There is a world that never was. It never existed, never breathed life, never appeared for all to see or experience. That world was for me and for me alone. That world was my life.

Looking back and thinking about it now, it was just a dream. It was just a figment of my imagination. Nothing was real. Nothing was true. All was just a facade to make me feel that I was a part of something. After lifting the curtain to expose this world as nothing, it is disheartening. I no longer belong to any place. I no longer belong.

Oh this world seemed so perfect. There I had friends, there I was somebody. I was that really really nice quiet alienated child that became good friends with people. Sure I didn’t have a large group of friends to hang out with or know many acquaintances, but I had friends. I was smart, I was simple, living a complicated simpleton life wanting nothing more than happiness and actually having it. There, people would laugh at me cause I was just that funny and I was actually interesting. People actually wanted to hear what I had to say or wanted to listen to the stories I would tell and I would capture them in my little spell. There I was somebody.

Now, I’m all alone. Everything that I wanted to be, that I was there, just withered away. Everything is just a lie. It was all made up, not in my mind, but in another’s. Oh, to be back in that world again. To be that lie again.

But I can’t go back. I can never go back, because there is nothing to go back to. That was a lie, no, not a lie, a misconception of who I was. I believed myself to be all those things because that is what I wanted to be, that is what I was told to be. So I kept that story alive in my imagination, I kept that fairy tale going the way they were supposed to go. The story played out and it was a happy one.

What happened? What happened to this world? Why was I ripped away from this fairy tale existence? I woke up. I woke up and opened my eyes. I looked around and see that nothing has changed. Nothing has changed from that world to this world. I woke up and realized that I was living a lie, a lie I can no longer keep up. The fairy tale is of the Brothers Grimm variety. It isn’t those childhood fairy tales that we are all grew up with.

I woke up and realize that I am living in the fairy tale of life. This fairy tale story is everything that it should be. This fairy tale is what is really happening. I realized that everything that happened in my life, everyone’s perception of me is a glorified good character that I can never live up to.

I am flawed and fractured, broken into schizophrenic bits and parts that it is hard to tell what I am, who I am. I am nothing and everything. I am always and never. I am the contradiction that everyone denies in themselves. I am doubt. I am certainty. I am life.

This is life that I am living. This is a life in the real world. I am every average man you would see walking down the street looking around and experiencing things as if they were old. I am a man who is so weary of life that there seems to be nothing in it that surprises me anymore. I am every cynic in the world, I am every optimist in the world, I am everyone.

Blink. Life passes me by. Blink. Life passes me by. Blink….Life goes on. Life goes on and never stops. There is life revolving everywhere around me. This bird, this plant, this little ant, this little flea, this molecule, this atom. All life. All go on as time ticks it’s meticulous rhythm.

Looking at where I am now and realizing that my old life in that world that never was was all a lie, I can’t go back. I don’t want to go back. I want to be me, this flawed creature that no one pities cause everyone is too busy pitying themselves. I enjoy my flaws, I enjoy my loneliness, I enjoy this new exuberance of knowledge, I enjoy this life.

That old life was too stifling. That old life was too strict, too bland, too fake. That old life was all a lie conjured up by someone who was too afraid to live. That old life was bits and pieces of someone’s imagination; someone who only wanted the good and not the bad of me. It was the delusion of someone who doesn’t know or see me at all. Some one who doesn’t really see.

It’s cold. It’s colder than what I’m use to feeling. It’s so cold, I can’t even feel my hands, my fingers, my toes. They’ll all numb. It’s cold.

I cup my hands around my mouth and breathe. I breathe to bring life and heat to my poor little fingers. It’s cold.

Quickly I get into the truck, hoping that it is warmer in there. It’s not. It’s cold. Start the engine, turn on the heat. Hopefully it’ll warm up by the time I get there. Hopefully.

Ahhh, the heat is working, a tad. Only a little, as there is a hint of warm air mixing in with the extreme cold air that is blowing from the vents. Fuck it, I’ll have to deal with it for now. I’ll be warm in a bit. Only in a bit. It’s not a long drive.

I’m ready to go. I look up and out the windshield; it’s caked with ice. Shit. It’s cold. I spray the window with the cleaner fluid hoping to melt the ice. It works a little bit. How about defrost? No. Not good. Fuck it, it’s too late to go back now. I’m going.

I start the car. Slowly I make my way to the only Starbuck in a 3-mile radius. With each second in the truck, it gets warmer and the window gets clearer. Soon, everything is fine and when everything is fine, I’m there already. Hopefully, it’ll be a better drive home. Hopefully.

I pull into the lot. It’s full. I guess it being the only Starbucks in a 3-mile radius, it is a hip hangout spot for the cool crowd. I usually don’t like to hang out in the “cool” spot, but dammit, I’m cold, and I need to do my work. I need to write.

I parked at the upper parking lot in front of a teriyaki fastfood restaurant. It means I have to walk a little further in the fucking cold. Shit, I have no choice. I can’t possibly stay in the truck.

The Starbucks up there, up at home, in good ol’ Tacoma, is not like the Starbucks down here in the City of Angels. Since there is literally a coffee shop at every corner, there isn’t a particular hip coffee shop that people hang out at. That’s why it is nice to write down in Los Angeles, not too many people to deal with. The only downside, they close early down here, unlike up there where they close at near one o’clock.

I bundle up in my thin jacket and my thin five layers that I’m wearing and hop out of the truck with my computer. I force my frigid legs to move, so I can get my frozen ass inside.

I reach the drive thru. Here’s another funny thing about this Starbucks. It has a drive thru. I have to say, I’d never seen one like that. I’ve seen those little coffee shacks in large parking lots, but a corporate coffee shop drive thru, it’s a first for me.

Back to the story, the drive thru. I reach the drive thru. A large SUV just pulled in and stopped in front of me. It’s driven by a blonde, late teens to early 20’s, her passenger, a brunette, around the same age. I noticed the brunette first as I quickly acknowledge to the driver that I’m going to walk in front of the car. The brunette is out of her seat. Doing what? I don’t know, but I’m guessing to get a better look. At what, I don’t know. Me? The frozen guy who has lost his thick skin because he’s been down in Los Angeles for so long.

As I began to cross, I notice the blonde looking at me too. I think they are just making sure I get across okay; which I did. Here I am, finally, Starbucks. Judging by the parking lot, I know what to expect. It is crowded. It is much too crowded for my taste, but fuck it, I’m here and I need to do some writing. I brave the crowds and got my ass out of the cold.

While opening the door, I glance back to the SUV. They are still looking. I wonder what they are looking at? What is so interesting? It can’t possibly be me can it? Maybe they are looking at me and thinking how crazy I am to go out there in such poor clothing. It’s cold.

I step in and forget about he blonde and the brunette. My main concern, warmth, heat, feelings in my limbs. The heat hits me, then the aromatic atmosphere of the coffee shop. I look around as I wait in line. There’s a large line. Waiting in line, I scan the shop. It’s crowded, but there are tables, albeit only a few.

There are two blondes sitting at a table in the cozy comfy sofa chair drinking their coffee, chatting about whatever. They are about late teens early 20’s, maybe younger. With kids now a days, it’s hard to tell.

The line is taking too long, so I drop in the bathroom. I need a clear bladder to write. If not, then I’ll have to go to the bathroom mid writing session. Bad move, can’t focus.

Finished and the line barely moves. I scan the room again. Good, there are still one or two tables left. I notice one of the blondes looking at me. Why are all the girls giving me this sort of attention? Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the attention, but it never happens to me. It’s good to be checked out. It’s really good.

I stand there warming up with each second that I’m in the coffee shop, waiting for people to get their orders; espresso, cappuccinos, frappucinos (it’s cold; what are they thinking???), cafe mochas….I got a caramel macchiato. I need the sugar.

Now, it is time to find a table. The only table that was relatively free and clear of surrounding people is a single table next to the blondes. I went and grabbed my caramel macchiato, unloaded my computer, and started my boring routine of work and writing. I plugged in my headphones, opened up my journal client and began to test the dexterity of my fingers with my stream of conscious writing.

I wrote and wrote while listening to the oh so eclectic music that streams through my phones. I wrote and wrote. I wrote about clouds, moving on, flowing through the motions, going through life. I wrote and wrote. I wrote about the wild night I had before and the indiscretions and the trouble I caused for my friends. I just wrote and wrote, clearing my mind as I often do.

As people leave, more people come. A group of girls sit in front of me. I pay them no mind as one of them asked me with a warm smile if she could steal a chair. I put on my hat to block them from my view. I’m focusing on my writing and only my writing. I can’t focus on anything else.

Through the blaring of melodies in my head, I make out the laughs and giggles and the distractions that go on around me. I come to a stop in my entry; thinking about what else to add or what to tweak. I take off my hat, rub my hair and do as I often do, glance around the room. I slowly look around at my surroundings. The workers, the empty tables, the displays, the girls in front of me, the man beside me, my cup, my computer screen, the people waiting in line, the door opening and closing. I look around and around.

I come to the blondes. As I turn my head to their direction, I see the one looking at me early almost breaking her neck, turning away from my line of sight. Why turn away so fast? Did you get caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing? Did you get caught checking me out? Did you get caught looking at me? With the turn, there was no more. No tell tale signs of what she’s thinking. She continues on the conversation with her friend. She acts like nothing happened. Nothing happened.

I couldn’t help but smile a little to myself. A blonde, who’s a very attractive young lady, was caught looking at me. She turned around so quickly with that guilty quickness of being caught in the act. I couldn’t help by smile.

I turned to my computer with my newfound knowledge, smiling to myself, feeling good about myself, and continued to write. I paid her no mind. I didn’t care. I wrote and wrote. About the clouds, crying skies, collection of secrets, my indiscretions, my flaws, my life. I continue writing.

If all those girls checked me out because I was a sight to see, then that night was one of the happiest nights of my life. I’ve never attracted that much attention without trying to before, especially from attractive women. It was a night like any other night, me going out just to write and clear my head, with no other motives besides that. I just want to go and do my thing, but it turns out that without any forethought or any planning on my part, girls checked me out. It never happens. It never does.

It feels good to be checked out my attractive women, or most women in general. It shows that some girls are interested in me. It goes to show that I’m attractive. I know I felt attractive that night. All right, that was cheesy. Very cheesy.

* * *

Lately, there’s been a cold spell down here in the routinely sunny and warm Los Angeles. It is not as cold as it was back at home, but there’s still a bite to the air. Sitting out here tonight, transcribing my thoughts, I can’t help but notice how cold my feet are getting, I can’t help but notice the slight cool breeze that is blowing on me as I write in this lonely, dark, and cold skybridge.

I don’t think I can continue with this if it gets any colder. I might have to find another place to do my doodling. Maybe the internet cafe down the street from this place, or maybe a Starbucks that is not so far away from my home. All I know, I can’t do this anymore until it warms up.

I need to write, whether it is journal writing, or on my new script. I need to write. Writing has become a part of my life now. Without writing, a part of me will be missing. I need to write, to leave the house and to put my thoughts into words, creating lives and characters and putting them on the page. I need to do this.

It’s fucking cold. I’m getting out of here.

Coming up to the City of Clouds, coming up to the City of Emeralds, to get away from the City of Angels. It’s my time to relax, to relax from the usual life that has haunted me all too long. The life that I have been so bored with for some time. It was time to get away. Away, far far away from the Angels of the city. I found another Angel up in the clouds.

The clouds, so fluffy and withering white, floats so listlessly up in the sky, monoliths just moving with the breeze. Just moving with the breeze; going where ever the wind blows. It just goes. So peaceful and so pure, so white and innocent. Clouds of nature, a collection of mist that was gathered from tiny particles that came from every where and goes every where, a collection of every thing and nothing at once.

It flows and flows. Going with the breeze, so listless and so full of life.

It looks so peaceful in the sky, so milky white and pure; tainted an eerie fiery glow from the setting sun. It moves on, hiding its secret from everyone. It moves on.

Day turns to night. The sun is set and billowy white turns to the nightly steel gray black that we are so familiar with. Night’s out for the secret to reveal itself.

The clouds of cumulonimbus letting us have it. It pours and pours and pours out its secret for all to see. It cries and cries, cleaning itself, killing itself and freeing itself from all of the pain and frustration that it builds up and collects from everywhere. It cries for all; everyone’s pain and everyone’s frustration. It cries, no longer able to hold all of the painful secrets it harbors. It cries, letting the water flow, crying all night, crying.

When it runs out of tears, it is no more. It no longer exists. The clouds are only here to collect all the secrets and bad deeds that everyone does. Once it has its share, once it has collected all it can, once it gets the final secret that breaks its dam, it is time for it to go. It is time for it to cry. It is time for it to die.

It is no more. All cried out goes the song. All cried out. I’m over you.

That’s what it did when I was down there, that’s what it did when I got my answer, when I got my reply. The sky cried. The clouds could no longer take the pain that was inflicted and it cried for me. I had no more tears. No more tears for you. I couldn’t cry over this, over you anymore. I just couldn’t. So the sky did.

It rained all night, the next day, the next night, and the day after. It cried and cried. It cried me a river.

Moving on, flowing like the clouds, going with the flow, where ever the wind blows me. That’s what I’m going to do. That’s what I intend to do. No longer going with a purpose, no longer making plans, no longer doing things for the sake of doing things. I’m just going to do things when I want to do things because I need to do things. I have to do things.

I will just float on, float on, cause that’s what I need to do. That’s what everyone needs to do, float on.

To be free to float on, going where ever the wind blows you. Just flowing like the mighty river Thames, following the current, riding the ride, just going along. Just going along. That’s how life should be, no purpose, just living, going with things. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, then tough bananas.

Sitting here oh so alone with nothing but an old man a few tables down from me, I gaze, gaze out in to the great beyond. Out side this little bridge, down there oh so far below, life wanders pass. It passes me by as I sit here oh so silently typing away. Cars, pedestrians, cats and dogs all zoom by. I sit here wondering do they even know that I’m up here looking down on them? Do they know that we were a part of each others’ lives there for that split second that they passed me by.

I gaze down across the corner. A mother and father push their little infant in its stroller. They wait for that familiar blue man to give them permission to cross safely. There they came out of the blue. They are gone just like how they came, silently and distant.

Looking down into the coffee shop just a floor down, students sit at tables flipping their many books and their many pages cramming for the test they so want to pass. Thinking back, I was there once. Just like them. Just like that girl in the red. Flipping through my notes, double checking the figures, relearning the rules and theorems that I so panicky think will be on the test. I sit and sit and sit and read up on everything until my mind explodes. Hours and minutes. Days and weeks pass before I would be able to come to understand what was written in those thick overpriced textbooks that I once worked hard to peddle not so long ago.

Oh how time changes. Cars zoom by. Motorcycles, pedestrians, and oh yes, cats and dogs. They all zoom by one after the other, one after the other. They sometime come in sets, fleets, armadas of life that passes me by.

Damien Rice sings that Older chests pass me by…, I’ll be fine, Just give me time; and time is all I need to feel the way that I need to feel.

A little tot drags his tot toy behind him sleepily as his father drags him across the street oh so safely to get his little boy home for his nightly rest. It will be a while when he will do the same with his own child. Years, decades.

Blondes, brunettes, redheads, black haired, all colors and all sizes, pass me by below. They walk by teasingly, hey look at me with my nice girlish figure, they pass me by with their floral scents that drives men bonkers. They are so in to the game that it intimidates novices like me. They walk by flirtatiously, even though they don’t know where I am, they still do it to tease. That is their game. That is life.

Cars follow the rules and regulations set forth by the lawmakers and the National Transportation Board to protect the safety of all. Left turns only when it is green, whether it is a arrow or if it is safe to do so. Right turns on both greens and reds. Turning to get to the destination they need to go. Home, work, significant others, parties, movies. Places to go, people to see.

Looking down the deep pathway of Westwood Blvd. It stretches far beyond these eyes can see. It comes to a shiny little red point that fades so perfectly into the black night. It goes and goes and goes. Where it stops, another path will continue. It is like time. Pathways are never ending. They continue and continue, always leading you somewhere, always leading you forward.

A man looks out a window, not focusing on the book that is in front of him. I wonder what is he studying, what is he thinking of? Is it Nietzsche or is it Kant? Does the Bolshevik revolution cloud his mind or is it simply the derivative of a simple calculus equation? What are the odds of two people in that same room thinking of the same thing at the same time? I would have to say the odds are pretty good. I would put my life fortune down and reap in all of the mula.

I sit here on this bridge oh so high, trembling as the wind slightly blows its soft breath. I sit here thinking it is the next big one to hit and I am doomed for all eternity, falling into oblivion. I wish I could scream back into that endless pit like my dream girl did in that movie after New Jersey, but I am not brave enough, and I am oh so alone to actually do it.

Speaking of dream girls, I sit here wondering when will my next one arrive? Who will be the next girl that I just feel so comfortable with; when will she come and totally take me by surprise? I guess if I think about it too much, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Who knows, it could be one of those girls crossing the street right now. But looking at how they dress, they are far too fashionable for me.

Cars line up with places to go. My car is parked in the garage, waiting to be started. It takes a rest for I am tired of going to a destination in which I am not familiar with.

Another left, another right. Turn turn turn as the Byrds sang oh so long ago. Life will go on, time will always tick away.

More girls that pass my path, more cars, more pedestrians. Cats and dogs.

Others feel lost and in despair for their way back home are blocked by the steely doors that came down oh so long ago. Where do they go? How do they get back they wonder to themselves. I think to myself, easy, take the long way around. Go down the stairs and cross the street.

The man walks endlessly around in a circle in a circle as he patiently waits for his shift to be over. Circle and circle, round and round he goes.

Lights, pairs and pairs of pale amber lights that shine so brightly below pass me by. Red orbs that gets smaller and smaller away from me and amber brightness that looms largely down the street.

Walking down the street, walking across the street. Just walking, walking to one’s heart content. One foot in front of the other, making pitter patter noises as it hits the pavement, like the beat set forth by the beat of your heart. Thump thump, Thump thump. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

I sit here listening to Stevie talking about “reflections on the snow covered hills” gazing out the windows that are before me. They show me what life really is. It is all around me.

Left turns, right turns, straight ahead, side to side. Movement all around, but I am here all alone in this lonely dark skybridge as I type my little ditty for all to read. I chose to be here. There are open tables below inside in the warmth aromatic coffee shop, but I cannot get close. Too many people, too many distractions. I need to write, to jot down my thoughts. I cannot disturb those down there who are out for legitimate reasons of sociology, psychology, geology, Nabakov, Vonnegut, and the oh so elusive Salinger.

No I am up here like Vonnegut and Salinger would be. Away, distant, yet involved. Watching. Taking in the scenery, taking in the people, taking in life.

A passive participant I have become as people come near me only to go away because there is no exit behind. All roads lead ahead of me. That is the only way out.

A young woman comes sauntering, jaunting her little body towards my way only to turn to the exit before them. They are here not for the bookstore that is just in front of them, but for the theatre that is on the other side of the mall. They find their exit, cross in front of me down below, and are on their merry way.

Pushing the button to see the blue man, to hurry the blue man, to get the permission to be active, to go ahead, to walk ahead, to go, to leave, to go, to leave, to do what it is they need to do, to reach their destination. They push the button, they push and they push. I hold it down.

There they go, walking across the street down below, heading toward their destination. The young girl still saunters, still teases as she skips her way across, as she dances her little moves to draw one’s eye. There they go, they disappear.

They come into my life and they leave. That’s how people are, that

The lunch break, a big thing that really means nothing to me. It just takes up valuable time in which I could be sleeping. Sleeping my life away is pretty much what I do. I sleep sleep sleep. I peel my eyes oh so slowly open to see nothing but blurriness.

I’m sitting here typing away, listening to the tunes that are on my computer. I just don’t know what to do. Obessiving my life away. All I do is just obsess. I need to stop my stalker tendencies, I need to stop everything.

I need to just stop my poor heart from beating. It’s been taking too much beatings. It’s been beating away through habit, it’s been beating away cause it can.

I’ve just been asked if I was a liar my whole life. Thinking back, I think I am. I think we all are. We all lie to ourselves, we all lie to everyone that we see. We lie. We lie.

Just trash.

I really don’t know what to write here tonight. I really don’t. I thought I had something to say, something to put down for posterity, but I guess it just slipped my mind.

Tonight, while sitting in my oh not so secretly writing spot at the local mall beginning my new script, I told myself that I would write an entry. A entry about love, loss, happiness, general philosophy of life. That’s what my new script is about. The general philosophy of life and love.

What is love? Do we need it? Is there such a thing called love or is it just in the figment of our imagination? Let’s just say I didn’t get too far in my new script. A whopping page and one-eighth. I got one scene down and I was quite surprised by it. To me, it turned out well, but I guess everything I write turns out well at the time I wrote it, but in hindsight, opinions start to change.

I want to finish this script, I want to continue writing this script. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything substantial. It’s been a while since I’ve written a feature. May. That’s when I finished my last script, Tall Tales and Danger Pigs, the one that no one will read cause it is so horrible. At the moment, the new script is called Second Chance.

I think we all should deserve second chances in our lives. For everything that we’ve done and regretted. We should get a second chance. To make things right. But, if you fuck it up, that’s the last chance you get. Forget about it and move on. Move on.

Why does it hurt so much to like someone? Is it not real if it doesn’t hurt? So if you fell for a girl and you did your best to woo her and if things just doesn’t turn out the way you wanted and you move on without any problems, does that mean that it wasn’t real? I guess in my situation, all the pain has come and gone and my heart was just beating because it can.

Thinking ahead, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Thinking ahead, I’m not sure what is going to happen. Thinking ahead, I’m not sure where I am going to go.

Where should I go? Should I actually make an effort and find someone or should I take some time off? I’ve heard many many many advices but I really can’t commit to one.

Not too long ago, I met a girl at a party. It was an old friend from my previous job’s birthday party. It was Jill’s party. I believe I wrote something about it in my earlier entries.

But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked. I had a good time and I hoped she did too. The strange thing for me was that this was about a week or so after I left my previous job. I did something when I left, which i will not discuss, but it was so surprising for me to move on.

I talked with this girl. I joked with her. Things were going so well, and things were going so easy. Never felt so at ease conversing, socializing before. I’m sure the lot of alcohol I consumed during this gathering helped lower my inhibitions and made things more easy for me, also I am sure that the small intimate environment helped also.

But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked. I couldn’t get this girl out of my head. No, I couldn’t. Till this day, she’s still in my mind, but she’s fading ever so slightly. Her essence dims with each minute, with each keystroke. Fade.

But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked. I emailed Jill to ask her to forward my contact information to her friend. I haven’t gotten a response from Jill nor from her friend. Whether Jill forwarded my contact information to her, I’m not sure. Maybe she’s just not interested. Maybe she never got my contact information and she’s waiting ever so patiently for me to make the contact. Maybe she forgot who I am. Oh the possibilities are endless.

It’s funny how these things are just things and they really don’t amount to much or mean much. But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked.

So I sit here, waiting, wasting my time, thinking, contemplating, brainstorming and just clearing my head of all things so I could just focus on nothing. Wouldn’t that be nice. To just focus on nothing. Emptiness. Blackness. Void.

But I digress. I’m just going to play things by ear from now on. If I feel compelled to act, like what I did, then I will act. If I don’t, then I don’t.

I feel that if I write things out, I can forget about them. I can not divest all my mind money on these matters. They are put in a safe place for the void to contemplate on these issues that use to fog my mind.

Maybe when I finish this entry, this girl’s brightness will have extinguished in my mind. Any hope of seeing her again will have diminished, and I will be fine with it. It was a miss connection, two lines that meet at a point and then go on in their separate trajectories never to meet again.

The funny thing about this girl is that my other friend, Susan, who was there at the party, knew I would be in trouble with this girl. She’s intelligent, petite, brunette, oh so cute, filled with the girlish charms that all men will secretly wish for in their oh so boring counterparts. I can’t believe I met a girl at the party. I can’t believe we talked. I can’t believed we laughed. I can’t believe we joked.

But again, it was just another misconnection that either came too early or came too late. Two separate lines that intersect at a certain point in the space time continuum and will never intersect again.

Now, while sitting here, getting drowsy from the coffee I had earlier tonight at the oh so not so secretly writing place, I write and clear my mind of the things that I need to say and forget about.

I never thought that I would write what I wrote tonight in a public entry. Usually these things will be in a private entry, only for my eyes, so I can reflect on these past images and thoughts and drunken discretions during a time of my life where I am able to look back. But I guess I am wrong when it comes to the fact that I have nothing to write about and I let my fingers do their little dance over this keyboard.

Oh to be on that high that alcohol gives you. That little buzz that makes you teeter on the fine line of sobriety and drunkenness. It is a euphoric feeling. I get there quite often and I fall off quite often. I’m a cheap date, so it doesn’t take much for me to get to that high. When there, things just seem so much clearer, so much freer, and so much better. Now I’m writing like a alcoholic who is in some desperate need to join a steps program.

I joke about being an alcoholic, but I’m not. I’m far from it. I’m a social drinker. Once in a while I’ll have a beer or some wine during dinner, but that is not very often. I usually don’t get drunk, only when I’m out and I know that I’m not driving or when I know that I could stay over. If not, then I’ll get my buzz, maintain that buzz as long as I can, then I sober up again.

Sobering up means lots of water and lots of bathroom breaks. When you are Asian and when you have a pea size overactive bladder and when there is alcohol involved, you could pretty much set a schedule of bathroom breaks every 2 minutes. Go in, do your thing, come out, and then go in again. It’s never ending.

Well, again, nothing to write or I don’t know what to write. Sad that something that started out as sincere and thoughtful and intelligent ended up with something about my overactive bladder and alcoholism.

But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked.

Sitting here drinking my wine, or as I finish my wine, I just think of what to write. I think I just may have another glass of wine as I contemplate this latest entry that I’m struggling through.

I’ve already finished a private entry just before this one and I want to continue writing. I actually thought about what to write and what to say, but for the life of me, I just can’t remember what it is that I wanted to say.

What is there to say? I honestly don’t know.

What did I write in that oh so private entry, nothing. Just about a party I went to the other night and that very cute girl that I met. But besides that, there really isn’t much to say.

I thought that there would be much to say. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t.

I guess I just need to write about just moving on in general. Again, I got the answer to my question, but it’s been a week since my reply. Should I go on and keep waiting for a reply or should I just let it go. If she doesn’t want to keep in touch anymore, why force her? Why? The last thing I want to do to her or anyone is to force her to do something that she doesn’t want to do. If she doesn’t want to keep in touch. Fine with me.

I will just move one and treat the days like any other. I’ll just go on and treat her like any other. A old friend that I will miss and hopefully one day meet again. If not, then well, I guess we weren’t meant to be friends afterall.

I finally got the true story as to what happened and I do have to say that I did find some parts surprising and others as expected as a 9 month pregnant woman.

I think it is just time for me to finally let go. Nothing can be taken away from this except that fact that I did something. I actually made an effort. I actually tried in some way. It just didn’t work out for me, that’s all. Maybe it will be better another time with another girl. Just maybe.

The party I went to. It was for my friend Jill’s birthday. It was a small intimate gathering with a lot of booze. I had a great time there. We all know that I do have problems with socializing and meeting new people and partying. I was surprised at myself for having such a good time, especially in a room full of strangers except for Jill and Susan, who left early.

I held my own. I enjoyed myself. I had a great time. Besides, the company helped. It helped a lot. It made the time pass by more quickly, and it just made everything that much better.

I do have to say that I surprise myself day in and day out with my new found glory. Where have this confidence, where have this something been all of my life?

Maybe I just am a late bloomer. Maybe I just finally gotten to be me.

Well, I don’t know what to write anymore. I think the wine is causing a writer’s block that I never thought about having. It is just causing me to not think of anything else to add to this little entry. I think I will call it a night.

I met a girl the other night, Wednesday night as a matter of fact. It was at Jill’s birthday party.

At first, I didn’t want to go, but I thought about me wanting to be social and about it’s been a while since I’ve met up with Jill, so I went. It was a good idea. I actually had a good time there.

The party was a small intimate crowd of friends of Jill’s.

There she was. Drew with a last name that I cannot pronounce or spell. She’s cute. Very cute. She looks like a brunette Kirsten Dunst. I know I don’t like Kirsten Dunst, but Drew puts Kirsten to shame.

We just talked sporadically throughout the night. Weaving in and out of conversation. Me joining others as she does the same, but then we would always come back.

I don’t know what it was so easy or why I enjoyed myself there that night. Maybe I was just being myself and trying to have a good time, trying to get into conversations and what not. Maybe it was just her.

I had fun.

I talked and talked with Drew. I made her laugh and she made me laugh.

I believe she’s going to New York over the weekend to meet a guy who likes to wear corduroy suits. From my understanding, he goes to Harvard and is getting his MD and his PhD. Very ambitious. I believe it is her friend that set them up.

Drew is Jill’s old friend from high school. She grew up I don’t know where, but somewhere close to Redlands.

I’ve also met other people there. Margo was cool. She was a cool hipster. We ended up talking about stuff, about Chinese and where I’m from and what not. I even told her about dad passing.

I don’t know. I’ve changed so much, especially with the whole social aspects of my life. It just comes so easy to me now. Sure, grant it I still don’t go out as much as I should, but I’m making an effort to go out.

Then there is Leina, Jill’s boss at her temping assignment. She’s all right. Very cool and laid back. She looks a lot like Chloe Sevigney. For some reason, I get the idea that she has a intense stare or eye connection, especially with me. It’s kind of unsettling. Not in a bad way, but in a mysterious way, as in ‘What is it you are looking at?’ kind of way.

Anywho, I had a lot to drink that night, but I did fine.

Again, Drew, she’s so cute. I actually touched her. I told Lisa about it and she called me cad. What does cad mean?

cad: n. An unprincipled, ungentlemanly man. [Short for caddie.] –cad

Everybody needs sometime on their own. That is the feeling that I’m getting right now. I feel free to do whatever I want now. Free. So this is how it is to be free? How typical.

Now that I am free from whatever that has help me captive for the past couple of years, what will I do with my new found freedom? Sometimes I need some time on my own. Sometime I need some time on my own goes the song sung by Axel. I am just going to do my own thing. This isn’t a stretch from what I’ve been doing for the past couple of years, but it is a millennium away from my life then.

Shhhh. Listen. Freedom. The bells are ringing. Freedom is ringing. I am free to search for myself again, even though I feel found. There’s been a while there that i know I was lost and it was getting frightening, but I see the light. I see the vast ocean in front of me.

It sways there oh so beautiful in its deep magnificent mysterious glory. Something so familiar and so beautiful seems so dangerous and mysterious. The deep treasures that hides itself in the ocean makes it more irresistible.

It makes a man who doesn’t know how to swim want to strip naked of all things and just dive in and take a chance. I want to jump in and do whatever it is I need to do to survive in the ocean. Maybe I’ll grow gills and fins and become a fish.

I got the news the other day. Things are changing. It wasn’t as surprising as it was. I was more surprised by the lack of blood on my end. I thought I would have been more wounded, but it seems when you have nothing left to bleed there shouldn’t be a problem.

I am dry. I am hung dry in this little game, but I see something in my future. The never ending rain that tapdanced on my window the night that the news came to me. The rain that cried my tears for me cause I know I couldn’t anymore. It just doesn’t hurt anymore, cause I’ve felt all there was to felt oh so long ago.

I think at this point in my life, being alone is just the best way to do. Get my things in order. Be a little selfish. Maybe when I’m 50, I’ll be ready to be in a relationship. By then, only the important thing will matter. Dentures.

I’ve crashed so many times but this time it just feels different. The other times, I sat idley by waiting for my demise, but this time, I fought it. I took action, but unfortunately the accident was out of my hands. It was beyond my capabilities. It was out of my hands. All I could do was hold on and hope for the best. I survived. I’m walking. I’m talking. I’m living. And most of all, I’m OKAY.

Walking down the street the other day, I noticed a little dog on the corner of the road. It looked so lost and helpless, yelping at the passing cars trying to get anyone’s attention to take it home. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I was there once. I couldn’t go back there again. So I just walked on, ignoring it.

I walked down the street again today. The dog was gone. Where did it go? I don’t know. I can only hope that a nice woman decided to help it. Gave it a chance to live and be the object of her affection.

Now I sit here just thinking and typing nonsense just for the sake of writing something. Of just trying to put my thoughts together. I’ve been trying to write something for a while now and I haven’t been able to manage. I wanted to write about something I know, but yet, know nothing about.

I sit here listening to these artists sing their souls about love and what love is? What is love? I sit here like Heather Nova, dreaming away. Wanting to See the world like lovers do. But, I don’t think these cynical eyes can open themselves up to the beauty that is love.

Not anymore.

What these eyes see is nothing but green. The green of this world floods my vision. I’ll never see red again.

I sit here just reflecting on my life that was. All of the missed opportunities and all the mistakes that I’ve done. I see soem light and some of the joys and the beauty that was a part of my life. All I could do is smile at what I have become.

What have I become? I don’t know. A man or am I still that really really old boy that everyone tries to ignore? I know what I’ve become. I’ve become that nice guy that others push off to others. Oh so it seems.

I think that was just my bitterness and my jaded sense of being talking.

I’ve become more than that. I’ve become a man who have found his way in the darkness. A man who is not afraid to fall down in the endless abyss because he took a chance and he took a risk.

The risks I’ve taken has gotten me so far. Much more happier. Freer. Anger have left my soul. I’m slowly taking the steps that will lead to my maturity. Taking risks that I never thought that I could have taken. Taking the big steps that I should have taken oh so long ago. I’m growing up. So this is what it feels to grow up.

I’m at a lost for words. I don’t know what to say or what to write anymore, yet there is so much that is bursting to come out. Maybe there really isn’t much. Maybe I’ll write more later. Later. Later. There will always be later.