Never, never in my entire life have I been this tired. I am no longer, No longer will I stay up until 5 am. First thing I am doing when I get home is going to sleep. I am just not built for this type of live and let die life. I am not. For hours and hours of sex with many beautiful women, that I am well equipped for, but for staying up late programming, watching movies, talking to friends, alas, a flaw finally. Anyway, not to be dramatic, I just wanted to say I am very tired.

The Site is coming along nicely. I know my webpage is schedule for review in the next few days, I really want the new site up by then so I am just going to start putting pages up and what not, don't let it phase you the slightest. The new features are coming along nicely and I am pretty sure the site is much much faster. Interesting happened at work today, which has been on the boring and uneventful side lately - however - we did (the office we) go out for drinks at this really shitty, yet overpriced and posh lounge (bar). They didnt have a tap, the beers were cold, and they only really served apple martini's. I had won, it was good. Right, so today at work, I checked my bank account and found a deposit, great, I finally got paid. But then, bah, I realized they didnt pay me for 18 hours of work and I do not know how to tell them, the secretery seems angry with me. I wouldnt know why.

My parents are pissing me off again, they keep on developing these fictious tasks I must complete ASAP or I can't leave the house. Like I have to clean my room, or finish a film paper, or get this signed, or call this teacher, and lately I must "Organize my papers". What the fuck does that mean, organize my papers! I am coding a damn website, I am doing a good job, I am dedicating myself and taking myself seriously, the least they can do is appreciate that. I am taking responsibility, mom, It just isnt the same responsibility that you took when you were a kid, but it is still important to me. I only wish my parents could appreciate what I do that doesn't produce results that are tangible, like grades, or money, or respect. This shit makes me happy, that is tangible enough for me. It keeps me productive and I love doing it, why cant my mom realize that? That's important right? RIGHT.

I watched Gosford Park this weekend, it wasnt good. In fact, it is so obviously not good to me, that I am not going to comment on it anymore. I also watched Police Academy 1. That was good. Captn Harris is funny. Hehe. I sent the only person who know where that quote was from "A Pecker thig big, just like his father" a Kansas O'Rogers tshirt. Oh god I am so tired. Yesterday - sunday - well me rachel and ricki and amanda went to david's house for a pool party. It was fun. I like the horracemann kids Ive begun hanging out with a lot. Really nice and caring. What else...oh right, so when driving back into the city after a session I commented, while listening to RadioHead, the sun was setting, Fake Plastic Trees, Park Avenue, Dusk, Met Life, that everything seemed so beautiful. For a momment things fit. The Met life building I hate, belonged at the end of the park avenue stretch I love. I am being poetic. Anyway, I am going to leave work and I just need to finish a small project. Tommorow everyone. I am going to sleep the second I get home, sucks, no?

Well I am home. I did some paper work (my mom was happy). Now I didn't tell you guys this, but a few nights ago, friday night actually saturday morning, 5am, I wrote a daily dose. I was up all night

Stop. Forget everything I said. I mean don't but listen now.

I never finished that last thought, but I will, and I will add to it a bit. I had to go to dinner, and by the time I got home, after watching Girl Inturrupted, which wasnt a particularly good movie - it just fucked with me more, I was in no shape to do anything. But now, comes the part of me that I want to see in action. I am going to write what I want to write right now. Granted, this is immensly personal, but I read these as notes for a grander work, hehe, you read them as my life, two clearly different vantage points. So I am going to describe what I have been feeling in the last few days. And yeh it is trite (defense mechanism) but it is what I am feeling, it isnt art and I don't think it is, but emotions are emotions and they can be useful if I ever want to write soaps. Here goes.

*Paralysis:

1 : complete or partial loss of function especially when involving the motion or sensation in a part of the body

2 : loss of the ability to move

3 : a state of powerlessness or incapacity to act

Merriam-Webster’s Online*

I was doing paperwork today, just like my dad, not in my room, but in a communal section of the house as to barricade that room in a rather public display of my responsibility. And just like my Dad is bothered by mother, she quickly came to my apparent rescue with an improved method of filing receipts, bank statements and checks. As I continued, she brought me my mail, which I laid to the side until I was ready for that addition to my already daunting task. Seconds, minutes, hours later, I advanced to the mail; first leafing threw it, discarding the junk, occasionally opening one of them, seeing what I’ve already one if I only ordered a few magazines - too bad I didn’t.

A letter from the University of Wisconsin Madison started all this, or at least sparked the fuel sitting in my stomach. My stomach, well my chest, it isn’t built correctly. I have a loose bone, possibly a rib, near my heart, that when my stomach explodes, shifts and pokes my heart, creates a whole that floods my thought for hours. I try vomiting, maybe in order to shift the rib, which is supposed to guard my precious heart from penetration, back in place – stop the flood. But nothing comes out. I read the letter again, really just a name and two addresses. Ironically these fourteen lines of text write out the next four years of my life.

I excuse myself from the kitchen, my mom asks me if I am just going to leave the papers there, I can’t honestly say I responded to that question as the papers, folders, checkbooks, passport, my life, are still there, I assume, as I have not moved them since. Downstairs in my room I watch Major League. And then I am told to put shoes on because we are leaving for dinner.

I am left after dinner terrified of something. And I am failing to articulate this fear as well as the rest of this. But it is right in front of me and I couldn’t move. I sat in the same position for hours. When I walked up stairs for cigarettes, something I have done maybe a million times never once faltering, the stairs loose the grip of my feet. The light switches evade me. As ridicules as it sounds, I could have sworn the boogieman, yes, the boogieman, was behind me the entire way, also intimidating me was the possibility of the beast being in front of me, waiting for the ambush as I stumble over the last stair and into the hallway. Quickly, haphazardly, I rush the kitchen; steal the cigarettes, with the lights off, for what could be hiding in front of me was too much to stomach, even for just a moment, with the lights on, to tell me where I was, where he was, and where we were going be living.

But always in front of me, somehow, back in the solitude of my room, anticipating my moves, the fear was still there. I smoked all four cigarettes practically at once. And for awhile, I just sat in my chair like I have done so many times before by choice, believing I was trapped this time, but sardonically comforted by the fact that if I did not move, nothing would change.

What was I to do. Oh and if I knew, could I do it? Am I strong enough to control an all to common current and still drift along happily… No answer. The voice in my head was now not my own, telling me to relax, this is bad yes, it said, but please, relax and don’t dare moving until you are ready. The other voice, my own, said to myself, I’m an idiot. The argument erupted, I laugh writing that, as the voice not my own began drowning in his own shouts, the fears floated to the top, overpowered me – him, and shouted at me my insecurities. You are no writer. You are no programmer. You are no boyfriend. You are no artist. You are a vessel in a river with no sail, oars, or engine to navigate. I knew it was an exaggerated moment. Never was I scared about my direction while doubting my ability to survive in the cold, I am all too constantly told, Wisconsin.

That daily dose I never posted and never finished telling you about composed after that girl called me. The most frightening thing about it, I wrote, was that now my fears were tangible. An overdose - a suicide by writing them because they could now always remind me that I am scared of myself. The implications of that, insecurity, depression, failure, they also scared me. The last two years of my life can repeat and I don’t know if I can handle that again. Not being sure I could go threw depression again, that scared me also. Having to be depressed again, very scary. The dose cursed the site for being meaningless, indulgent, and I don’t know if I believe those things, but thank god I used sessions in my admin script because I forgot to hit save and lost that dose. My point is I wrote out my fears once, very clearly, and I guess knowing that writing something so personal about how weak I am practically killed me, scared me. If I could not write about the things I think, I cannot write, my hands, the only things left to row my raft with are paralyzed.

I called my brother. We spoke, I showered, I listened to fake plastic trees, I jumped around, I leaned my head back a bit, titling I closed my eyes and looked directly into the light, sat down and decided to face at least one of my fears right now. Now. And I finished, because I am finished. And I wrote them all out, I wrote about them with a metaphor – sometimes mixed – but I did. And while still scared, it has been done, and can be done again, I guess I move freely now, because well, I wrote didn’t I?