Fuck, I love driving. So I took this job on Saturday mornings at the airport. There were a couple of drawbacks before I took it. You have to wake up at 5AM, to get there at 6AM. The last time I was up at 5AM, I was in a casino in Atlantic City, in a haze of old lady perfume and wasted guys with cigars. Two weeks ago, and that was because I hadn�t gone to sleep yet. The other drawback is, you work until 6PM. 12 fucking hours. And then the final drawback, that I discovered today, my first day by myself, the job sucks. That�s the third drawback.

I of course arrived 10 minutes late. When you get there you have to move cars around. I have not a clue how to drive a stick shift, so this would be fun. Right before they have me start moving cars around in this parking lot to have ready for returning passengers, another guy pulls in, who I was warned about in training last week for him being too �by the book�. This is actually fine with me, as I tend to be the same way at work generally, as �efficiency� is my middle name. They suggested instead of moving cars I go with him to see where all the airline terminals are. I already knew from the week before in training, but I figured if I could avoid having to learn how to drive a stick by myself while moving a car into a parking space that is exactly the same size as the car, plus an inch to open the door, I would do it later in the day. I got back to the �base� and the guy with the fucked up teeth and faded tattoo of a cross on his arm and a mullet was there. I remember his personality from the week before as he greeted me with a belch at 6:45 in the fucking morning on a Saturfuckingday. He told me to start checking in cars when they came in. A few customers started streaming in, and I realized I had no clue what the fuck I was doing. Meanwhile the guy with the fucked up teeth and faded tattoo of a cross on his arm and a mullet was cooking two, two, two chicken nuggets in the toaster oven, not even on a tray. Just two chicken nuggets layin� up on the grill. He came in to help me, and was sort of talking down to me, as if I should know the fucking systems that him and his existence of being the guy with the fucked up teeth and faded tattoo of a cross on his arm and a mullet deal with every day here. A woman in line mentioned something was burning. For the remainder of my time at �base� the odor in there was so fucking disgusting I had to keep going outside. It looks like the guy with the fucked up teeth and faded tattoo of a cross on his arm and a mullet evidently can�t cook. He fell asleep on a couch in front of a television set telling me about priests molesting children and body parts being carried out of apartments. When he awoke he asked me to go grab a newspaper and if I could get him a coffee. Fuck. I�m used to telling people what to do during the week, and here I am getting the guy with the fucked up teeth and faded tattoo of a cross on his arm and a mullet a coffee. I got him his fucking coffee though. At one point he said �I gotta go pay a cable bill, down the street, if anyone comes, tell them to go to our other lot.� He got in his truck, and as soon as he started it �Black Dog� by Led Zeppelin came blaring out of the stereo. Well, at least he wasn�t listening to the Eagles. This gave me my chance now. I needed to make the day more exciting, as I kept looking at the clock: 10:40, I�d look at it 30 minutes later and it would say: 10:51. It was a little after 11, when the guy with the fucked up teeth and faded tattoo of a cross on his arm and a mullet went to �pay a cable bill, down the street, if anyone comes tell them to go to our other lot�. As soon as he was out of sight, I ran to my car and got some stuff. Well, a soul tape I had brought to play in the van, and some marijuana. I went behind the building, and �made the day a little better�. He returned, and me and my stoned self sat waiting to drive the van again.

If you�ve ever been to Logan Airport in Boston Massachusetts in the United States of America, then you know what a fucking labyrinth it is. The drives weren�t that bad, I actually kind of enjoyed it. Although I generally don�t talk to strangers, you�re sort of forced to, especially if you expect a tip. The nicest people I drove today were the airport employees. Mostly old black men. For some reason, I have this attraction to old black men. Not in a homoerotic way, I just think they have more to say than old white guys. So, after dealing with this job for a few hours, I decided to call it a day. I told the guys there. �He told me I could leave at 2:30�, so at 2:30, I left. It�s a beautiful day out today, so I took the scenic, Oceanside drive on the way home. Called my friend who �Sells me stuff�, and paid him a visit, hung there for a little while, and now I�m home, ready to pass out. I will not be returning to that job. For one thing, it�s too stressful after my full time job, and secondly, I don�t think I could deal with the lack of social skills in the �cast from the Godather� that I would be working with. So I�m out of there, I still have Saturdays.

It�s now Sunday evening, the above was written last night. I pretty much stayed in all weekend. Today I went to Portsmouth with JDG. After a brief stint with the bar scene again the past month, I�m retiring. Retiring from anything remotely social, well, social like that scene is social. A few days in the jail cell at a time bring me to this. I have nothing but conversations with people now while looking over their shoulders the whole time waiting for it to end. I don�t know where this comes from. Day in day out, my non-medicated mind flips from one thing to another. I was going to quit the band again I thought to myself in the shower again. We�re playing shows still, but I�d much rather just shut the fuck up and play by myself. I don�t have anything remotely interesting to say, and I definitely have no desire to entertain people. If anything, I want to be in a band where people don�t like me. Where they see me and say how much of a waste of time it is to see me. I can achieve this with the band, By masturbating in front of an audience for 45 minutes in the form of meandering jams and tedious obnoxious noise emanating from my amplifier at all times. I don�t play gigs anymore to get my dick sucked. I certainly don�t play them to make money, so what�s the point if I just want to play what I want to play. I couldn�t give two fucks less what the rest of the guys in the band want to do at any given time, but I guess I give in because it works best when it�s a democracy. If I had my way though, nobody would ever want to come see us play. I don�t really want to do any of the things I do anymore. I don�t like going to the record shop and walking around looking at the same boring fucking indie rock records with clever song titles. I don�t want to eventually turn into more of a music snob than I am, but I guess I have to if I want to uphold this reputation. A whole weekend by yourself. I�ve had so many of these in the past now that I should not even be bothered by it. Never using your voice for a day is a good exercise from time to time. Everyone should try it, unfortunately nobody does it. This weekend I sort of wandered from one uncomfortable situation to the next, all by myself. I walked around labyrinths and tried to fancy taking in a conversation here and there with friends, and strangers, but found myself needing to get back here. I love it in here. It�s clean and friendly in here. When I go outside now, I rush around to get everything done as fast as I can so I can get home. I hate that I have to spend the next week with a plan. Monday practice. Tuesday guitar lesson. Wednesday practice. Thursday go out to that gig. Friday play that gig. Saturday rest and spend the day by myself because I�ll be so fucking exhausted from talking and having to stay awake. Saturday, the loneliest night of the week apparently. I�ve thrived on loneliness for years now. It�s my calling now to just be this pathetic guy who is doing nothing with himself that is awesome. Nothing that is causing any positive effects around him. I enjoy bringing people down I guess. I sure as hell like pushing buttons to see what kind of reaction I can get. I like to sit back and wait to vomit now. I tend not to tell any truths now. For all I know I could be making all of this up right now, just to push buttons. The real me hides behind a well tuned guitar and a head full of ideas on how to get attention without really needing it. This could all be a lie, I promised at one point that this online diary would now turn into a bunch of lies and bullshit on a semi-daily basis. For anyone to actually read this far down this page, would be a great feat I think. To make a difference inside me, I have to stop paying attention to others. I judge too much. Wait, that�s a lie. I don�t judge enough. I make decisions, and come up with ideas that a normal person would not even consider. I make up so many stories, and hide behind all these facades that are so thick I don�t even remember what I was supposed to be and furthermore what it is I actually hide from people. I get scared when I think someone might have figured me out. I get a little relieved when I think, like this morning after getting out of the shower how easy and painless a single bullet could put a stop to this. Or I could just shut up for once.

before & after