Obviously what arises next is the question: Can we ever change; can we possibly do more - or do different? Or is the math too perfect? is the formula bulletproof?

You get these shows like FANTASY ISLAND, SURVIVOR or Canada'a THRILL OF A LIFETIME. The idea is that normal people are placed in extraordinary situations, and they can really know if they ever had something more in them than their banal workaday lives. I think I know what the answer is.

I need some lemonade for the fridgee. Something tells me I'm going to wake up and find myself very thirsty tomorrow morning.

God I want to get the fuck out of here. Ok, I said it. The only problem with this town - for me - is this feeling like I've constantly JUST quit smoking. And the real pisser is, I can't go anywhere. I have to stay and buck up. Maybe if my attitiude was just a little better. But then i don't even believe that.
Sunday night is tough. There's never enough time. I don't want to sleep, I would like to unflod it back into a weekend (Hell, I'd just like to have the weekend all over again.

I have this obsessive ritual of trying to find a good place for everything. I move stuff all around this house, tring to attain some perfection of plaement, so that it's there when I need it. I try hanging my motorcycle helmet in the garage for a change, and on a hook next to it i can hang my messenger bag, wirth all the crap I'll need at work tomorrow... But then I wanted the bag for something else, and it's down in the garage. I think: perhaps I need another bag. I need two of everything (I'm alreadyt doing that).

There's a lot of resistance in life these days. As hard as I try to make a plan and see it through; the shit gets away from me. All I managed to do this weekend is hang a picture on the wall - and it's crooked. I keep telling myself that I'm lucky, and thing could be a lot tougher, but it seems like I need Norton disc utilities, on my fucking brain. It's age isn't it?

I'm going to quit my job tomorrow, or a leats anounce to Brad that i need two moths to finish fixing up my own place. I'm sorry to have to do it. I really like Brad, and I'm going to miss the relationship.