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I
Can't force conversation tonight.

Like Cherish, I'm addicted anew to audio chats. Though, I imagine Lev will tire of it quickly. We sort of ganged up on him today, and he wasn't in a good mood. He buggered off, but, I wasn't surprised.

Ahh; money seems to be the bitch that reams me with a lamp, sometimes. I'm glad that through accidental luck, I've survived thus far.

I got pissy the other day, and ran out to LD to grab a new tablet. Tag said $80, till said $100. I still bought it.

So far, I don't regret it.

Lev still says he'll help me with the computer. He'll throw me something together, and mail it my way. I pay for shipping. I guess that could be okay?

Frankly, I'm surprised he's so nice to me about all this. For a guy who seems to have rather little trust or interest in my company sometimes, he sure looks out for me.

I feel real good about the tablet. I overpaid. I know that. I don't care. I figure that everything will be fine.

My psychic tells me that Europe Girl is gone.

I don't know why, I'm kind of relieved. I really didn't think I'd be sane enough to live abroad by then, anyway. New Girl has an undetermined due date. I'm kind of wistful about this one, wondering why some people seem destined to live unloved.

This new set of predictions tells me that my future as a writer died, along with Europe Girl. Fame, in general, has left my path.

Can I be content with obscurity? Can my ego accept that?

Will something else fill the void I feel in relation to my name being carried past my demise? Will I be able to let that all go?

I won't be famous, or memorable, unless my fame is as a second fiddle to someone else. That always pisses me off, when Psychic tells me that stuff. Every 6 months, it all flip-flops. Some years, I'm destined to become a comedian. A singer. A backup singer. A writer.

Maybe I'm gunna end up an artist, this go.

I'm a funny little shit.

The older I get, the more talents I pick up. The more I develop, the more I want to expose my stuff to an audience. The older I get, the better my writing skills get; less people want to read my fiction now than ever before. Which, is funny, because I'm really whipping out fun shit sometimes.

The more I do, the more I want.

The more I want to change things.

The more I age, the more I feel out of normal societal bounds. I'm almost too odd, too silly, too.. everything.. to exist in conjunction to everyone else. I start having to apologize for my eccentricity. I start having to watch what I tell people.

The older I get, the more I want to get out, and do shit. I have 10101 projects (prolly..), and barely anything to show for it.

I need to stick to a few things, or time things to go down more often.

Srsly. I sit there and think, "Guitar? Man -- so close to figuring that out. Knitting? Man, I could so do that.. some day. Singing? Man, I am so there.. later. Drawing? Man, I totally want to draw all sorts of shit."

It never fucking ends.

I feel surrounded by my incomplete state; nothing ever gets concluded, completed, or put up.

I seem to have drifted a little here...

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Circa 2010