New thoughts

Well, I am back. Who am I, you ask? Not who you think I am, that much is for sure. After months of psychiatric care, and 30,000 volts of electricity repeatedly applied to the temples, and on at least one occasion to a place which can only be described as a bad idea amidst a storm of bad ideas... I am back.

I am not who I was when I left, so I guess the question really is, Who am I? The answer, at this current place in time is, I really do not know. I mean, before, I was whatever I wanted to be, regardless of the evidence around me or the strange looks I got. If I wanted to be a ghost, I was a ghost. If I wanted a manic depressed mailbox, I had one. If I wanted to look into a parrots eyes to tell the time, well, you get the picture.

Now, I just sit in my drab apartment, stare at the blank walls, and contemplate. Who am I? You know, as crazy as fantasy can get, I find reality to be far more sinister. At least in the fantasy world, things, though random and sometimes dangerous, kept me moving and experiencing life. Here, in reality, nothing moves unless you push it. Nothing new ever happens without a catalyst. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. That sometimes really sucks.

Why can't it be, for every action there is another somewhat unexpected and exciting reaction? Yes we may wind up with a lot of tragedy, but can it be more tragic than the stagnant, quiet disolving of my human soul? I think not.

But here I am. Me. At least I think so...

Sometimes things just work out

OK, let's start by saying that I call shenanigans on the whole statement that "sometimes, things just work out." I know I am the one who said it, but I was under duress. Winds up, the stay in the local jail was not all it was cracked up to be. Did you know that once in there, they lock the door behind you? Also, did you know that there is nothing in there but a bed and a toilet with no stall door? I think the stall door is missing because they forgot to actually put a stall around the toilet in the first place, but who forgets something like that? Seriously? Unfortunately for my cell mates and neighbors, they also do not supply any kind of deodorizing spray.

But you probably don't want to hear about all of that. Let's just suffice it to say, when you are very bored, with nothing but a toilet and bed available to you, you would be surprised what sort of sport you will create to keep yourself entertained.

Moving on, I am now living in a different kind of prison. It's called total and complete freedom. No bills, true, but also no money, no house, no clothes beyond what is on my back, no prospects, no hope. Yep, prison. If it weren't for computers in the library, I wouldn't even be able to update my blog. It is the one thing that keeps me sane...

OK, so sanity is a relative term, but for me, it is what keeps me from doing something stupid. Hmm, on second thought, if a quarter has 119 ridges on it's edge, I would be one with only 118. So I guess I am as batty as the uniform closet in Bruce Wayne's bat cave. So since I am not quite sane by the majority's definition, I will leave you with this one statement which has been echoing in my mind all day. An enlightening statement that if taken in the right context could change everything. That statement is: Flying frogs bruise their bottoms less...

Stupid cerebrum

So... I forgot the awesome story I was going to tell you...

I told you I had a horrible memory. Ah well, lesson learned. Next time I will tell the story while it is fresh in my mind. Let's move forward, shall we?

I was looking over some old letters which have been collecting dust when I discovered that they weren't letters in the traditional sense. In the traditional sense, they were actually bills. Since most companies prefer the traditional sense to the more exciting fictional sense, I find I now have to move and I have no working credit cards. Oh, and the IRS is very interested in meeting me, which is not as awesome as it sounds. If I wasn't stealing my internet from an unprotected wifi somewhere out there, and my neighbors didn't have outside wall outlets, I wouldn't even be able to post today.

So, where does a guy with a negative credit score find an apartment, eletricity, internet service, food, and other things the same guy considers necessities? Keep in mind that this same guy is banned from his parents' basement due to an over reaction on the parents part over a small issue with self discovery and unusually flamable lubricants. *shiver* That is a story for another time... Where does he go, one would ask one's self if the one was the afformentioned guy?

Well, it's either the French Foreign Legion, or I am going to have to start begging my friends. Now, since I have no friends to speak of (Charlie was a good friend, but he is in witness protection now so I am not supposed to speak of him), I guess the next question becomes: How does a guy with no money and no credit cards, get to the nearest French Foreign Legion recruiting station?

I thought about learning french, speaking it in public until they checked me for papers and when I didn't produce any, getting deported to France, but that would take too long and I would probably just wind up in Canada anyway. Not to mention I can't afford French lessons. It is a vicious circle, really.

So here I am, me, myself and my dilemma. Wait a second, I'll be right back, there is a knock on the door...
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Dilemma solved. Apparently, when some bills aren't paid, they give you a free room at the local jail. I am supposed to be getting my jacket and then going with them. See, sometimes, things just work out.

Who was that guy?

I came home today from travelling abroad and found that a squatter was living in my house. Now, this didn't bother me so much since he did a pretty good job keeping it clean. He even sorted my socks. The problem was, he has been publishing to my blog. I know I should have hidden the password somewhere, but I have such a horrible memory. Maybe it was a bit much to have the address and the password written on a piece of paper next to the computer, on a whiteboard above the computer and even scrolling across the screen of my computer after 10 minutes of inactivity, but it was in my house. You'd think you could trust the squatters to not get into things that aren't theirs'. Well, you can pretty much expect them to get into houses that aren't theirs', I mean, they are squatters after all, but that should be all you would have to expect them to get into. You can't trust anyone these days.

Anyway, I let him finish sorting my socks while I took a nap and then I rushed him from my house with a stern wagging of my finger in his general direction, but not until I got his number. After all, my socks aren't going to sort themselves.

At any rate, here I am, back from where I have been. Of course that goes without saying. If I hadn't of been anywhere other than here, then saying I was back would be somewhat of a fib. If I wasn't here typing this now, I'd still not be back, which would not only be a lie to say I was, but a bit of a paradox as well. But I digress...

I am here now, and boy do I have some cool stuff to tell you all. You would not believe what happened to me while I was out abroad. When I tell you this story, you guys are going to be like, "Wow, dude, I can't believe that happened. What an awesome story and you told it so well!" It will be that epic.

But, look at the time. I will have to tell you later. It is freaking unbelievable...