Okay, now I'm pissed.

Not at all of you. Not even at most of you.

Just some.

Just those of you in that subset of the population of this country that are mindless idiots. Unable to form actual opinions of your own, you instead allow talking heads on television to tell you what to think.

You know who you are.

All of you sheep, please, fuck off and die now.

So today was kinda fun I guess.

I got the opportunity to explain myself to a friend who, somehow, had managed to remain clueless as to what's been going on with me. What's been wrong with me. Why I am the way I am. Why I write the drivel that I write.

I guess she must have thought I was a bipolar asshole for no reason whatsoever.

Well, I told her the reason.

I'm not ashamed of what happened to me. It's not like I had a choice in the matter. If I'd had a choice things would be different, to be sure, but there was never a choice. There was only inertia and gravity and roadways and all those other metaphors that I've become so accustomed to flinging and slinging about.

Remember the gorilla? That one was my favorite.

I've just noticed that I'm writing in the past tense now.

That's a stupid thing to do. Stupid and premature. For that tense implies, duh, that this is in the past. That it's over.

I don't know that.

I only suspect it.

And I've been wrong before.

Tomorrow I have to change cubicles.

This really blows. Partly because I had one of the best cubicles on the floor - one of the few where you can sit facing the traffic flow instead of always having your back to part of it - but also because I won't get to sit next to EwokGirl anymore. She's moving to the other side of the building, and I'm moving just one row over next to this old man who is quite a good guy but who probably won't appreciate my running commentary on the idiots of the world.

I'll also have to cut way back on my complaining about how much Lotus Notes sucks. Not because it doesn't suck, but because the language that I typically use to describe how much it sucks, and what it sucks, well that language is really not suitable for my new high-traffic location.

People that I hate:

1. Whores

2. Fuckheads

3. Sluts

4. Whores again

This list is not all-inclusive.

I feel kinda dumb.

I didn't read the company name on the box. What I thought was perhaps a charity with a stupid name turned out to be a parody of those "inspirational" posters that you sometimes see at work. If your job sucks, at least.

Oh, well. Live and learn I guess.

A few people did ask me what was in the box though. I answered that I had no idea. It wasn't addressed to anyone I know. I suggested that the cure for hope might be different for everyone.

A terrible diagnosis, a failed final exam, a guilty verdict, a rejected marriage proposal. Hope can be cured in so many ways - it's a wonder that it ever exists at all.

And some things, some things can remove all hope from one person yet breathe new life into another's.

Such as the situation I'm currently facing.

I don't know for sure if there's anyone that's happy about this. I think that, for now at least, I'm better off not knowing. But conventional wisdom would indicate that this is a happy event. Perhaps even a joyous one.

But not for me. For me, it's a cure for hope.

I know what's in my box. What's in yours? What would it take to cure your hope?

This was spotted with the rest of our incoming mail at work today.

I have no idea why I'm still here, seemingly as good as ever. Not that that is saying much. May as well say that smotlock is as subtle as ever.

There, I've mentioned smotlock. That should get me some hits.

My friend SassyGirl asked me today how I was doing. She did that head-tilting thing when she asked me which meant that she already knew the answer.

At least she thought that she did.

I dunno if I'm in denial here or what. It doesn't really feel that way. It feels more like I've given up, like this latest obstacle looming before me has finally caused me to accept that which I've been denying for a very long time.

This place where I'm at. That place where I long to be. There's no way to get there from here.

And, oddly enough, I'm okay. Obstacle after pitfall after trap after ambush have been placed before me, and until now I've always found a way to just go around, to just keep moving, to keep hoping.

And now, not so much.

I see before me a barrier that I'm unwilling to cross, and a part of me is relieved that I can finally stop this mindless quest. And, even if this respite turns out to be temporary, it's still a chance to rest, and that's something that I haven't had in a long time.

I told RockGirl today that I was waiting to die. Tonight, at least a part of me is waiting to live.

So, don't throw dirt over me just yet.

I'm still here. For now.

The nice thing about this is that it's giving me something to think about, but the bad thing about this is that it's giving me something to think about.

Too many things, actually.

My mind is aswarm with thoughts, my heart is teeming with feelings, all with their own agendas. Some will merge for a brief time, join forces in fierce battle against their enemies, swear allegiance to false alliances, but all the while only truly working toward their own vision of an idealized conclusion.

Others are adversaries from the start. Like dogs and cats, like Arabs and Jews, they are born into this war which began long ago and which will continue long after these individual skirmishes and battles and betrayals have become nothing more than forgotten footnotes in a history book.

And the individual combatants, so full of resolve and so possessed of purpose, they will become nothing more than patches of ground where the flowers, nourished by the blood-soaked earth, grow vibrant and strong.

And me?

Well, I'm Mars, The God of War.