2.13.99

Allow me, if you will, the opportunity to elaborate on something that I said earlier. I seem to have touched a nerve in some, and I want to make a vain attempt to rectify the situation. First, though I want to reiterate a FACT that I've stated previously.
The concept of an online journal is therapeutic. Electronic Prozac, in a way. It is a way to cleanse the soul of unneeded emotions and events. By posting these thingies, I frequently come back dead tired. Emotionally deficit and morally bankrupt, all that. Please, Please I implore you, this is not mere entertainment. It's my fucking life, okay? It has ups, and it sure has it's downs. Right now, I'm in a middle phase. Neither manic nor depressive. You might call it uhh, normal.

Owing to the fact that my life is frequently unpleasant, (and believe me, it is frequently so) I may occasionally throw something out that you just don't want to read. You may find it distasteful, you might find it nauseating. Whatever. All I wanted in doing this thing was to create dialogue. I refer you to my "mission statement" which is posted prominently on the first page of this thing. For those who have not seen it recently, through the magic of cut and paste, here it is:

A collection of things that I like, things that I dislike, and a forum for their discussion.

That's it. "A forum for their discussion." I say another thing, later on, namely,

This site contains strongly worded opinions
and graphics which may be offensive to some.
Viewer discretion is advised.

I think that pretty much says it all. Forums of discussion do not involve threats of physical violence, they do not have ultimatums in them. You rant, I rave, and somewhere in the middle, everyone learns something, and all is well in the happy kingdom. It's a pretty easy thing to do really. Therefore, I ask the gentle readers (if I may borrow from Ms. Manners,) of these words to go gently into that goodnight. Don't go out in an attempt to hurt me, because most likely you will. I wound very easily, and because I am such a goddamn sensitive, sentimental dumbshit, the cuts go deep and long. I start crying uncontrollably, and have to check off this planet for a while. Between you, I, and the zillion or so who know of my presence, I'd prefer not to.
Huh.

That said, I shall move on the crux of the thing. When I threw out that tale of mine about love and the lesbians who wanted to have a baby, I struck a nerve in some, and that distresses me. Damn it, I did a noble thing, and the thing that friends do for other friends. If you are my friend, I'll move the damn world for ya, if I can. If I can't, I'll kill myself in the process. I count my true friends in a very small, select cadre. In fact, there are exactly seven of you. You know who you are, so I'm not going to mention names.

Now, that said, I'll add one more detail that I neglected, for fear that it might have gotten lost in the context. Yes, I bowed away from the "daddy" concept. My intention was that I was not going to interfere with L & C's relationship. They were the parents, and I was a sperm donor. It's not a move that I regret, and I won't ever.

I am also cognizant of the fact that eventually questions will be asked regarding parentage, the "Who was this noble creator of semen?" question. That is also quite well addressed. More than sufficient identifying data has been furnished, including mothers maiden name and my SSN, the keys to the universe, I think. Should the desire to meet become necessary, there is more than enough stuff to find me. In fact, with this electronic world that we live in, I suspect that it should take all of 10 minutes. All that's left now is for me to go on Oprah.

In closing for this day, stay tuned. I did an interesting thing last night with my friend Christian (No, not what you are thinking....) This needs to be told later, though. I've got stuff to do, and I'm too hyperemotional right now. I feel better, though.

* * * *
Later, that afternoon...(1600)
*sigh* I should have not written what I did this morning. I've been hideously depressed all day. I had forgotten about the discourse that I had with my friend, or at least put the threats and hurtful remarks to the back of my mind, but now it has come right back up to the top, like a big, yellow headed zit on my forehead. Really, though. It's forgiven. We all say things in the heat of passion, and I think that passion was definitely involved in this arg. What am I talking about? I was sent an email after I posted that fucking entry. Here it is:
IF I COULD SEE THROUGH MY TEARS, I'D BEAT YOU UNTILL YOU WERE THE FACELESS
BASTERED THAT IS MY FATHER. aND YES I THINK YOU DESERVE THAT.That's it, nothing more. The subject line read simply "Q." At first, I didn't think it was meant for me, but then I figured it out. Just when I thought I had thought that malady had resolved, I opened this damn file and not only reopened the wound, I dumped salt in, and a copious amount of rubbing alcohol. Damn.

That's what I was thinking about all day. Several times, I was on the verge of tears, which is not good when I am supposed to be "Young Dr. Bob," with confidence exuding from every pore. In fact, I did get awfully damn close while drawing one donor. Donor confidentiality prevents me from telling you the circumstances that brought this young man in, but let me tell you, he was doing a damn noble and totally unselfish, purely altruistic thing. I got caught up in it while I was drawing his blood, and had to pause and wipe a tear from my eye.

I hate working like that. You know what I need? A huge goddamn cry. I'm thinking a major league, full box of Kleenex tear session. I was considering going to see "Saving Private Ryan," but the prospect of having to pull myself together and walk into a well-lit mall afterwards doesn't appeal to me. besides, it's not the kind of movie anyone sees more than once. Maybe Schindler's List. I can rent that, and it's really, really long. I'll be able to bawl my eyes out, and I'll feel better in the privacy of my own home. Titanic? Only if I can fast-forward to the end.

Don't worry about me, though. Please don't. I'm really fine. Everybody gets the blues now and again, and I'm rather enjoying my depression. I don't have a really good one too often, and the melancholia is....I don't know. Besides, it's boring to be happy-smiley all of the time.

Here's the song in my mind right here, right now:

Some say love,
it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love,
It is a razor,
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love
It is a hunger,
An endless, aching need.
I say love,
It is a flower.
And you, it's only seed.
It's the heart
afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream
Afraid of waking
That never takes the chance
It's the one
Who won't be taken
Who can not seem to be
And the soul,
Afraid of dying,
that never learns to live.
When the night
Has been too lonely
and the road
has been too long
And you think that love
is only for the lucky,
and the strong.
Just remember
In the winter.
Far beneath the bitter snow.
Lies the seed,
that with the sun's love,
in the spring
becomes the Rose.

From another song, "come on, let me hold you like Bernadette would do."
me ke aloha pumehana...a'ole pilikea.