Oh say does that star strangled banger

Cross-posted to found_objects:

( Does Lee Greenwood do a version of the Wedding March? )

Couteau. Cou-teau. COU-TEAU

Occasionally the contradictions, impossibilities, and disastrous limitations of my life all line up and point at me like accusing fingers and I completely freak out. This is one of those times. How is it that I get up every day and do this?

When I've once again noticed that my whole life is a huge freaking wreck and I spout off about it, people are nice and try to tell me the good things about me. These are always the things about me that make other people happy, like a good waiter would. Glad to be of service. Would rather have an actual life, like you. There may well be many people with tidy rooms, pleasant mates, and empty lives. I'd take that deal about now.

I'm that guy that every woman thinks would be great for someone else to date. The hypocrisy is almost worst than the rejection. Almost.

If I took out a #2 pencil and wrote down the specifics of my current life as a short paragraph on a nice clean new legal pad I would then immediately shoot myself in the head. Keep pencils away from me.

It's odd how I can simultaneously be having a pleasant conversation with friends, be entertaining, listen attentively and tell stories, and still at the same time feel that terrible yawning hellpit of self-hatred inside me. They're faking it, they're tolerating me, when I'm not around they shake their heads and say "poor guy, I wish he'd get it but there's no way".

I think I'll probably be alone until the day I die. There hasn't been much evidence to the contrary throughout my adult life. I wonder how one makes a bargain with that?

I refuse to be romantically self-indulgent about it. Bad news is just bad news, like shit on your shoe or a slough of toxic chemicals.

List of thingies

I have always had a crush on someone or other. So far none of my crushes have been good ideas. Wonder if that'll ever change?

I hereby start the theory that the Loch Ness Monster makes a sound that is identical to the opening of the Rolling Stones' classic hit "Sympathy for the Devil". Including the bongos.

If I could be a cartoon character I'd be Binky from Matt Groening's Life in Hell because I am, already. No LJ quiz is necessary.

I'm a pretty angry person a lot of the time, but I haven't been physically violent since I got jumped by a bum in 1995. The mere suggestion of violence leaves me twitchy and unbalanced for a week or so. Even violence in movies makes me feel like I'm the one who got beaten up.

I've seen a big plane crash and a suicide, both before adulthood. I still like airplanes and I'm still against suicide.

When people tell me I should do X or Y or Z about the problems I'm so worked up about, I get upset. Sometimes this is just because advice is generically upsetting. Also, quite often they're suggesting consolation prizes of various kinds instead of actual happiness. "People like you sometimes make do with this prosthesis!" or "Sometimes hapless losers in your position go to a special kind of meeting in a rehab facility and receive binders full of information on how to be mediocre!" I call this Special Olympics Gold Medal Syndrome. I hate broken shit, mediocre stuff, and all the other consolations given out to losers. This is, in fact, nasty snobbery on my part, and also a fine defense against actually fixing anything. I'm rather proud of it, as one might be proud of a particularly outstanding goiter.

When I've read a long book, I write in the same style as that writer for a while afterwards, sometimes for months. It's like garlic sweating out.

We live as we dream, alone.

WELL HERES MY CRUSH MEME!!1!!