:: new journal ::

I am moving out.

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:: Not waiting on my world to change by itself ::

I'm blissful in expectations.

I get wishful so easily. It's been a weakness. And yet, I do it again.

So, what now? I am different now. I am not fueled by the support of a significant other, because there is not a trustful supply of significance and presence from anyone.

But the right words at the right time, from the right person, can still melt me and get me this silly smile stuck all week.

Just a little few words.

On other fields, things are coming out fine. I'm happy with my job, I like where I live. I feel quite free and looks like the effort has been worth.

Topping my list of To-do things I have:
-Spending some time with the person who is making me smile. You know, nothing big, maybe dinner, or coffee. It's been some months, I guess we have stuff to catch up with.
-Getting the A/C of my car working again. Having some electrical issues... But it looks totally sweet:

:: now, this is a curious feeling ::

Woke up, unwrapped from my gray sheets, yawned and jumped off the bed.

I read a sms. bliss. Sure I'll smile like this all day. Funny how someone, with a few words can change it all, change the colors inside my head.

I don't care how messy job gets today, I don't care about this stubborn teammate that gets offensive just because my job is to give her orders and she is older than me.

I don't care I have to face bureaucracy instead of lunch, changing a water and light contract and asking for a phone and adsl line. And if job seems easy enough to make itself without me, go to two banks.

I don't care. I'm feeling good. I normally feel good, but this is different. I can't explain.

:: [Insert title here] ::

Second time in a week that my wishful thinking and naive plan goes wrong. I forgot [insert name]'s ways. I forgot how she killed all poetry in me and turned me into a machine so many years ago.

And I killed the machine, and I became a shadow in a sunless sky: shapeless, in motion but no one could tell, a maelstrom of voids, no one can tell but me how much I'm moving.

But she came along again. She asked me out. Her boyfriend doesn't talk our language, she says. she rarely passed a week without writing all these years. She has been bent and broken, she has bought all the wrong solutions, and I was always there, to distract her from her mess, to whisper with my sandpaper toneless voice things no one else understands. Or sitting in silence, being a shadow in motion together.

I'm not going to be nobody's fool. I have looked like one this week.

Mr. Hume (ex-boss/ex-roommate) is a wise man, he says the only way not to get bitten is being the biggest rat in the sewer. I agree, no one is safer from evil except the one who seems more evil. If you don't seem to care, no one will disrupt your plans.

Me, I'm slightly wise sometimes [inserted false modesty back there], and I will quote myself from the machine-phase: no one cares about me enough to protect me from herself.

"Because I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all"
-Three Days Gace, Pain

I disagree... Feeling nothing ain't so bad for a year or three.

So, the femme fatale won't make prey of me, if her 5 centimeters taller than me and her amused but cold stare won't be at my reach, if her riddles or her silence won't puzzle me tonight, well, she misses it. I have chocolate, vodka, rain on my roof and poker online and I love nights like this. Let's see what happens when she finds out I don't mind she has left me hanging twice. Let's see what happens with an empty mailbox and |_P an empty care cup. Or did she think this is 1997 all over again? Ha.

[Yeah, I know that I do care, or I wouldn't have written this, but she doesn't read this, so I win]

Listening to: Buckcherry - Everything

:: the death of cool people I know is banned from now on ::

Monday morning, I call to see how are the upgrades to my car going, and the fix of the AC.

I'll try to seem busy and exasperated so they hurry up a bit.

Only one ring and an answer... weird, it takes until the 7th ring of the 3rd call to get from under the car, wash hands and answer...

And a voice I know but didn't expect answers: the watchman.

-'Sir, we're closed today. The workshop will not open today nor tomorrow'

-'What do you mean? It's monday!! Where's Geovanny?

-'Everyone is at the cemetary, Mr. Geovanny passed away yesterday in a traffic accident, sir'

-'WTF'

It's weird to make a call, ask for someone and to get such reply.

There goes one of the few other Mercedes enthusiasts I know. A guy who actually lived from his favorite cars. And likely died on his favorite car.

Well, our favorite car of my possession is torn like a puzzle in his closed workshop. Hope his apprentices can handle tomorrow when they open.

He might have just been my mechanic. But sure he was a nice dude. People that I like don't die often. And it's the first tragical and seemingly premature death of someone I like. Before that, only my parents' grandparents and one grandfather, but in their cases seemed natural and peaceful.

Update: Just found the news about it. I didn't have any details. It was painful and slow. It's disturbing. I've shaken that hand. I've sat in the passenger seat of that car. I have got many ideas from that car to upgrade mine. Mutilation in front of people who loves you and bleeding to death for some hours; really not the way you want to go. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.

:: The cult of personality ::

A coworker, of the same hierarchy level in the company as me, just told me something I liked on IM:

I know why you like to hang out alone,
that way you look at the rest of us
the people
without being seen as one of us
and plotting strategies.
You have something
I don't know what
that makes you look
superior;
I haven't determined what it is.
You have to exploit that characteristic.

Then you wonder why I'm cocky...




(I'm done of flexing my ego muscles in front of you, you can leave).

:: Dread and the fugitive mind ::

I'm a piece of another puzzle.

But I have felt human touch. Wishing to heal a wounded soul, wishing to sit and have fun, watching tv, playing with cats, I had many good times.

But I have felt human touch. Maybe in need to feed sporadic hungers. Hungers like cold, lovelessness, even boredom I admit.

My intentions are never wicked. My goals will not make anyone cry. At least if it all works as intended.

But I'm a piece of another puzzle. And I won't make anyone happy for long. No one will understand why I disappear, no one will understand what I'm talk about. Only one person.

Only one wicked person, this woman I met when we were both almost kids. Only one.

And Gloria is sad, and I wish to comfort her. But will it last? Will she appreciate what I give? Won't she feel I mistreat her with my coldness? Or is it better to let her heal herself? I have been proven a major failure as a spirit healer.

Is she too a piece of this worldly puzzle of average goals such as marriage and kids? homes and cars? Is she as normal as all the men that held her? Is she as normal as the man that holds her?

I don't think she is. I know she thinks she is not.

What do this means? I don't know