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04 june 2000
----- Introspection invades me. I've been like this all day, turning inside myself, occasionally peeking out for some fresh air, but mostly taking solace in whatever could help me escape into my own mind, be it the back of my eyelids in Griffith Park, or a double martini at the Dume Room bar. I so know what I need to do with myself, yet at the same time I'll do anything to talk myself out of doing it. As I was leaving the apartment today, the roommate grabbed me and said "So, do you have an answer for me?" "I wasn't aware you had made an offer ..." Half lying now. "How drunk were you on Thursday?" 'It was _your_ wine." He repeated the offer, and added "I'm really in a bind here. I need an answer tomorrow morning." And I left for an enjoyable afternoon in LA's equivalent to New York's Central Park. Later, on an apartment house stoop somewhere in the neverland between LA, Hollywood, and West Hollywood, I made up my mind. I'm gonna take the new job. For me. "For me" as opposed to for feelings of guilt involving my current employer. "For me" as opposed to what anyone else might think of me now that the decision is made. The bottom line is that my life isn't working right now. It's on its way, but it's not there yet. Taking this new job will make life a whole lot easier, simpler, and it'll leave me a lot more time to get inside my own head and ponder my existence, a valiant crusader on a quest to answer that eternal question "What the fuck is wrong with me?" But then, maybe there's absolutely nothing wrong with me other than my perception of myself. I'd like to believe that, and I'd like to live by it. But if that's true, why do I feel so alone? Why do I fall asleep every night longing for someone to share with? Why do I wake up every morning reaching my arm to emptiness, reaching my mind to instruct my mouth to utter two words that only my ears can hear: "Oh fuck." The world can tell me how wonderful I am. The world can painfully pinch me on my arm at the first sign of self pity. Frankly, the world owes me, and most everyone I know and care about, a fucking break. If that makes no sense, it's because it's not supposed to. We are the world, and the world is not enough. My own problems, magnified significantly through incessant introspection, are no larger, smaller, or different from anyone's. We all dwell to a certain extent, maybe me moreso than most, but then I always was one to brood to the point of pain. What is my problem, I wonder... well, actually it's a multitude of things. Problem: I'm horny as hell. Solution: Masturbation. Been there, done that, and I wonder why my eyesight's so bad... Problem: I'm lonely as hell. Solution: Get out and meet new people. But why? I like the people I know. I've never been one to spread myself too thin among too many friendships. There's only so much of me to go around, and I think that applies to everyone. The downsides, so to speak, are only magnified in LA, where everyone, undeniably, is your "friend." Somehow, I'm still searching for my special someone. The scary thing is that I may know that person already, may have known that person for years, months, weeks, or days ... I should have it all figured out by september, if you believe a horoscope that I encountered today. September ... dunno if I can wait that long. Of course, that's my hormones talking. They're a bad thing, male hormones, an integral part of a body+soul engineered to give me two heads to think with, each with its own power, persuasive at its own time. My rational "head" has been kicking the shit out of my hormonal "head" of late, much to my frustration. It's the inspiration behind the all-too-popular saying "Nice Guys Finish Last," the saying itself being nothing more than an excuse for, or explanation of lack of backbone, or, more pointedly, lack of balls, in the orator. So I have no balls. A quick reach into my boxers seems to negate that premise, although the whole action is more akin to opening a cobweb-encrusted basement which, though while filled with the memory and promise of love and warmth, is undeniably in need of a good spring cleaning to return to its previous state of luminiscence. I'm frustrated as hell right now. ~~~ Tomorrow (or maybe tuesday, knowing my knack for procrastination) I somehow need to tell my current employer that I'm leaving. I need to do this without guilt, without an "I owe you something in return" feeling, and without regret. I know what I'm doing is best for me, as sure as I know that this endless introspection will get me nowhere, but it makes it no easier. Lying in bed, alone, horny, whatever ... for this one moment, this one decision ... I'm sure it's a good thing. And that, at least, is a step in the right direction. 04 june 1999: didn't write : 04 june 1998: automotive defensive : Actually, I like my neuroses. They make me who I am. Fuck trying to turn me into everyone else. The last thing I want to be is normal.
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