it's really not as morbid as it sounds.

when the tempurpedic (sp?) (the fancy-bed people?) commercial comes on, and the lady's like, "come to tempurpedic.........come to bed," are you freaked out a little? like maybe there might be something between you and the lady? like she's making you an offer you can't refuse? and maybe.....just maybe......you don't really want to, but yeh, okay, you'll come to bed. you're ready.

i'm watching a documentary on charles manson. does anyone else think that whole thing is totally insanely compelling? because......yeh, i do. read helter skelter.

the prosecutor says: is he dead yet?

also, trust me. you'd rather talk to him than talk to his parole officer. really? you think, that's this guy's parole officer? whatever, man. let's hear some more guitar.

she says: yet? why not?

i had a drink (well, i had two, she had a) with the judge i appear before regularly. is that weird to say? i feel like that's weird. are we speaking another language, a different language? a different one, you and i? i think so. and so, like i was saying, i was there and so was she, and it was like having a drink with the kind of person i sort of thought she might be all the time, but was pretending she wasn't. it was very sad, yeh?

yeh.

also, don't watch the charles manson biography thing, because it's very sad. watching him isn't very sad, watching him will make you (if you're me, yeh, well) want to kill him. watching the women, though, who were and were again stronger and then beyond stronger fucked up beyond belief before and while and after, well, that's the sad part. and sure, you can be all fucked up together on acid and then be conditioned and whatever and kill, but then again.....

why, again, not dead?

okay, so this is different, maybe (maybe not?), than the way i used to talk and write and think, but i'm paid now to talk and feel and advocate and argue and deal and whatever with the real person in the real fucking shit whether they explode it to the full hilt of the law or not day by day by day, and well, it'll give anybody heartburn.

even.

that's the scary part

i'm doing this at work.

so today i had a frustrating experience, in the morning, involving my feeling idiotic, ridiculous, righteously angry, betrayed, and forced to confront the absolute swell of my own pointless sense of pride. i suppose it's inevitable to have these kinds of experiences when you work in an environment like mine, but i still never get used to it and it doesn't ever lose the sharp teeth it has either.

whatever. isn't it dirty to talk like that on your blog? sure it is.

i think i'm going to move soon. i don't see myself finding self-worth and satisfaction in this position for very long. there are a lot of things i really love about my job, and a lot of things i love about my work and daily life here, and i love the boss (big and little) i have, but it's tiring and draining and ugly for the most part. who wants to live like that forever? bad for the chest and its contents.

remember the bible?

maybe this is just supposed to be for journaling, like live real-time journaling? but nobody wants to read that blog, right? that's the blog i roll my eyes at and skim over if i even visit. so then maybe i shouldn't make it public, right? no clicky, not tricky. i don't know.

i have another hearing at 1 o'clock today, in five minutes, but i'm sure the judge isn't going to be back from lunch, so what do i care? am i better than that? i don't know. i used to think so, but now i.......well, maybe i'm just avoiding taking responsibility for all the things that i do, no matter what they are. maybe i'm just blaming work and stress for my own failings as a person, as a Christian, as a friend, instead of any introspection or intraspection or whatever the fuck whole people are supposed to do, and getting off easy because it's a hard-to-confront issue. maybe i'm just avoiding any real, meaningful interaction with any real, meaningful people because it's much easier to feel self-important, prideful, and martyrish than it is to deal with concrete, difficult problems with concrete relationships that i have that might possibly be here after i decide to stop working here. or maybe i'll just keep working here forever, and do this job and become a raging alcoholic, bitter and angry at the world and its idiots, fool myself into thinking i've made a difference thirty seconds at a time, five days a week, with holiday and sick pay.

it'd be easy to do.

good morning

this is still called: font. don't you like to be up to date?

of course you do.

i work in a place where there are other, crazier people working alongside. there's the woman with the office next to me, who used to defend, who is bound and determined to be unhappy. it's her lot in life, really, and as much as you want to rebel against that notion, it's really working out for her and keeping her just fine and dandy, so why not so be it? yes?

alright.

and then the guy down the hall, who i had to discover, create, use--over and over again, mind you--and then bury under no uncertain terms, a hatchet, very big and very sharp and handy. we've buried it, but if you've read any king you know that what you bury is yours and may and always will come back to you, and is yours to begin with, so we'll see how that goes, if human nature is really as ugly or redemptive as we want to believe it (both) is.

those are two: wait for more.

let's try not to make this terrible

this is called: font. maybe i am and maybe i'm not. what difference does it really make, in the end?

let's try.

so i've been away. try to forgive me. i know it might take some time, some effort on both our parts, perhaps a circle of feelings. but look at it this way: in the meantime, i became an arbitrator, a used-car saleswoman, a bargain-dealer, a racist and a thief. but that was before i passed the bar exam. now, i am just looking for something i've misplaced.

maybe i'm starting this writing back up because when i get home it takes me over six hours to relax enough to even lie down in my bed without getting up after ten minutes, or because i sometimes question this: how did my world get this small this many times during the day, day to day, week to week, month to month? i was bigger than this, could think and walk and talk bigger much bigger than this at one time and without any prompting, so let's see it again, loya the destroya (or so they call me at workity work work work), do it for us all one more time.

alright.

back again.