10-15-13 North Charleston, SC

Another night alone with my thoughts in another hotel room. Seems to be something of a recurring theme for me, tough to shake those blues when you've only got yourself to confer with. The whirring metallic hum of the air conditioner box below the window is a droning reassurance that some things stay the same. There's something different about the ones in hotels, I grow to miss them when I'm home for too long. Not the way one longs for a friend or favored possession, just a nagging dearth of a thing you just can't put your finger on. People back home think I'm crazy for that kind of shit; they think the stories are cute, and chuckle at the odd parts, but ultimately think I'm nuts. Maybe they're right.
Lately I'm public enemy number one, bearer of all ill will, source of and reason for everyone's problems. Some people are so sure that even I catch myself looking around for remnants of the black cloud I rode in on. Just a fleeting wisp might be enough, just to see it. No such luck however. Guess I'll just have to settle for being a somewhat less than iconic harbinger of strife and unrest. Never did care much for them anyway. Sometimes you want a situation to work out so badly, with every fiber and sinew of your being, that you haul that pick handle so long and crank it so hard, until it shreds apart in your hands,sending a rain of splinters and dust all about you. They lodge themselves in your palms, and find their way stuck into your soul. People must love the sight, they never seem to tire of watching a man trying to pick them loose, nor do they stifle their enjoyment in musing at his predicament. It must be a sweet sight looking out at a man in conflict with himself, holding that cell door shut on themselves as he struggles and spits and grunts and groans to pry them loose in spite of themselves. You can't drag someone out of the mud if they think they're floating on sunshine.

Marginalized

It seems so orderly to sort people and things into lists, functions, and groups. Life makes more sense when you reduce it to a set of neat little integers. Everything has form and function, and action so precise and predictable that you could set your watch or calibrate your gps to it.
Life doesn't quite work like that however, the shades of grey throw an infinite paw-full of monkey wrenches into the works. People don't break down cleanly, as much as it might do for them to do so. The social weight, or lack thereof, tied to a number is too much for the human soul to bear. People fit very poorly into file folders, no matter how much they might enjoy their time spent inside of one.
People fool themselves into thinking they have freedom; only so far as one can dodge falling meteorites 

9-19-13 Sunrise, Fl

Early AM at the hotel, big day tomorrow, gotta make it happen. Walking into work today was tough, it's not easy stepping into your own size 10 1/2s when you feel like you can barely feel like stepping into a woman's 6. Everyone looks at the big guy for stability, like an anchor to a ship, or a lighthouse on a rugged outcropping. It's not easy being that guy every day, and today I didn't feel like it. Tomorrow doesn't look a whole lot better.
Pressure makes things easier though. You know where you stand when everyone else is cooking the same as you are. Nowhere else to go when you have your back against the wall.
Things seem more distant lately, reality keeps slipping on me. I keep seeing the things I want to see, only to find reality infinitely more depressing. Guess its best not to get one's hopes up, keep things level, even, neat.