See, I could be angry, I could just ram my hand through the plate glass sliding door, and maybe I could get some petty satisfaction from doing that, but deep down I know it's all futile and stupid and there's nothing I can do but try desparately to keep it from fucking me up too much. I mean, I've been angry for almost a good 40 days now, the very core of my soul rotting as it steeps in my inchoate rage, and it took the very Hand of God (in the form of immense waves just off of Puerco Beach in Malibu) to slap me around and make me see reason.

But, sad to say, I'm hopelessly far away from the ocean, and just a week has passed, and the lesson has worn off.

Of course, it doesn't help that I must be reminded of my failure as a human being daily. I mean, sure, all my friends can rationalize it, it's not me, it's her. There's nothing wrong with me, it just wasn't meant to be. But if it's so easy to believe that, why is it that every time I see them together, I feel like the reason I feel so horribly miserable is because God simply fucked up when he created me. Even He makes mistakes, maybe. Sure, why not. Not that my faith is exactly a powerful pillar of support in this time of severe trial.

But in this dark hour as I rot away by myself, trying to drown my sorrows with rum and Coke, I wallow in self-pity. I hate myself because of everything that I'm not, and I know this is a ridiculous way to go through life, but I really feel like I'm running out of excuses.

Trapped. There's no way out of this one. I can only hope to endure, but I feel like my rope is running out even before this year has begun. "I'm not normally a religious man, but if you're up there, save me, Superman!" (from Homer J Simpson)

Fuck it. I'm going to drink myself stupid tonight. Well, more stupid than usual.