nonplussednonsense's Blog

peek a boo


God damn. I am angry. I'm finally just at the point where I am fucking angry all the time. Nothing but angry. I feel completely helpless against myself.

I don't really know what I was thinking.

I'm too far gone to fix. Too much time worrying and debating and all I have to show for it is unhappiness.

I should probably just go to bed. Exhausted from only about 4 hours sleep, but I'm too restless to want to admit defeat for the day.

Fuck it.

pep talk

Think I need a root canal.

I don't know. Not much going on at the moment. Bought tickets for Akron and I to see the Book of Mormon when it's in town in a few months, which I'm pretty excited about. Plan on taking a trip to see the ocean in May too. Also excited about that.

I don't know. Not much else. In a good mood tonight, for a change. Been trying to increase my social media footprint lately. Sounds dumb, but it might help improve my ability to feel confident in communicating. So I've been posting regularly on Facebook. This is new for me. Also started tweeting and tumblr-ing again. I was on those both previously but I deleted them. I'm Yelping. Gonna sign up for Linked In. I don't know. I write jokes on all of these, so that's fun.

And then there's this. Hello, EP. You look nice. I don't have to write jokes for you, because you already have a thing for me. I can tell.

Yeah. I'm really tired all the time. I sleep 5 or 6 hours a night during the weekend. I feel really restless, generally, and I don't want to go to bed because I don't want to stop doing things. I don't want to feel like I haven't tried.

Okay, that's it. You're beautiful and important, EP.


I am a horrible person and I don't know how to stop hating myself.

there's growth in all things

It's a little after 10 and I'm listening to a hodgepodge of music. My hip and butt hurt like fuck and I'm shifting around on my couch some in order to find a sitting position that won't aggravate it. Not having much luck.

It feels like my insides are slowly being wound, and the tension from the process is slowly spreading down into my left leg and up into the left side of the middle of my back. I left work a few hours early because it was bugging me and I found it difficult to read anything. Today I decided for myself that the problem is probably some sort of sciatica thing, which, as oddly as it may sound, makes me feel better. I was thinking it was intestinal, worried I had another infection or something.

Have to call my doctor tomorrow and see if I can get an appointment soon.

Got home and got some blogging done finally on the new blog I started. We'll see how that goes.

Adjusting to being in a relationship continues to be difficult. Most people would wonder why, if it's so difficult for me to be with someone, do I continue to stay in one. Maybe I'm just not ready to admit I'm that damaged yet. Akron's so sweet and so in love with me. She tells me a thousand times a day, and I can't really fathom why she loves me so much. I love her back. I really do. But I don't love her like she loves me. I don't know if I can love anyone that way.

So, it's felt to me like splitting up is inevitable, yet as time continues to move on, I keep having to step back for a moment and realize how far we've actually made it.


I don't know. No big thoughts or interesting stories today. Having a hard time keeping my eyes open right now. 

captain v, signing off

There was an extremely talented (yet terribly infrequent) blogger that I discovered through this website a few years ago. This was back when I joined and I was obsessed with losing my virginity, and her writing dealt with her life and her virginity in such a frank and open way that it was almost embarrassing to read. In a good way, I mean. And it didn't hurt that her writing was gorgeous and hilarious. Anyways, she didn't blog on here, and only created a profile to seemingly advertise her writing over on a Blogger platform page. Hadn't checked on her page in probably a year or so since she stopped updating, but it seems like her page was finally deleted. And even though it was pretty much abandoned the day after she wrote her one story with the linke to her blog, her EP account has been deleted too.

It's weird when things disappear that you have no real connection to. Never quite sure how to feel, and somehow the lack of feeling kind of stands on its own merit. I guess that's the price we pay for immersing ourselves in our own monitors.

. . .

I'm feeling desperate and stranded.


Feeling like a total fuck-up today. Having a really hard time focusing, and at work, if I can't focus, I'm fucked. I really have no idea how the fuck I'm ever going to get a shred of confidence in myself. It's getting worse. If I think back to where I was 3 years ago, I wasn't as bad as I am now, that's for sure. I've spent a lot of time worrying about all my issues, and it's like that non-stop worrying has just led me to being a total mess. I can't make a decision to save my life. I can't speak up and say what I feel, think, or want. I'm pathetic. I feel pathetic. And it's getting worse.

I should look into seeing a therapist again.

powerhouse A

If I weren't so damn passive, maybe I could make a difference in this world.

I have this strange feeling that if I drag it out long enough, I can find something to say that would speak for so many somewhere at the end of this sentence.

Fool's errand, I guess.

Been reading people's EP stories and stuff today. Haven't done that in a long while. Sticking to the stories of anxiety, depression, and things of that quiet suffering type, I get the feeling that I can change things somehow. I don't know. What makes me want to inspire people like some Dale Carnegie wannabe, when I really can't inspire myself? Why do I feel that if I think hard enough, I can just make people stop being so unhappy. I believe I can do it, too, but I build thoughts with words, and I just don't know how to put together what I wish to with the materials that I have. There's no instructions. Half the pieces are missing. It's like a DIY bookshelf purchased at Big Lots.

another sunny day

Three months ago I wrote my brother a letter and gave him a mix CD of a bunch of songs I remember him playing over and over again all those years ago, mostly comprised of old hip-hop songs that he taped off the radio back in the late 80s. It took a lot of work. In spite of the fact that I knew all of the words to the bulk of the songs I was looking for, I didn't know the song name, artist, or both. Hard to believe now, but at the time there weren't many outlets on the radio for hip-hop, and most of the songs that he had taped had been taken from college shows where a lot of the playlist was dedicated to local stuff or some of the more up-and-coming artists of the time, many who would never go on to quite make it big, meaning that nowadays, well, that shit can be hard to find.

I imagined him being pretty impressed that I tracked some of this stuff down. I wanted to give him something when I finally wrote that letter. Give him something that I felt was personally significant to show him that he still bumps around in my head after all these years. Rattling around my head like the lyrics of those songs. Pieces of me.

I have yet to hear from him, which I expected. I guess I'll just have to try again soon. I'm not really ready just yet to completely write him off as a lost cause. I already did that years ago, and I feel that was one of my worst mistakes.

My brother's issues manifested themselves some time during his time in high school, but they didn't consume until a few years after he had graduated and decided to quit his job in search of something better -- only something better never came, and he began to deteriorate right there in front of my eyes, hiding out in my room and his room, on the top floor of my parents' house (now my dad's house). 

He didn't talk to anyone, but he did talk to me. He stopped eating and he lived off of a few thousand dollars he had saved up. I was forced to take care of him, try my best to keep him entertained or in good spirits even as his self-worth became shot to hell and his willingness to leave the upstairs of that house completely disappeared. He'd run to Subway or the drug store or whatever when he could. Or I would convince him to go for a drive or to the comic shop or Circuit City with me. He could put on a tough face and manage a few words to the people he didn't know. The less they knew him, the less likely they would have stuff to judge him or dislike him on. I guess that was his thinking.

Time dragged on and I was forced out of pity and sadness and love to help take care of him.

I resented it, though. Eventually. And I felt horrible about it. But, fuck, I just needed to be alone sometimes. I couldn't have him squatting in my room all day because he couldn't stand the fact that his room was directly over my mother's room, and the sound of her underneath him drove him insane.

I began to retreat from him and the house, sequestering myself in my car or a computer lab at school or the movies or some store I didn't really want to be in. I was becoming him in a lot of ways. I was a pretty sullen kid for years. I liked being alone. But that time really developed me into who I am now. It's just hard to be around people some times, y'know?

Sometimes, those times in which he needed the human contact that I gave him, he began to get really angry and upset that I wasn't around as much. I don't know. I've probably told this story or pieces of it a billion times on here, so I'll probably cut this short, but eventually I wrote him off out of anger and desperation. He's a lost cause. 

And that's when the fucking dam burst and it completely fell apart and I've never really talked to him much since.

I wish I didn't do that. But I guess it helped motivate him to get out and get a job. Yeah, he still keeps his head down and still haunts the upstairs of my dad's, and he can't look you in the eyes and he doesn't really talk or interact with anyone much, but he's making a go at life in the best way that he can manage and that's something. Who the fuck are we to judge?

I just wish I didn't have to lose him. Not that I really have. It seems like I'm irrevocably shaped by that horrible time in our lives. I'm not sure when I'll let go, as it would be just like writing him off again. Can I really stop carrying that weight when I've defined myself by that time, and its effects stay stuck in my head like a verse that has stuck in my head since childhood?

Years after we stopped talking, I sought hard for love and affection and comfort with someone else other than myself. I wanted so badly to share my life with someone else, but I couldn't bring myself to actually do it, and I self sabotaged or entered myself into horrible situations, the kind that would just lead to unrequited feelings, heartbreak, and complete and total obsession. In other words, I doomed myself to remain by myself. More specifically, sad and by myself. In large part due to the events with my brother, I've damned myself to being alone because I just could not survive having someone live on top of me again.

But I pined for love. For someone. I ached. I realize a lot of it was physical (I was a virgin.) Eventually, just a few years ago, I ended up with a girl who fell in love with me, and clung to me whenever I tried to pull away. Now we talk of moving in. We talk of marriage down the road. 

It scares the living fuck out of me, to be honest. But the thing is, I love her. I really do. And maybe I feel that if I can figure out how to reconcile things with my brother, somehow it would heal a lot of the issues that I have. I can move on with the average everyday pursuits of health and happiness that everybody strives for, break out of my shell, and feel at home when I'm in someone else's eyes.

It's getting late. I'm listening to "Another Sunny Day" by Belle and Sebastian, which came up on random really early while typing this and I've been listening to it on repeat since. I don't know why, but the melody and the wistful key of the song just really got to me while typing, and it just felt appropriate.

Who knows? Maybe there's finally room for a few new songs in my head.

the moribund months

It's just after midnight and I'm listening to some ambient music right now and not really enjoying it that much, but it yields good atmosphere to the hour, especially with the sullen feeling that I just so happen to be feeling right now, so I guess it fits.

I'm still up because I don't want to give up being awake just yet. I'm fine sacrificing the restfulness of tomorrow (i.e. sanity) for a bit more solitude tonight.

I haven't been feeling like myself lately. I've gone from having more time on my hands than I know what to do with -- the kind of deep, saturated time leads to blank stares and word salad inner monologues and depression just for the sake of having something to do -- to not having enough time to do even the basic things I need to do in order to go about my day. Okay, well, realistically I do have enough time to sleep, to grocery shop, to do laundry and the like, but I have to work in time for pursuits such as this right now, the moments of solitude and thought that keep me from feeling disoriented and fuzzzzy...

And in spite of my best thoughts, my mind is shutting down right now. Had stuff to write today, for a change. Guess it will have to wait til the next opening.

shutting down. 

dig or don't

Dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig.

Or don't.

You kind of forget what it is exactly that you're digging for anyways. And at the time of this writing, if you're so inclined to know, there's dirt under my nails. Little granules that appear as grayish-green cancer blotches matastacizing underneath the white margin, spreading inward from the cusp of my claws. They invade the recesses of my fingertips by means of forcible entry, rip apart the place in search of something forgotten, until the night's work runs their fingers raw and they trounce off to collapse in the cushy soft pink confines of the nail bed that's draped with layers of stiff, translucent blankets made from keratin proteins.

I write all of this in honesty, in boredom, in jest. It's complicated. I like being silly and bleak sometimes, which is to say, I still like feeling like I'm in my twenties. Eventually I'm going to have to open my eyes to the absolute okayness with being unremarkable, and fall in twenty-something puppy love with what's remarkable around me. Maybe for me, that's what growing up will be.

monday funnies

Just past midnight and I'm up for as long as I feel like fighting the resignation of my three-day weekend. Much as I would hate to admit it when I'm driving the streets aimlessly, the routine is inescapable and all-consuming, hell bent on swallowing me whole and spiting out the bones, unbuttoning its pressed slacks, and then shitting all over them.

The sick fucking joke of life is that it's not a sick fucking joke. It's actually a really boring, predictable one. It's a Cathy comic. 

Argh! Mondays! etc.

I realize that there are very few, if any, comic strip characters who enjoy Mondays. If I drew my own strip, I would cram that thing so full of pro-Monday propaganda that it would either cast the much maligned work week initiator in a new light, or finish the job the internet started and bring the entire newspaper industry down in a charred flaming mess: World, Metro, Sports, Classifieds, even the Friday cultural insert.

I would even go so far as to metatextualize (if that's a word) the whole thing by making the Tues-Sun strips absolute garbage, while making the strip that appeared in Monday papers the greatest possible newspaper comic that could ever exist. Like, we're talking Little Nemo + Peanuts + Nancy + The Far Side + Krazy Kat + Li'l Abner + Calvin & Hobbes + Terry and the Pirates - Mary Worth. And if none of that means anything to you, don't worry, I'll make sure there's PLENTY of frontal nudity.

Alright. Buspirone is making me dizzy. Time for bed.


I'm spending days counting canker sores and biting my nails and grappling with the notion that there comes a time in everyone's life in which their body just up and stops loving them and begins to pull away.

Akron wants to know if I feel like I have a purpose in life. I wish I could say that I did. All I know is that it's not kids.

Thoughts returned to my mother for a bit, and how hurtful it must be to her that she spent a lot of time loving and caring for children that would ultimately grow up to ignore her, either by choice or mental illness. I feel saddened by this, troubled even, but when it gets down to it, after I arrive back at home after spending the past 48 hours in Akron's bed slipping in and out of sleep and sex and the routine yet alien day-to-day pleasantries that the domestication process brings, I don't want to be bothered to call her and tell her that I love her and ask how her breathing is.

My brother's isolation was never her fault; I wish she could realize that. It must be harrowing for her to think about it...if she does at all. It's hard to continue to think about something that no longer really exists in anything other than abstract terms and memories, with a few random scraps of information tossed her way by my father, whose made privy to these tidbits due to his fortunate status of being the underwater homeowner of the house my brother haunts the upstairs of. A ghost on the 3rd floor. 

At some point I'm going to have to give up dwelling on my regrets, cut my losses, and take a gamble on creating something new.

the elaborate anatomy

One of these days I'm going to crack my knuckles so hard that my hands will grind to a halt and my joints will splinter and send my bones crashing through my skin. On that day I will quit working because my hands quit working.

in a 1 subject blue

Got back together with Akron because that's pretty much what we do.

Been making weekly lists. Just easier to keep track of the things I want or need to do. Lists lists lists.

- Pay phone bill

- Find a dermatologist

- Visit Mom

I'm having some success with it. It's nice have a visual cue handy to tell me the things that I feel that I should be doing, even if half the things aren't exactly productive. (Today found me doing laundry, throwing out an old mattress, and reading Fantastic Four comics...all on the list.)

Crossing them off as I go along helps keep me motivated. It's kind of like a weird self-mocking to leave things incomplete, especially given that my new time-wasting habit is staring at the fucking list for 40 minutes to both see what I can do next  and formulate some sort of positive or negative or I don't give a fuck response to the base visual stimulation that a list of things done and undone gives me.

It's satisfying to do shit. It makes me feel like I'm not a total fuck-up, or that I'm actually working towards something.

Not that I expect to do everything I put on the list during the course of the week. If I don't do something I just transfer it to the next week's list. Granted, some things will most likely be on there for a good long time. Stuff related to jobs and doctors and the shit I tend to want to ignore as long as I possibly can.

Blogging on here was on the list. And now it's done. Not sure if it's just fulfilling the goal of crossing it off... Like, what am I benefiting from this? Doing things just to keep myself busy isn't really accomplishing that much, but it does do something for my mental state. I guess.

Blah. Tired of writing.


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montana to rice

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odds and evens

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holiday break

I can't remember the last time I've been this productive over the span of a number of days. It feels good. I feel like I have some momentum right now and I really hope that it carries over into next week when I have to start back up at work. I'm doing lots of the shit I've been saying that I was going to do for a long time, and on top of that I've been social every damn night since Friday (and that will continue until maybe Thursday). Still, somehow I've managed to work in a crap load of Netflix time. Yes. I really am that talented.

Also, this week: I finally broked down and bought a bed. It should be delivered in about 2 or 3 hours and I'm very excited. I also bought a rug. And a coat. And a bookshelf. And queen-size sheets. I guess this week I've been making up for my normal disdain of buying things. But I guess it's good, since buying a bed is one of the things that I've been meaning to do years or something.

1-20 of 93 Blogs   

Previous Posts
peek a boo, posted April 14th, 2013
angry, posted March 4th, 2013
pep talk, posted February 28th, 2013, 1 comment
declaration, posted February 4th, 2013, 2 comments
there's growth in all things, posted January 28th, 2013, 2 comments
captain v, signing off, posted October 14th, 2012
inability, posted October 1st, 2012
powerhouse A, posted September 24th, 2012
another sunny day, posted September 19th, 2012
the moribund months, posted September 17th, 2012
dig or don't, posted September 9th, 2012
monday funnies, posted August 6th, 2012
estranged, posted July 29th, 2012
the elaborate anatomy, posted July 24th, 2012
in a 1 subject blue, posted April 22nd, 2012
competition, posted February 26th, 2012, 3 comments
mondays, posted January 22nd, 2012, 2 comments
montana to rice, posted January 16th, 2012
odds and evens, posted January 9th, 2012
holiday break, posted December 28th, 2011
cinnamon ring, posted December 27th, 2011
kamandi omnibus, posted December 17th, 2011
bumping into the old regulars at bookstores around christmas, posted December 17th, 2011
radio on, posted December 11th, 2011
challa back girl, posted December 4th, 2011
more than this, posted November 28th, 2011, 1 comment
honey, cinnamon and ginger, posted November 27th, 2011
can we really trust nonplussednonsense for 4 more years?!?, posted November 7th, 2011
when you're fifteen..., posted November 5th, 2011, 3 comments
grout, posted October 30th, 2011
hey, how about a late night blog?, posted October 29th, 2011
2:05 am, posted October 22nd, 2011
anxious, posted October 12th, 2011, 5 comments
effort, posted October 5th, 2011
88 lines about 44 women, posted September 8th, 2011, 2 comments
robby arranges flowers, zaps monkey, posted September 5th, 2011
jennifer garner or someone to that extent, posted August 28th, 2011, 2 comments
hydrocodone, posted August 24th, 2011, 2 comments
metaphor overuse for fun and profit, posted August 17th, 2011
bills bills bills, posted August 15th, 2011
i, object, posted August 14th, 2011, 2 comments
mattress, posted July 26th, 2011
wednesday night parking lot, posted July 24th, 2011
nine-tenths, posted June 6th, 2011, 1 comment
when you get out, posted May 15th, 2011
breakin', posted May 10th, 2011, 2 comments
terrified of flying, posted May 8th, 2011, 3 comments
man of tomorrow, posted May 8th, 2011
leslie ann levine, posted April 28th, 2011
frankie anderson, posted April 27th, 2011
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