I didn’t update last week.

Truth of the matter is, I’ve been feeling kind of shitty lately for no good reason. And much how phantom pain kicks in with a vengeance when you’re sick, “kind of shitty” with De Pue means issues, anger, and drama. I get paranoid, buried thoughts on exes rise up, I am irritated, in short: If I were married last week, I would now be divorced.

In the words of the wise Marge Simpson: “If you really have nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all.” I’ve been trying to find a way to word a big pile of steaming shit thoughts constructively, and failed so far.

Odd thing is, I have everything to be happy about. I’ve been followspotting titties for a solid two weeks and getting congratulated repeatedly with a job well done, raking in cash, and have otherwise been very busy with enjoyable things. But when I am asked how I am doing, I can’t cough up a positive word to save my social life. And you know how people lurve a drama queen.

One major highlight was a visit to my school, where I was asked to do a couple hours of Q&A as ex-student and, apparently, prime example. It allowed me to sum up for myself what I’ve been doing since I graduated as a stage techie and conclude, that if I had known all this beforehand, I’d be pretty fucking proud and impressed with myself. Simply working like before and doing things my way, I am making my way up faster than I expected.

It all traces back to the day I quit computer games and started channeling that immense amount of energy and time into things other than fleeting entertainment with nothing to show for it after 6 years. It was too late to save my relationship, but I did manage to save my own hide. It took me a while to get up to speed but now that I’m off, I’m off good. I feel like I’m conquering the world and there’s not a thing I can’t do- followspotting, tent building, electricity, and plain simple hard work: I am nailing one job after another and having immense amounts of fun.

So why, do I wonder, have I decided to feel like shit for the past two weeks? What little hormone in my brain is responsible for that forlorn sensation when I spend 5 minutes in my own company?

I think it’s the sharp contrast with my social life, which has been pushed to the background briskly, that makes me feel something essential is missing. In fact, that might be exactly it: Something is missing.
Of all the failures in my life, and trust me I’ve made a few that make the Bush government pale in comparison, there is just one that I actually take seriously, and that is that I’m practically 27 years of age and still god damn single. Fuck you yes, this again.

I went trough that same ritual a couple times again last week, where I walk away from something that could have been to save myself the painful disgrace of mental disconnection. That’s what it is: I am a fucking Down case, a social retard, broken goods when it comes to properly addressing chicks and when I’m surrounded by colleagues who reel in a bitch in 20 minutes flat, that kind of brings my ego down a bit.

Yeah yeah, my time will come, just not with you. Someone, somewhere, perhaps on some other planet or 6 feet underground, is sure to answer. But in the mean time I’m leaving for Paris and who ever I’ll be missing, won’t be missing me. That stings. Repeatedly. Perpetually.

In itself, this isn’t really what’s causing this mood. In fact, I don’t know what is. Hormones, moon position, circumstance, bad food, fuck if I know, but as soon as I let it get to me, I’ve got a nice set of baggage waiting for me to fuck me up further. Like phantom pains when you’re sick.

Now, on my word, no more of this emo bullshit, ever again. It’s making me look unsexy while in reality, I’m not.

The house is slowly taking shape. What started off as a ceiling-high pile is becoming an organized household of 5; 7 if you include the cats. One is a tiny black one and the other a humongous white, and at the moment they’re in a love-hate relationship, chasing each other over my GOD DAMN keyboard.

The other have built closets, painted their rooms, organized workspaces, and I… well, I’m still getting all my stuff in place. It’s just so damn much, I don’t know what to do with it all. I’ve begin storing some of it on the attic, in the end I am hoping to get my room as empty, and my workroom as cleverly designed as humanly possible. Right now, both are still littered with cardboard boxes.

The days when I’m not working my testicles off, I sit around doing nothing. It usually takes me a day or two to find the urge to do something productive, which I haven’t had in the last month. As a result, I haven’t been getting much done and I’m falling behind on the others. Nevertheless, I did my part: 90% of the furniture in the living room is mine, and I ordered a patchbay (isn’t she a beauty) to hardwire a complete music installation in the bathroom, tv corner and living room which you can plug into at will. Each jack will activate a different set of speakers.


When I get around to it, anyway. I’m leaving for a job in Paris tomorrow, which will take several days. The last great work in a series of titanic challenges over the course of several weeks. It looks like I’ll have more time off soon and knowing myself, I am pretty sure I’ll be running up the walls from day 2. Things are going better now but the ghosts in my head are still partly there, it won’t be long until I desperately seek distraction. Self-knowledge: Doesn’t do you a lick of good.

So, time to finish what I started? To construct a home again? I always felt like one’s house is a reflection of one’s mind and by that rationale, my mind is a junkyard of cardboard boxes and parts of furniture scattered around. Perhaps bringing order in my room might bring order in my thoughts.

Ha. Fat chance.

It’s kind of fun trying, though.


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