Make no mistake.

A friend has informed me that the below post, though written well, will stop me from getting laid ever again. While I was writing it, I wasn't concerned about that. Really. Truth be told, I don't much concern myself with where my next lay is coming from. Fucks just tend to happen, don't tend to matter much and don't tend to last. (Tonight I saw one of my old ones sign on to Yahoo! Messenger, for instance. I recall him being a nice enough guy and a pretty good lover, so I considered saying hello for a moment. Instead, I came to my senses and deleted him from my contact list. I don't really want reminders that he's out there. That chapter's done.)

Anyway, I was only really concerned about the piece being descriptive, about it communicating and reflecting my mood in that given moment. Forgive the high-mindedness, but I only wanted it to be true and good. I've not written anything true and good in weeks, and I just wanted some reminder to come to me that I could still do it. (Hawking essays you wrote three years ago, though rewarding, can bum you out if you've not written anything new.)

I asked my friend - who only wanted to protect me while I was "openly vulnerable" because he loves me - if he understood what I wrote. He said he tried to understand it, but he kept getting distracted by the imagery surrounding my toenails.

Tonight, I clipped my toenails and watched THE PHILADELPHIA STORY, which regular readers may recognize as my ritual to cheer myself up. The bank account's low, the apartment's messy, I'm low on gas, I watched porn that Brad gave me, did nothing to find a new job, did nothing to lose weight, did no laundry. I only wore my new shoes outside to fetch my cell phone from my car. It's mostly pathos, a Sunday without ambition.

The weather was nice today. Other people would've gone to the park. I waited to do something until the only thing to do was watch THE PHILADELPHIA STORY. I am not in a good mindset. I am not a good man.

The suggestions behind the below post - not the post itself - are the things I would be wise to rid myself of. I want to rid myself of my frequent notion that things can't get better, that effort won't be rewarded, that depression is standard, that I deserve clutter, that lackadaise is somehow an honest reaction to perpetual disappointment.

I need a soul cleansing. I need ambition again. I need life. I need movement. The combined ups-and-downs of this April have put me in a rut.

I told my brother that I was molested, and it didn't seem to change anything.

I had a really great reading that reminded me I'm capable of doing more, yet I'm unsure which direction I'm supposed to go in.

I got into trouble at work, which led to "tough love" conversations with friends that revealed I'm more than willing to just continue suffering through. I'm passive as a defense mechanism. I don't change, for change would require effort, effort would mean risk, risk could mean danger, danger could be bad, etc.

I am stuck, past, present and future-tense, waiting for something to happen TO me. I make jokes. I have pessimism rooted in the marrow of my bones, protecting me from good and bad.

I have an attitude problem. And I can't find any solutions to it that don't seem fake. I'm not the sort who puts on a smile for long.

To the friend who loves me, I love you too. I'm sorry we've been trapped in this circular argument for years.