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Released. That's the word that describes it most, this feeling that I've been ready to burst (literally!) for months and I've finally exploded. Life is bright these past weeks - I feel rejuvenated, alive - and full of an energy unlike ever before. At the same time, in a different reality, I'm exhausted, too busy, and running on fumes alone. But when I open my eyes to that little squeak she lets out when she pulls her arms over her head in a sleepy stretch, with her absolutely gorgeous eyes blinking themselves awake, I'm in heaven.

These past couple weeks I've taken on a new role in a life I never imagined for myself but that I've never wanted more. The title of "Mom" has been plastered to my body, a title I once thought meant losing all other titles a person may have once had - even losing themselves. And as my days are consumed by diapers, boobies, and trying to catch a few hours of snoozing here and there, I realize that despite all that, I'm still me, if not more so. With every thoughtful look, every adorable squeak and sound, and with every sign of this tiny creation we've made is growing and learning something as each day goes by, I'm filled with an awe for life. It's cheesy and Hallmarkish, but birthing a child, parenthood, and all that comes with it really is a beautiful thing. Especially if you've just made the most gorgeous little girl I couldn't've even imagined.

Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
And many moooooorrreee!

I turn 33 today. If I survive to 34 I will have outlived my father, Alexander the Great, and Jesus.

The birthday has already been marred by tragedy. I had to put one of my dogs to sleep on Saturday. He tried to bite my baby. We tried to find him a shelter or a home after that, but no one would take a 12 year old yappy spitz-mix with a history of biting children. I feel like shit about it. I don't want to talk about it so please don't send me nice messages. Or "you awful dog killer" messages either. I appreciate kind thoughts and prayers, but it's still a bit too raw to hear about it from other people. I never thought I would have a worse birthday than the year I was in boot camp or the year we went to the Grand Ole Opry.

I'm just trying to make it through the day without my cow orkers remembering and making a big fuss about my birthday. Today would be a good day to be invisible.

I never saw the sunshine 'till I stayed up all night

Tom Waits sang that, and as I typed it it started raining-- odd for Sydney, but appropriate. Insomnia was always my muse, staying up all night talking to God as my neurons misfired and my synapses snap, drowning in radiation glow, dulling my senses.

A year ago today I met a girl who could not sleep it was a clinical condition and she was odd in so many ways and we'd stay up all night talking on the phone and online and there's so much to say and i think i loved her at several times we were going to get married in a cemetary we never met in real life i exorcised her for the night and i do not miss her

Tonight is an exorcism. Behind me is a sadistic experiment involving 10 people, one night to write plays, a week to cast and direct. Dress rehersals went fine. Showtime is tommorow. At dress, i puttered around, got in the stage manager's way, and made my actors nervous. So... 8 hours to write a 3 page paper. Its procrastination of the best sort. I'm moving into E2, making it my home. Its a nice space, less wasteful or evil then most of the 'net. I got help on my homework, instant feedback. No music on, no outside conciousness... just mediation, me and the keyboard. Its nice. Drifting. We discussed Lotus Eaters in Joyce class today. Cheerful narcosis.

I am one with my ideas

I suppose the fact that I haven't lived up to that whole "writing each day" thing is indicative of everything else ... but oh well. I do my best.

I'm down to 184 pounds now. I burn through twelve songs (in "exercise mode") of Dance Dance Revolution about four times per week. I'm eating significantly less now, too. Probably on the road to good health, I would imagine.

I've solved the insomnia problem, in what in hindsight is painfully obvious: don't sleep. I still fall asleep about once every three days or so, for about eight hours, and it seems to be enough.

Boned. Just boned.

At least I got that speeding ticket taken care of.

Well, I'm finally being ushered along into San Jose. Being transformed into just another resource and filed away in a scrapbook.

"It's all for the best," I'm sure I hear everyone saying. I imagine it probably is -- with me gone, they'll be able to finally pick back up and start their lives together. I'll be closer to the data center, so she won't even have to take care of that stuff at all anymore. She'll have more time to fix their relationship, work on whatever issues in her life she decides need working on, and to truly enjoy her life. It's a shame I won't get to see that beautiful glow anymore, given she'll be sharing it with someone else now once it comes back, but the little amount of happiness left in me comes from knowing she'll be happy.

I know she wants to be my friend, and that she wants me to stay in her life. I believe her, too.

I even believe it when she says it hurts her too. It seems a bit skewed though. She's got who she wants. I don't. All my effort, love, changes, everything... wasted. I helped her become a better person (she helped me grow, too, don't get me wrong), and now someone else gets to share that better person's future.


This shit just happened to me in January with my ex-wife too. Spent years on that relationship. She's in far better shape these days than she was when I met her. Seems like I'm the only one stuck in time, apparently not getting any better, or finding the right people to spend my life with.

Oh well. I keep on going because it's all I can do. I keep working hard and putting in my best because I promised I would. My promises seem to be all I have left to cling to. I leave her home, because I promised her I would always be in her life until I died, or she asked me to leave, and she's now asked.

So I've got this bag of shit here ... where's the fan I'm supposed to throw it at? ... time's running out before someone else does it for me.

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