Work in Progress, Maybe

The problem was never a matter of loving you, of wanting you, of almost everything that surrounded you. It was the combination of it all, of that tangled web of lies, those disastrous spirals that sprang up to swallow us whole that became the problem. Whispered words choked to an early grave in the light that dawn brought with it that craved only to make you understand the ways in which I ached. Ached for your fingers against my bare skin, for the heat of your breath against my neck, for your hands in mine, for the rush that you provided. Justice would never be done by the words that I could whisper, that I could scream in fits of rage and ecstasy, that I could say casually with a smile you once called sly.

These are the flickers of you that I am faced with in the dead of night, when my soul grows restless and my mind has nothing but time to wander. Through the hall, down the stairs to a couch tainted with flashes of times spent together that I simultaneously want to burn to destroy what remains and keep alive as long as possible to stop you from disappearing. Ghostly renditions of our domestic life still haunt the nooks and crannies of this house monthly, weekly, daily, hourly. Jumbled together images that come and go from view, jarring in ways that I cannot fully grasp like the puffs of smoke I exhale on the deck at midnight as I try to detach myself.

Why I'll Die A Crazy Cat Lady

          For a while now I've been meaning to write out a list of things that I like in guys because that's a conversation that comes up every now and again. You get to talking with someone and if you're close enough it just sort of happens, gets brought up some how. The thing is I'm never entirely sure how to answer that one. I want lots of things, I think in the moment, how do I list them all? Must be funny, must be charming, must be romantic, must be blah blah blah. Except the thing is, those all sound a little wrong when I write them out or say them aloud. While yes, those are nice, they're not quite on spot for what could really make or break things. Lots of people are charming, are nice, are funny, are something and that's great, but definitely not quite enough.
          It came up again recently while talking to an online friend and I decided right then screw it, I'm going to figure this out to some extent and eventually post it for the world to see... That was nearly a month ago and I'm just now getting around to the posting part. I have worked on it since then, started at work one night on a piece of scrap paper. Since then it has evolved some and been tinkered with while feigning interest in the dramatics surrounding me at my main day time employment. All in all I think they're reasonable requirements of sorts... Even if I'm also completely sure that they're why I'll die a crazy cat lady.

          1.) Doesn't regularly make me want to feed him to sharks.
                    - You would think that this is sort of something that makes sense, but I've come to realize that I have a tendency to never pay attention to it until mixed signals have happened or I've said I'm interested in someone. Likeships make you blind or something. Also, I don't literally mean I am going to feed someone to a shark just that sometimes I am done with a situation, an action, something.
          2.) Can and does text.
                    - Here's the deal, I live at work quite often and my main form of communication with my all over the place schedule is text messaging. Calls are pretty rad too, but those aren't always on the table as an option. Thus if I can't text you and have you respond fairly consistently (because hey, life does happen), it just isn't a good fit. That isn't to say if they never text me for like a day or two I'm going to flip the fuck out, just that it should be understood I'm a texter in the worst way.
          3.) Drinks like a fish or at least accepts the fact that I do.
                    - The acceptance part is the one that truly matters. I co-host party events, I enjoy going to parties with other people, I socially drink like a fish and I like it. It's one of those things that will possibly die down with time, but for right now it's a part of me and I'm not going to change it just to be with someone.
          4.) Is capable of playing board games and the like while drinking like a fish.
                    - Not everyone is capable of this, which is a shame at times but it's also okay to an extent. I'm not talking games where you have to really think out your turn (MtG, agricula, etc.), but if you can't even handle Cards Against Humanity while drunk then please go home, <3.
          5.) Accepts drunk dials in good humor.
                    - Yeah, okay, I'm kind of notorious for this. I'm not looking for involved conversations or deep ones. More of a shout, some laughs, and being screamed at by multiple drunk individuals.
          6.) Capable of interacting with other hooman beings.
                    - This is another one of those things that I wish I didn't have to state, but it's something that I've encountered before. Even with my general dislike of people I still enjoy social activities and those involve conversing with other people for unknown lengths of time. Also, as a co-host, I won't always be hanging on the arm of someone to make sure they're okay, they're fine, they're not hiding in a corner. This is true for events I'm not helping in running, but yea...
          7.) Similar taste and thoughts on music.
                    - This is more of a super idealistic one since I do not often find people that listen to the same bands as I do. Really though, the more important part is the thoughts on music. I am not one to beat other genres into the ground, to hate on other music that may aid someone else in their life. I like music for it being music, for it making me happy. 
          8.) Loves going to concerts - even random ones chosen on a whim.
                    - I miss concerts something fierce, especially going to them with someone else. There's just something to said about the whole experience and there's so much joy involved for me. Like yea, it's cool that it's not everyone's thing, but it is mine and I want to share it.
          9.) Doesn't constantly beat jokes into a bloody pulp.
                    - Some jokes are hilarious, some can last, and some you just wish you never told someone because ohmygosh they never let it go. Seriously. Dude. For cereals. Just let it die already.
          10.) Embraces his inner child.
                    - Lets go to the zoo! The aquarium! Wonder around a toy store or any store just being silly and looking at things. Be silly, be weird... Color in a book, play with fingerpaints... Just, yea.
          11.) Has hair long enough to fiddle with and doesn't mind it being played with. (As a tie in, if there's a beard, also doesn't mind it being touched.)
                    - This one basically speaks for itself. Like, for realsies.
          12.) Enjoys adventures with and without concrete destinations.
                    - I love road trips to places I have a plan for and those ones you take on a whim. Lets get in the car and just go, go, go.
          13.) Plays video games (especially RPGs) and isn't a douche about it.
                    - The isn't a douche part is quite important. I've met plenty of people who play games that can be absolutely rude over how they're so much better at it than you, that they beat it so quickly, that it is the best best best and everything else is the worst thing ever. I just enjoy them because they're fun to me, I have no reason to hate on other games in a real serious manner. As for playing them in general, I am all for hanging out and playing an rpg even if it is one player because it's just awesome.
          14.) Has a life outside of the relationship.
                    - It's a matter of a healthy existence. If the only thing that exists is the relationship and thus me then I'mma be a worried bee. It's just not right. There was a life before me, there should be one with me.
          15.) Capable of taking care of himself.
                    - This sort of ties in with number fourteen. We're adults, lets both be pals that can pay for our stuff and hang out and not be completely reliant on one another.
          16.) Isn't a hairy beast.
                    - Seriously, so much seriousness there. Too much hair freaks me the frack out and makes me uncomfortable. Like. Why... Why is there so much hair everywhere?

          And now for a couple of bonus notations..

          Bonus 1.) Has a nifty accent.
                    - I'm a sucker for a Scottish accent and even a fair amount of southern ones (it's the word reckon that really helps there.) So dating someone with one? Super duper extra nifty.
          Bonus 2.) Has a ginger beard.
                    - This sort of started as a joke once, but really they're kind of magnificent in a way. Not that other colored beards are bad or anything, they're just inferior.

          So right, I believe number one is the main reason I will be forever alone and die a crazy cat lady.

A Disaster is Always Better Than Playing with a Sure Thing

          The late shift normally agrees with me. I can settle away in my head as music plays, letting myself drift through the wee hours. The tiny projects I want to complete are worked on, unlike what tends to happen the rest of the time. A doodle here, some writing there, a book to cozy up with; little things conspiring together to keep time flowing, to keep me engaged. Problem is that at times my head drifts too far away, it goes wandering down dark little paths crisscrossed with tangled webs. Dark little paths that beckon, that holler, that demand attention I wish I better resisted giving to them, allowing them to have.
          That first sparked reaction is troublesome, is my downfall. What may have been a regular night filled with nothing terrible, nothing disorientating can suddenly become rocked, shaken vigorously. Frustrating chain reactions that burst, that explode, that keep pulling me back under waves I cannot see anymore. A set of reactions I should expect ahead of time, should be able to prepare for before the inevitable happens, but I cannot. The thought patterns differ, they evolve from time to time, and they are not always recognizable as something that will make me want to crawl out of my skin.
          Instead I am hit full force with that need, that desire to depart, to flee, to engage in the flight reaction. Responses that I cannot cater to, cannot give into as badly as I wish to, so other actions are taken to counteract whatever it is that plagues me, that wants to drown me. Pacing in the lobby, a short loop that does nothing to deter the thoughts at the edge of my mind dancing in the shadows where they can play peek-a-boo. A book left open to bed read through in spurts, between the times where I grasp at images that turn, that twirl, that spiral out of control. Music in the background, soft and quiet, lyrics that attempt to keep me grounded for the most part. Some songs pull me, drag me towards memories that crush, towards thoughts I am not fond of entertaining. Words written in a manic rush, in a slow meticulous fashion, in ups and downs to try to halt things.
          Madness, a mess, a mistake...

An Insignificant Dot in a Large Circle

          I realized recently that it has been quite some time since I have managed to settle down in front of a computer and just type away to my hearts content, to ramble away until the sun is beckoning for me to sleep like the vampire that I regularly become. At first it was a matter of losing my dear laptop. A devastating problem that still exists and may one day be remedied if I ever properly prioritize reacquiring a computer of some sort. Since then it has changed to being a matter of not knowing how to begin, where to start, what to say to get those little thoughts in my head rolling. That's the problem that has plagued me since my computer access has grown from nonexistent to while I whittle away at the late night hours for work multiple days a week. What a terrible problem.
          The thing is I'm not even sure if I could in all conscious say that it's because I don't know how to get things started. There are several, many, a plethora of beginnings to draw from, choose from, to decide between. Knowing that, accepting that means that I am aware that my drive is fairly low for things that I pretend to be passionate about. Well, okay, that's not completely true either as I do scribble out rambles in my notebooks, on my arms, on tiny scraps of paper... They just don't all make it out into the lime light, they don't all get on stage for the amusement of a nonexistent crowd. Most days I am convinced this is better for all parties involved as angst isn't entirely exciting. Angst is the wrong word, it's overused, it devours all the categories similar to it... That's a different story, a different ramble I think, I believe, I'll make it so.
          What I mean is that I don't think everyone needs to know every thought that scampers, runs, tumbles its way through my hyperactive mind, my dull mind, my confused mind. I have notes about how I've met some people, of what I thought during those early days of blooming friendships, rough days at work, little things, meaningless things to people that aren't me. Then there are the funny things like my list of things I like in boys titled why I'll die a crazy cat lady. Which I feel should be posted sometime, maybe even tonight, tomorrow... However days work, they're kind of quite terribly confusing. But yes, you see, the mix isn't for all, it's not even for me... Ugh, that's all broken and I don't even want to fix it anymore.
          Anyway, back to the beginning, to what I wanted to say some time ago... Minutes ago, seconds ago, this time business is still quite convoluted. This discovery of a lack of a proper ramble in months. The last one was almost exactly a year ago to give other people an idea of what I mean by months. Thus this post of ups and downs of twists and turns was born, was created, was dumped into the ether with only a bit of thought behind things being said, being typed, being declared. 

Some Days Are Easier Than Others

This isn't a promise or a guarantee of the truth, whatever it may actually be. It is merely a growing handful of key strokes and letters on a screen; not that they can have much meaning these days. We're all breaking down, cutting down our communication while claiming we've never talked so much before. We being all encompassing, not to be confused with you and I as specifics.

Words condemned to minimalistic standards for a conversation with such refined repetition it's nearly maddening. Hey. Hello. How are you? Fine, and you? It's an exchange of what is pleasant, what seems relevant so long as we want to play along the surface. In the end it makes it frustrating to pinpoint who do you call, message, whatever all the stupid thoughts you have during the day? Stupid being almost an irrelevant term, more who do you send random ideas to, little bits of thoughts that could be seen as eccentric to say the least.

Sure, sometimes it's as easy as knowing who knows you best for the occasional only so and so could appreciate why this is funny. Then there are those times where there's frantic energy running through your system; not quite panic, not quite depression, not quite anything. And thoughts keep being charged up, destroyed, and life seems like a mess. Logically speaking, it's not, not in the way it can be imagined to be one. Just, you want to tell people you're only friends because you provide them with something they want or because at the very least you beat the alternative of silence.


Maybe that is a fair way to stay friends. After all, we all have needs to be fulfilled, but eventually that has to seem so... Hollow? Empty? Which can make all sorts of thought bubbles erupt and you're stuck sort of hating yourself. Except, it's not really hate or anything so drastic. There's just some space that is devoid of what you're sure is proper, so you sort of teeter around obsessively searching for... Nothing. Not that these words normally get said since they have the problem of resembling some level of sadness, of desolation.


Where as I should say now, I'm not exactly a sad bee, but I am not exactly a whirlwind of happiness either. Which means, quite ultimately, that I am rather human. As a human, I find being human to be a failing way of saying how circular it feels to stay inside my head some days.

This Is What a Disaster Looks Like

         I should, perhaps, begin this whole ordeal with a proper introduction of myself and the contents to follow. Instead of the possibility of a full on ramble; a task that I'm seemingly well versed in. Though, the point of journal writing is to let your thoughts just fall out as they are, regardless of how scattered they may be. At least that's what a few years of writing instruction from various (potentially reliable) sources have taught me to believe. Yet, if I wanted to, for example, share this disaster with others, how would one tell the truth about my name on the cover and the lies between the pages? Is there an assumption at my lack of notable fame that makes it so no one would want to pretend to be me or something else? I suppose that ultimately the decision weighs and rests heavily upon my open noted riddled hands. With all of that said and done and rambled through, let me give telling a handful of lies a chance.

         Authoritative sources have a general belief that my name is legally James Elias Kingston. Yes, I'm fully aware that your name doesn't have the same level of sophistication and pizazz, but we can't all be winners. The beginning of this journal (or rather what is created after this terrible introduction) will serve as the necessary ground stones to transport any halfway intelligent creature to the start of my junior year of high school. There's a vain hope for updates beyond the ones required by my English teacher; the sole push behind this project. Even without those potential updates this journal will prove to be successful enough for my satisfaction, and that's the important part of the situation at hand. At least as far as far as I'm concerned that is and I'm conceited enough to say only my opinion matters. 

         In regards to that, specific updated schedule times shall hover around class dates and theoretical writing assignments that call upon my drab prose. Which, judging by this class scheduling, will be approximated on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays unless there's a mix up in the main office or a special event proclaiming too many places to meander to and not enough time to enjoy a prompt (however mundane it may end up). Well, that and my favoritism in regards to procrastination of school required endeavors. All of which, in the end, would seem to mean I will lack consistency, but try oh so hard to promise the world it. A theoretical problem, but one that will only taunt me from the sidelines currently before full on striking later on in life; if it does at all.

         Now, with that all written and out of the way, this first entry seems to be complete. Enough edges left shredded to leave room for a chance at being amusing and clever in words that will likely be kept in the dark. Unless, of course, the urge to throw it into the lime light of those likely to give it only a passing, surveying glance and a possible nod or shake of the head. Really, who cares about the musings, the memoir-esque writings of a nobody when there's apt to be a new starlet or star piece hitting the shelves soon? Yes, sure, their struggles are so close to home, so real; so shoved down my throat on so many programs it has begun to hurt. Really though, if it's not me down someone of the female persuasion's throat, then I cannot promise to show interest.

         With that push towards an inappropriate comment and what sounds like the beginning of the chicken egg buzzer going off, I best end this start of a rambling mess. Goodbye myself and my imaginary readers.

- With love from Kingston

Insulted

Dear America's Future Failures,

          Kindly crawl back into whatever ditch you managed to come out of. No one in their right mind wants to deal with your surprisingly consistent ability to succeed at not following directions and forgetting important information seconds after it has been uttered. The drool dripping from your mouths as vacant expressions take over your faces is truly disgusting. I hope that I never have the distinct displeasure of having my head filled with air like yours.

With love,

Kingston

           That is the current rough draft of my speech/essay for this damned to hell English class. I have a sneaking suspicion that it will not over well with my dear peers of the future. Rather, it may insult the few fellow halfway intelligent classmates who may figure out that I may not be joking this time around. This may prove to be a mistake for my social life but then, that's what killer parties are for.

          As for my dear charming English teacher, well, I have the belief (read, strong, strong hope) that she'll enjoy it. The generic same old approach to assignments bore her half to tears; from what I can gather at least. Where as my take on the inspirational speech will likely make her smile to herself... Up until the madness of insulted teenagers becomes a problem.

           By the time that terrible revelation hits them the class should, with luck, be over for the day. The joys of asking for the last slot (and thankfully getting it) are almost endless. Had I been forced into the first slot of the period I would likely fair... Not so well to put it mildly. Every spot between my own and the end would result in growing pandemonium and hurtful jabs from my unpleasant, but socially necessary table mates. Fortunately, I will be presenting that rude speech at the end

           And, if my memory serves me, at least one (if not two) of my three table chums is stuck inspiring the masses as well. So they'll be busy fretting about their own miserable speech and less than focused on mine. Rather, Lisa will be fretting and double checking (then triple checking) all of her oh so precious notes. Then, if Eric is presenting, it will be me painstakingly helping him prepare for it like the oh such good friend that I am. Read, I am doing it to continue to stake a claim in the franchise of rich connections. Because while their children may lack intelligence, the parents and their well off friends certainly do not. After all, the perfect way to break free of this middle class life is to infiltrate something higher than it.