The constant tug and pull of the situations presented is wearing thin. Two steps forward, two steps back, and a third step off to a direction not really dictated in the original terms.

Excuses are completely unattractive, right up there with lack of self-confidence and the inability to really DO something with yourself, yet all three of these can be applied to me with a rather vicious ease.

This is not something I enjoy too terribly much. In a lot of aspects of my life I can see room for improvement. And in a lot of aspects of my life, I know I'm succeeding to newer and bigger levels, higher standings and brighter outlooks.

But there's not enough of the later to make up for the shortcomings of the former.

It's been a long, stupid, and rough year. Some of it could have been avoided if I hadn't been immature and childish, and some of it was honestly just shit outside of my control that I couldn't begin to understand at the time it happened and I STILL have no fucking idea on how to think of it, so I leave it alone and focus, dwell, on the past instances I think of as sins and terrible, terrible situations.

And I've let that shape me for so fucking long.

I'm reading my old posts.

It's the same song and dance, over and over again. "NO MORE," I'd proclaim loudly to no one in particular. "NO MORE BEING ME!"

Lamentations of change and how things would be better and here I am sitting at 3 in the morning in my dining room, listening to Aduro Animus, drinking Mt. Dew, smoking too many fucking cigarettes, my inside voice telling me everything I secretly want it to tell me about, filling in details for situations I honestly don't want to know about and could probably sleep better at night not pondering.

Proclamations of how everything is terrible and how I can't figure out why it's so bad for me. "SHIT SUCKS!" Shit sucks?

Hah. Shit sucks, but at this point, isn't that what this is all about? Shit sucking, so you take a stand, take a fucking leap from your sedntary position and go "NO MORE!" in your loudest voice to attract attention to yourself, because you really want it.

....I'm going to try my damndest to not burn out this time. I feel like this might be the last chance I have for this whole situation, and if I fuck this up, then.....I dunno.

It's twenty minutes from now, and I'm asleep, curled up next to a stuffed animal I don't ever tell anyone about and a pillow that I think of as comforting, all knowing, and lovely in its own quaint ways.

I know tomorrow will bring the same as today, quiet restlessness and divine apathy that combine to become something akin to my daily routine, anxiously counting away the days until something I've planned on a lark becomes true, becomes real. And as much as I hate it, I look forward to it because I know these moments won't be here when I truly want them to be.

It's fifteen years ago and I'm standing in the woods, breathing the scents of an east coast forest.

The molded rubber grips of my bike are solid and yielding in the palms of my hands, the sounds of the woodlands around me motivating me to move just over the next rise off in the distance, promising the thrill of something I've yet to see or experience, and I answer it without hesitation, walking calmly toward the unknown events that I'll always hold with me.

It's five minutes ago and I realize I'm entirely too drunk to comprehend what Jesse is explaining to the room full of my friends.

I can't rightly feel my face, my drummer is passed out over my toilet after getting physically ill many, many times in my bathroom, and my little brother is asking me about my roommates bed that has been destroyed.

I don't have the answers for much of any of those moments. I don't really know if I ever will, either, but I manage to stumble out a few sentences of explanation to him as I pause in typing this. And for a moment it all becomes clear. I'm an adult, having fun in my normal methods, proclaiming that my life is amazing while I lie to myself about it. But I won't let that get to me at this moment and time, I've got a whole room full of people to entertain, and as the person that I am, I need to do that.

It's an undetermined time away from this point. I'm lying in a room that isn't mine, the sterile smell of antiseptic and death stinging at the exposed soft tissue around my eyes and nose. I'm not long for all of this, I know it, but I'm staring blankly at the wall across the room from me, the steady beep of the electronics monitoring my dwindling life signs constantly snapping me back.

I've seen enough of all of this, and whatever has come for me at this moment is making it hard to rationalize, between the white hot pain and the lovely cool colors flooding my judgment.

People have been in and out of this place, some in white coats, administering things that've made the pain go away, that have allowed me a little bit of sleep, a moment of comfort. And when they weren't coming in to inject liquid concoctions into me, there were even more people. Some old, some young, a lot of them that look like me, some of them that look like someone mixed my looks with the looks of a woman I've known for decades and sent them about to experience their own paths. And they all have this look of quiet concern and dreaded understanding about something I may or may not have accepted many years prior to this point.

All of this happens in the blink of an eye, and all of this takes place in a period of time that feels like a universe could form, spring life forth, and then die again. I don't know what to think about it, the constant story and song of the teachings, so I just go with it, not really paying attention to the small things and always worrying about the huge picture I'll never really look at.

There isn't a real end to all of it, just a gradual acceptance that the story told is the one that you've lived, and that every moment you go through is always going to be there, good, bad, or in-between.

And every moment that was good? Going an hour out of your way for a flower and a kiss, singing a song out of key and playing a guitar out of tune, telling a story and sweeping her off her feet? Completely worth it, because they'll stay with you forever.

And every moment that was bad? Fuck it, you get the gist of the last time skip, you know exactly what it's about. When it progresses to that point in your life, it doesn't really matter, now does it?

Growing up is an art. And we all know art is hard.

Tis late, it is, and speaking in matters of meanings and verse is fun, aye?

It's happening again. I'm only a place filler for right now, y'see, until you come to the point where we're one in the same, aye? I know we used to play this silly little game years back where there were two of us in one space, but the lines are blurry, the both of us too old to keep saying we're not the same person.

So who'm I talking to now? Which one of us is the alpha, which one of us is the beta, eh? Who cares, you've gotten to this point, you're stopping yourself out of prefunction, because you're afraid of what else can go right out of everything going wrong, which isn't even the case anymore.

Armchair psychology is fun when it's everyone but you sitting there, so fuck it, go with it. You're doing fine. We're doing fine. I'm doing fine.

I got enough of it anymore. Myspace sucks and Facebook is just as pretentious as Myspace was five years ago. I can't wait until the next social scenemaker comes out, just so I can watch the socially fucked up assholes who think they need to be a part of some sort of retarded sect of cool people scramble to keep their failing "scene cred" together.

It might be because I'm some sort of fat asshole that lives to make people see the retardedness of their ways, but really, I hate people that think they have to have a oneup on everything around them to retain their own levels of cool.

From the vultures who proclaim that the next "metal" band to come out on the radio is the newest, most hardest things to the fucked up 17 year old girls who wear shit they got at a flea market that makes them look like they're homeless, I don't see the point. Call it a social commentary or call it what ever the fuck you want, I just don't see the point to have to one up one person or another every fucking day of the week.

God, I hate alcohol at this point.

It's 1 in the morning, I've had too many drinks, I can't find my lighter, my cell phone, or my dignity, and I don't think I'm going to find the last one anytime soon.

It's colder then the sac of Satan, according to my roommate and secret manlove crush Josh, which I am inclined to agree with at this point. When my glasses fog over the moment I exhale from my nose, and that freezes, yes, it is very cold.

December sucked so bad. For those in the know, I made it out alive. For those out of the loop, just know that I'm the walking embodiment of "Stones Law of 'You Are Gonna Get Raep'D'". It's like the fourth law or aerodynamics, right after that one where Newton gets hit in the head with falling produce. Or fruit.

As a side to the above paragraph: Is fruit produce? I mean....I dunno, produce is a pretty big term. It covers vegetables, but does it cover fruits? I know it covers tomatoes, and that's a fruit, and I spell it with an e in there, so eat it, whateves man.

God, but as bad as it sucked, December was great. First month out on my own, living in my own apartment, standing on my own two feet(when my fucking knee wasn't deciding to go all wonky on me on the ice), just proving to myself I'm not as bad a fuck up as I always think I am. And spending quality time with a few important people in my life, the few that left to bigger and better things only to come back like they said they would, and it was all still the same. It was nice. Shame it's ending come the 22nd.

Everyone always belts out Auld Lang Syne when the new year rolls around. How quaint, a yearly tradition like invading a foreign country and blaming the economy crash on....what'd we choose as a scapegoat this time around? I can't remember. Let's just lump it with Bush. Yeah. Guy is getting all sortsa shit, so one more thing won't hurt him or whatever.

But, yeah, yearly traditions. Forgot my frame of reference at this step. Senor McCormicks is kicking in.

Oh, oh, alright, yeah, new year, new Stoney?

Naw, fuck that. New year, same Stoney, but one that's pretty aware of his pitfalls and downturns. All is quiet on the home front, but to crib a line from a rather Fearless friend of mine that's pretty rad, there's a party in my mouth and it's a failed intervention. But everyone's invited. Especially you.

Ugh, my Monster Vodka Dew is empty. And there's something shiny under my computer desk. Wonder what it is.

Damn, just my lighter. The search for my dignity continues.

Delayed "Stone's Law of 'You're Gonna Get Raep'D'" suck.

Remember about three posts back, I said my new job was epic?

Not so epic when they give me 25 minutes of training in fucking Customer Service Relations and then let me go to pick up the slack their fucking actual CSR's couldn't handle.

I'm getting calls asking about taxes and complaining about assholes in offices and all sorts of shit I can't fucking cover for or give ideas for.

And one of the supervisors thinks I'm trying to use my acquaintance from high school that works a tier above me as a stepping stone, and that's just making me feel all sorts of wonderful about my position.

Can't something ever go fucking right? Or, at the very least, can't I get a breather for about a week? Nothing to worry about, just a solid week where I'm not having to wonder what the hell I am going to do with myself?

Too much to ask for? Figured it was.

Figures.

Well now, point a finger at me, I'm going to respond in suit.

Low blow = low blow in return. If you don't like it, shouldn't have opened your mouth in the first place.

Sit right back and I'll regale you with stories, avid readers.

(No one reads these damnable things anymore, Stoney.)

I know. It's just me feeling important for a few minutes. Stop talking to me, you asshole....

Anyways, onward and upward, eh?

I started my newest job two weeks ago. Level One Tech Support for a tax company whose name I shan't mention. Nifty, eh? Entry level, I answer phone calls and don't deal with the customers at all, just the various office personal that have troubles with their computers.

I went live on the floor earlier this week. Man, I was nervous as all hell. First time in a call center, first time answering live phone calls, with people looking for answers with problems I'd had....oh, maybe five waking hours worth of lecturing on. There was more lecturing, but the keyword in there is waking.

Today topped it, though. First full day on the floor, taking calls, troubleshooting, getting right into the thick of it.

And then, around 3:00 or so, I get the call that made me so happy.

A woman from a town in Texas calls in about having trouble resetting her password. This is a fairly common situation, so I walk her through trying to reset it on her own, as per company policy in these situations.

After two attempts, she can't get it. So, I run into the password reset tool and reset her password, giving her a temporary alphanumerical password.

As I begin to read the password back to her, the conversation starts off as such:

Me: Alright, ma'am, the password I'm giving you is temporary. Log in with it, and then change your password.
Client: Alright, ready when you are.

I begin to read off the password.

Me: Alright, the first letter is an uppercase T.
Client: Woah, woah, alright, wait, hold on.

I assumed she wasn't ready.

.....Why do I assume things?

Me: Alright, ma'am, what seems to be the issue?

(Thomas, I'm looking at you here, man. Please, post in the comments and back me up here, you heard me say this)

Client: What's an uppercase T look like?
Me: Ma'am, it's just a capital T.
Client: What's a capital T?
Me: Ma'am, that's what you get when you press the shift button and the letter T on the keyboard. This is important because the password is case sensitive.

The fine young gentleman sitting next to me, said Thomas in the above parentheses, put his call on mute in mid sentence, turns to me, and goes 'Dude, did you just tell that lady how to make a capital letter?'

And then it hit me.

HOLY SHIT, I HAD TOLD SOMEONE THAT WAS A FAIRLY IMPORTANT PART OF THE GENERAL WORKINGS AT HER PARTICULAR OFFICE HOW TO CAPITALIZE A LETTER! THIS LADY SOUNDED OLDER THEN JESUS AND SHE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL A CAPITAL LETTER LOOKED LIKE? HOLY SHIT!

Which was followed by me trying not to break into tears of laughter on the phone with her. Which was very, very hard, considering the next words out of her mouth were

Client: T....T.....Where's the letter T on this damn keyboard?

Said client was promptly put on mute while she proceeded to spend three minutes trying to find the letter T on her keyboard. Three minutes. To find the letter T on the keyboard.

...again, why do I assume so easily? Read on!

Lets just assume this lady was in her 60's or so. Now, I know the computer keyboard is a newfangled invention, but lets also assume that the general knowledge of how to type was instilled in people starting, at the VERY least, maybe 70 years ago, if not more. The typewriter has been around for almost a hundred years, give or take a decade or so, and it's common knowledge that typing was indeed introduced into the education hierarchy fairly far back in the mid-1900's, if not sooner, and the general layout for the keyboard has it's roots based in the basic layout for the keyboard. Not so much the number pad on the right hand, or a few of the very computer centric keys, like the function keys, or the various -lock keys, but the main portion has pretty much stayed solidly there for decades upon decades.

So that leaves the question, how the FUCK did this lady get through her life without knowing what a capital T looked like? Did she wake up one day and go 'Man, I got a great grasp on like, 25 of these fucking letters. Fuck T. No one likes 26. It's not an even number*" and that was that?

And more to the point, how does someone reach a position of even slight importance in a situation where you can't figure out what a capital letter looks like?

Just sayin'.


*I know that 26 is an even number, but I'm banking on the fact that, since they didn't take the time to learn all 26 letters of the alphabet, they probably said "Hey, counting is too hard too, so fuck that noise" not too shortly after the original (genius) declaration. Eat me, it's funny to me.

It's not like my superpower is reading minds, but taking hints, boy-howdy do I know how to do that!