I grow more hopeless everyday. I sound so maudlin (if I even spelled it correctly). I am pathetic. A waste. And I wish there was a way out. Why doesn't God answer me? Perhaps He too has given up on me, but I don't think that's in His nature, unlike me. How did it get to this...I hate this, I hate me.

It's getting harder and harder to maintain daily functions. I find that I am not thinking as clearly, I am easily agitated, I am almost constantly overwhelmed...even by the simplest of tasks. I'm losing it, I'm afraid. I am so desperate for this all to end. But not by my own hand. I keep asking God to finish this once and for all; begging for that unbearable pressure in my chest, or that rending of my brain in a swift and deadly stroke. So far, He has rejected my pleas. How long, how long...

You know, its not as if I haven't tried. I have. Or at least I think I have. And yet I still feel as if there is nothing left. I am tired of clawing every day just to keep my head out of the shit; I am tired of failing every day. I really just want to say F it to everything, but I don't have whatever it takes to do that. It pisses me off that I am such a pathetic specimen, no wonder women don't want me - who in their right mind would want a guy that thinks he is a pathetic loser (and proves it daily). I am F'd, and I've done it to myself. And no, don't have any sympathy or pity for me, I simply don't deserve it. This is my bed of shit, I guess I have to lay in it; I just wanna know how long I gotta keep myself from drowning. I so very much want to let go...but I cant, that's God's choice, not mine.

I am ready to give up. I don't mean in a suicidal way...truthfully, I don't really know what I mean. I just know that I am tired. I have no peace, no hope, no future, nothing. Each day is something to be suffered, not enjoyed as God intended. I wish God would just end this......

Red Rubberball

Now that's a song I really wish I could sing and mean it....

Hi! Box here. I have time for one story tonight. I remember being on display after I was formed. I would sit on the shelf, waiting as they would come in a browse. All sorts of collectors, dreamers and buyers would visit the shop and gaze in wonder at the treasures. One day, the most amazing dreamer came in; a blond sprite, with earthly eyes and long slender fingers. I watched as she picked up first one, then another of my brothers. Well, you can certainly guess where this is going...she picked me! She was a woodland innocent, quietly hiding her secrets with me! Oh what a glorious time we had...sailing the seas, plumbing the depths of the forest parks, visiting the deep seas. Ah, in my age, I still remember, and I still rejoice at the thought of my woodland sprite...

Mentropy*

*Montropy: (n): 1. A neologism, derived from the unintended convergence of mental and entropy. 2. Scattered and increasingly disorganized thoughts and memories.

When I was in the 5th grade, I wanted desperately to learn how to play the trumpet. I think this desire came after seeing "Three Coins in a Fountain." One day, in a fit of frustration, I bent the bell of the trumpet. I felt so ashamed, that I never played the trumpet again. I still regret it.

In another fit of anger, I once signed a paper for school with my birth name. My dad saw it, but never said anything. I still very much regret hurting him.

I miss my dad.

I miss my father-in-law.

Why do I like the soundtracks for movies that headline Ellen Page?

I love the smell of a crisp autumn day. And my children. (I still enjoy smelling their hair)

I feel so helpless and lost most of the time, despite knowing what I have to do.

I hate betrayal.

I have amazing nieces. They are such different people, but both so wonderful.

Why is it I can see the glory of God in the bee, in the sunset and in the genome, but I can't see it at work in me?

Why am I fascinated by Wendingo Psychosis, Capgras, Cotard's and Fergoli's psychosis?

Hi! My name is..., well to simplify things, you can just call me "Box." OK then, blogging. Never thought I would actually be one of those "bloggers", but here I am filling cyberspace with stuff. Not really sure what I am supposed to say here...I guess I could tell you a little something about myself. I will try to make it sound good, this is my fifteen minutes afterall, but don't expect much. I am used to things being put in me or taken out of me, not really used to producing things. Anyway, here goes...

I was made some years ago, during the hippy years. I was put together with the upmost care and decorated with pride. Oh, how lovely I looked! And my lining, oh yes, my lining was the softest of velvet. You see, I was not created to be some cardboard throw-away, no, I was a keepsake, a treasure box, if you will. Made of the finest of woods, with a skilled craftsman forming my essence. When I was first put on display, hopes were high for what you might call my destiny...

Gotta go now blog, my hinges are aching and I need to rest. I will try to continue my story soon! G'night.

I feel like it is all slipping away. I know, I know, it all slipped away years ago, but give me a break on that one. What I am talking about is the sense of family, even with my boys. I feel disconnected and unwanted by the youngest, though in my heart I know that's probably not true. The oldest continues to butt heads with his mother and I, and when he does, the things he says tear out a little bit more of my heart. The middle one, with whom I feel the closest (at this moment) is getting so very independent, independent beyond his years.

I know this is probably a phase, but I dont like feeling so...disconnected...from them.

I stood alone at the beach tonight. Small groups of revelers surrounded me, waiting for the fireworks to begin. The air was pleasant, with a chilly wind blowing. The moon, a blue moon, came out from behind the clouds and cast shadows on the sand.

The fireworks were wonderful. And I felt content for the moment. Thank God for small joys...

When the dream dies and all hope is lost, I find I must at last fling my cares onto God. For only He has the strength, wit, and wisdom to direct my path. Only He knows whether the dream is truely dead, whether hope is completely lost. Only God almighty knows the paths I should walk...but He has revealed to where that path will lead.

God, Father, direct my path, comfort my soul, and allow me to walk in your will. I commend my hopes and dreams into your hands...


She filed.

Psalms 6:2-3

And now...?

Am I a fool? I dont really have anything to say, other than to ask that singular question. I wish I knew the answer. F@@k it. I probably do know the answer.

I had a brief, but very scary thought. Looking at her, she reminded me of something, something I should've left forgotten. I had had the thought before, but like all thoughts of this sort, it was quickly banished, being much too improper for the light of day. And yet, here it is again, rising unbidden in my mind. I seek to cast it out, like some wretched cancer or glutton leech. I will not succumb to the thought; I will not let it roil around inside my brain, only to produce some evil fruit. Shall I give it voice here, in this empty chamber? I shall not! Do not trouble yourself, my friend, with trying to discover it, for you cannot guess it! No, I shall not give it voice, not even a whisper...

Apologies and confessions

I love my wife. I just can't help it. I think she is stellar: witty, smart, beautiful, loving and a tender hearted mother. I love her with all that I am. I love her so much it hurts. My chest actually aches with overflowing love for her. I think though, that my love must be like dung. Distasteful and foul, malodorous and wretched. I spoil what I touch. I seem to destroy the beautiful and corrupt the innocent with my love. I am a no one and she deserves much more. I am sorry dear for ever hurting you. I am sorry if I spoiled your innocence and covered your radiance. I am sorry if I could never be who you needed me to be. I am simply that, sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me. And I hope one day you can see that I truly loved you; that I have always loved you.

Whats on YOUR mind? Here's what's on mine...

If God could make a mistake, it would be me. I don't think that God would make an obvious mistake (if He made them), but rather the kind of mistake I would represent. I don't think the Down's kid or the disabled guy represent the type of mistake that I do. No, not at all.



I am a fool.

A disaster of neurotic proportion.

I offer a semblance of normality, hiding a pit of failure.

You wouldn't want to get too close, you might fall through the thin layers and lose yourself.

I am an unfullfilled dream.

I am the unintended consequence.

A dung heep, if you will.

I am of the surrender monkey of life.

I am the guy who talks a passable game, but lives in the gutter.

I am the wino that promises he won't use that dollar for cheap wine, then does.

I am PPP, if you get my meaning.

I am a fool.



They say that God doesn't make mistakes. And I believe them. So what happened to me.

Sometimes I wish God would flush the toilet and just be done...

A List of Lists plus a comment

1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six

I obviously like the site that these came from. I also like the Presurfer.

neuronal misfires...
and other randomness

Take nothing that I write at face value. And yet, nothing I write has any particular depth. So where does that leave us...

On the way to Wal-Mart. I am thinking about what I should be doing with the next several months. What will my options be, what choices will I have or not have, that kind of thing. Behind me is a guy on a motorcycle. Leather jacket, racing patches, roundish open faced helmet and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. What would it be like to be THAT guy. Hard to tell through the rear view mirror, but I imagine he is happy and without stress. He turned right at the stoplight and rode off to his imaginably perfect life. And ahead of me, a rear window sign on an SUV that reminds me that "God Loves You."

A church sign reminds me...or rather teaches me..."The Will of God will not send you where the Grace of God cannot protect you." Like it, and sounds true enough. The sending part though, can be very difficult. Faith assures us that Grace covers us, but being a standard issue human, it's tough for me to rest assured. Guess that's why it is called faith...

Wal-Mart is the same as ever. Well, not quite the same. The lines are not overwhelming because they actually have more than one lane open. Wal-Mart is a pain, can be depressing, frustrating, and is something I tend to avoid the place. Still, I don't really mind going. Sometimes the complaining of it is just fun and is expected...

Do you think that ones susceptibility to peer pressure decreases with age? I think it does. and so do you, don't you. Everyone else thinks it does, why don't you? How does it feel to stand out in a crowd - and not in a cool, I am a rock star way - but in a I am a disturbed odd sort of fellow who doesn't believe the obvious. I knew you agreed with me on this...

If I could have a superpower, it would be teleportation.

10 Songs

I have absolutely no musical talent. Simple fact. I am amazed by those who do have musical talent. Songwriters and musicians can reach out and touch our hearts in so many ways, like no others can. I think it is a common experience for people to hear a song and something about that song will hook them. Then there are those special songs that come around only rarely - those songs that seem to be written just for you. The song hits you, you almost feel like the artist was watching over your shoulder and decided to sing about your experiences. It speaks to the commonality of human experience and our reactions to life. Anyway, here are a few of those special songs that have touched me in the last few years....

1. Beauty From Pain by Superchick
2. Pure by Superchick
3. We Live also by Superchick
4. Come My Way by Skillet
5. Jesus, Jesus (Holy and Annointed One) by Skillet
6. Imperfection by Skillet
7. Fingernails by Skillet
8. Breath You In by Thousand Foot Krutch
9. Last Words by Thousand Foot Krutch
10 Wish You Well by Thousand Foot Krutch

I stand alone on a barren path. The earth is baked and hard, unyielding. The air hot and unforgiving. I see lush growth for miles around, birds sing and people jabber. I am here of my own doing, this path is of my choosing, though I did not know it when I chose. I stand alone on a barren path.

I have dressed myself. A bitter gag silences me. A thick, but worn leather straight jacket wraps me and ensure that only I can provide comfort to me. Pants woven of thorns providing masochistic joy with every step. My feet are bare against the earth. I have dressed myself.

A knife. Pearl handled with an emerald encrusted guard. It is nestled in my chest. I can remember buying you that knife. I can remember the day I placed it in your hand and forced it into my chest. My gift to you. A knife.

I can remember a time when I thought that my tears would at least water the ground. Maybe, just maybe, something would then grow around me. Unfortunately I was wrong. Nothing grows around me. If I take one step forward or back, left or right, everything that was once lush dies; and life springs up where only death existed. A two meter perimeter of, well, nothing, surrounds me. I have tried, God knows I have tried, to reach out. Back when the straight jacket was more of a fashion statement than an excellent example of its usefulness, I would reach out to a rose, a flower, even a random vine. Just to touch something alive. Only to watch it whither away before I could get close. Tired of trying, I tightened the straps and hugged myself into isolation. So, here I am. A man standing alone on a barren path...