An issue with Self Worth.

Here it is.....almost 5 am. I'm running on little sleep, and I just recently got off work, where we had a really fucking busy night and I worked my ass off. I'm sober, my feet hurt, my head is pounding, and by all accounts...I should be asleep.
But I'm not.
The longer I laid there, it seems the harder I cried.

I'm not sure if it's a Holiday thing, or just an average, everyday, run of the mill kinda thing.

I laid there thinking.....what is wrong with me?

I feel so....worthless. Without meaning. Without regard.
I have no reason. No dramatic thing to aim my tragicness toward. Just the fact that I, personally....feel... like I'll never be good enough.

Not for anything, or anyone. Not the things I want to do, the person I want to become. Who I am, even now.

I feel like a filler. Someone just taking up a spot until someone else comes along.
In work, at home. Everywhere.

I've had issues with self esteem as far back as I can remember...it's something I wish I could change.
But it lies within me. It is me. It's a part of my being that I can't escape. A part of my design I cannot reconstruct.

I feel like everyone is always disappointed. In how I act, the things I say or do. Who I am, and things of that nature. I feel like people are nice to me, only to spare my feelings.
I feel like my encounters with everyone, are just giant sugar coated, moments of make believe.

I think that I'm a nuisance to most everyone. I feel like it's often just in my own head. Then there are moments when I'm not so sure.

Over the last weeks I've been having these crazy dreams. They've also been actually coming true. Sometimes they're of little things, like dropping a lighter, or looking at the clock at a certain time. Then there's other ones. Things I'm afraid to think about. I had one this afternoon, while napping. When I woke up, it was like I was in the dream all over again. And, it wasn't pretty.
It's been bothering me all night, and ...honestly..I'll have no way of knowing if it's true or not...
Wondering about things, is worse than knowing...and not liking what you know.
All of it at once, and I'm in overload mode. My mind is racing, and I want to stop for a minute, and let everything out. Let it work it's way past me. But I can't.
I'm afraid I'm going to be this way forever. Always feeling....on the outskirts of everything. Second best. or third, or fourth. Or 3254324563426331st.
I'm afraid I'm never going to feel like I'm someone's number one. Including my own.
I'm afraid I'm gonna always be down. And, beaten.

I'm afraid of alot of things.
Whatever. It's what it is...I guess.

Numero Uno

After blogging for years on a site called "Diaryland.com", I was without the internet for a few years.(which...if you're as addicted to the internet as I am, you know how incredibly difficult this is. There were times I'd hook up my broken computer and try to turn it on, in hopes that whatever was wrong with it would have been fixed by sitting in the closet for a year. To my dismay it wouldn't, I'd feel sad, as if I lost a parent, or a pet....then put it all away and drown my sorrows in mass amounts of whatever kind of booze I was feeling that night) When I was finally able to afford to buy another computer, I joined the craze that is "Myspace" (insert dramatic thunder-esque sound) (Forgive me If I make it seem like my Myspace days are over...I'll be checking my messages and stalking people there every 14 minutes of every day per usual, it's just the blogging on Myspace that's over.)

And, now my change has come again, and I'm here.

It was basically brought to my attention that, to be noticed as someone who writes...to get people to take your voice, and your words seriously, you've got to put it in a place where those things are possible. And, nothing against Myspace and it's 14 year old girl atmosphere (which..I LOVE) but, I don't think that's where "it" is at. Then again, I'm a mess and have no fucking idea what I'm talking about. Or, do I? *shrug*

So, yeah. Here it is. The greatest thing about this, is....it autosaves as your typing. There's nothing worse than writing a blog, and...losing it because your computer "performed an illegal operation" or, the "website is not responding". Fuck that shit.

On the downside, and I'm not exactly sure why this is a downside....because I'm not computer savvy...But, I was told I needed to join this other site, and connect it to this one. To do so, one needs an "RSS feed". I've done what every human with internet access does when they don't know something, and googled it. Basically, reading up on it, was like looking at a giant clitoris. Completely, uncharted territory for me. I was confused, got flustered, closed out the page and said fuck it. I'll ask for help, and if I get none...then screw it. So, yeah...if anyone is smart, and wants to help me get an RSS feed (whatever the fuck it is...I get the impression it's not difficult....I may even already have one..I don't flippen know) then, I'll love you forever.

Email me. Call my people. You know, whatever.

Right now, the big rage is this Writers Guild Strike. It's crazy. It's only a matter of weeks until everything is airing re-runs and our televisions are taken over by reality shows. (which....for a reality tv junkie like myself...is a little slice of heaven) It's bringing me a winter edition of Big Brother. (Which...I am auditioning for again this year....I made it to meet the producers last year..I'm crossin my fingers that it happens again) Though, it's also going to make it difficult for me to watch LOST when the new season starts. There might not be any episodes written to watch. Plus, in effort to keep people watching tv, theres gonna be some crazy, poorly planned shows like "Do You want to Marry my one legged, six fingered, cross-eyed Dad" with Carrot Top as the Host. or "Americas Next Top Religious Zealot". Each week pastors and priests battle out to be the next big mouthed, hypocritical judgemental bastard. Hosted by Dr. Laura and Pat Robertson.

And, I know shows are gonna suffer. All I'm sayin is.. I'm no J.J Abrams, or whatever that chicks name is who writes Greys Anatomy. (love me some Greys) but, I'm not a member of the guild. Give a bitch a shot. Call me. Sure yer script will be like this...

Jack: Hey kate.

Kate: Hey Jack.

Jack: We're Lost.

Kate: Yes, we are.

(doom doom.)

Jack: wanna make out?

Kate: Okay.

*black smoke*

Both: RUN!

(doom doom)

but...at least it'll still be on.....that's all I'm sayin.

It's a bigger deal than people think, I think. It's affecting evvvverything. Late night talk shows, SNL, Julia-Louise Dreyfuss. Basically...everything. Except Ellen.

God love that dyke. She's like "i love my writers but i love myself more, the show must go on, eat my pussy bitches...and dont forget to use American Express. Now here's a XBOX 360 for everyone in the world as long as you still love me, cause I am Ellen."

(doom doom)

Then they cut to commercial and its an ad for Entertainment Tonight, interviewing that kid who got the dog from Ellen, then got it taken away all crying and shit.

Messes.

.

On a complete random note, I will mention one last thing, and it's on more of a serious note. A few weeks ago a co-worker that I'd known for a long time, passed away. There was a "life celebration" type of thing at the bar which I worked for, and...it was a very emotional time. It was extremely difficult to stand behind the bar, fighting back tears, while everyone is looking at you, asking you to put an extra lime in their vodka-tonic. The hardest part was seeing his lover, trying to be strong and not crack. Pretending to be having a wonderful time. It sucked.

The lover got really drunk, and left. After awhile he returned and said he had something for me.He pulled out a belt buckle. It was one that Jim (the co-worker who died) had worn every single day.He said that I'm the only person he knows who wears different belt buckles. And, asked if I'd like to have it.

At that moment, everything kind of came full circle. There was no avoiding the fact that he was is actually gone. Reality caught up to me. And I stopped mentally. for the first time, it actually really kicked in. I will never see him again. Ever.

Of course I accepted the buckle. My eyes watered for a moment. I wiped the tears away, and went on about my business.

It was one of those moments where...it was a big deal. Even if it didn't seem like one.

I'll never wear the buckle. But I'll keep it forever. And I'll always remember my friend

Cheers to Jim.

I'll write again soon. Peace and Chicken Grease.