Formerly Captain Oscar

Let’s see how this goes.

I’m back. Just finished revising the cover description, I suppose a copy of that should be my next entry.

Wow, I’m freeballing it, meaning I’m typing directly in the form and not on my wordpad, copying the finished safe product to this window. Any moment now I could lose up to 30,000 words with one dial-up disconnection. Yeah, it’s like that.

So, let’s get you up to speed, assuming you read diary contents. Everyone should be able to see this entry and anyone can make notes on it. When people start noting like jackasses, I’ll have to switch to logged in notes so only the brave can call me on my blogs. And I’m calling these blogs, I’m not sure what the protocol now is to call these.

I moved to Vegas for over 8 years and in that time, my mother never sold the condo. It sat here empty like the derelict spacecraft Discovery. This always upset me, knowing it was here waiting for me to fail. That my mother had no faith in me. And as I type here, it’s like I’m in high school again, living under her thumb. I was my own person for years in Vegas. Whenever you have to go back to your hometown, everyone in it regresses into thinking that you were the person you were then, no development. Happens at high school reunions, etc. It’s sickening.

After moving back, I spent a month or so, just wallowing. I did a Greenberg if you saw that movie. I did nothing. I was in shock and numb and sore from the move. I could have been depressed, but I knew I was in a situation beyond my control. I, instead was strongly disappointed in my situation. Depression to me meant that I couldn’t apply for a job or didn’t have courage to stand up and try to change my situation. Disappointment was turning in as many resumes and applications as I did in restaurants and sales positions that I was overqualified for, knowing the staff I witnessed were lazy, trying to get away with shit. I also would wait to talk to Managers that could care less they had no control over the employees, S/he was just a clockwatcher biding their time.

[why the hell does my font and size keep shutting off to a small type???]

Now, it’s so damn cold I can see my own breath while I lie in bed. The condo I’m in, the neighbor set a fire when I was in Vegas and in the repairs didn’t fix the heating vents. They expose cold and when I turn the heater on, it smells like soot and pumps in more cold air from wherever it’s exposed to the attic.

I just feel… empty a lot of the times. There’s no one to talk to from back there. Vegas is non stop going out, people like me just disappear off radar and the party keeps going. And here. I don’t even like wlaking around. I may run into someone I knew and have to explain what the hell I’m doing back here. Why things didn’t work out. It’s a coversation I could barely get thru once with my mother in moving back. And also I have to hear how my friends are spending like drunken sailors. And on crap. and on their new kids. That’s another long exasperating topic. Me being introduced as some kind of Uncle.

Since I didn’t participate in NaNoWriMo or the OD equivalent, I’ll shoot for doing it in December.

I need to get a lot of shit out of my mind. I can’t even blog on myspace anymore with their changes. I lost about 11 years of blogs in the conversion, 11 years of notes. And this site was running the whole time, so I came back here.

And when I log onto facebook, I just want to start taking hostages with all the stupid self-centered crap my supposed friends post. And I wasn’t an add whore with 5,00 "friends," I pretty much kept it to a couple hundred of people I actually know offline.

More tomorrow, already feel a weight being lifted off my mind.

Thank you Open Diary, hope some of my old posting friends are still on this.