Well I finally gone and did it. Thanks to financial assistance from an interested party, I was finally able to go to the mall and get my cell phone activated.

Meaning my smartphone is no longer a smartnothing. I have finally crawled out of the primordial ooze and fought my way up the evolutionary ladder to become a Modern Human, homo wirelessicus, user of cellular technology.

Number available by request.

It feels good, this cellphone-having thing. I feel like I have finally managed to eliminate one of the things which puts me in a tiny minority.

It’s not as good as being young, rich, and/or thin, but it’s a start.

I’m kinda tired right now, which sucks. I was hoping to complete my daily blog entry in this sitting so I could devote the entire evening to getting at least half of my pilot episode outlines done. They are due Friday, and I want enough time to do them properly instead of my usual slapdash dumbass last minute bullshit.

As is, I imagine I will be lucky to finish half of this durn thing before having to slip into silvered slumber for a little while at least.

The radiator under/behind my desk is part of the problem. It puts out such lovely toasty warm radiant heat. And it feels great but it makes me sleepy too.

The result of that is that I am stuck in a (hilariously small) moral bind, where I know that I could solve the problem by turning down the heat in my room, but then I would lose all the lovely warmth and I don’t want that, so I remain, as it were, compromised.

If that was about sex and not warmth, it could be the outline of an Anais Nin story. Or, I suppose, one of those moralizing stories about the inevitable outcome of living a life of sin and blasphemy which were always very careful to explicitly describe said sins, sometimes with illustrations.

Puritanism was such a scam.

So yes, I have gone cellular. my legs are nice and warm, and a friend sent me a code for two new (to me) games. Which is a mixed blessing, because while I love my video game time, I need to get things done and I don’t need the extra temptation.

Plus, I already have a game on the go, Fallout 3. I played Fallout 4 so much that I can’t stand to play it any more, but I wanted something along those lines.

And then I remembered there’s two whole Fallout games I have not played, Fallout 3 and Fallout : New Vegas, and Fallout 3 was on sale for like $10, so I figured, what the hell.

So far, the game is much tougher and has much less in the way of plot than Fallout 4. It’s taken me a lot of game time just to get to the point where I am doing sort of okay. Before that, it was super hard and I had to run away from a lot of fights.

And that sucks.

And the thing is, it’s not like the greater difficulty is based in a desire to be realistic. I had to shoot a guy in the head five times to kill him, and he wasn’t even wearing a helmet. How realistic is that?

Um…. he was a bad guy. In the video game. Just to keep things clear.

I am always worried that someone will think I am crazy. Even though I am crazy. But my kind of crazy doesn’t lead me to strip naked on the Skytrain or think pink hippos are flying or makes me do something deeply “disgruntled”, so I am not dangerously crazy.

No, I have the highly unobtrusive kind of insanity that stays out of everybody’s way, doesn’t attract anyone’s way, and can go undiagnosed and untreated for years on end without anyone even knowing anything is wrong!

And the only person I am a danger to is myself! It’s such a tidy and convenient form of madness that it’s a wonder it hasn’t caught on big time.

O wait it has, that’s why there’s so many depressed people out there. Society should thank us for for being such low maintenance loonies.

Preferably in cash.

I’ve been struggling with my anger lately. There’s such bitterness and rage inside me and I need to find a healthy way to express it. I have talked before about maybe writing horror stories, but I know what kind of nightmares I keep and I guess I am still too worried about what people think of me to let those thoughts step out onto the page.

I wonder what Clive Barker’s friends thought of him when they started reading his stories. It must have given then pause, at least a little, to read about all this extremely graphic and elaborately symbolic violence and depraved sexuality. I wonder if any of them pulled away from him at that time, unable to handle his nightmares.

Stephen King’s wife, I am sure, was just fine with what he wrote. And not just because of the money. She was his first editor and it was she who fished a partial manuscript for Carrie out of the trash and started reading it, and then took it back to him because she wanted to know what happened next.

And, you know, there are worse lives to have than his.

Maybe the truth is that I am afraid to open up that part of my mind at all. Intellectually, I know that setting one’s demons loose can be the best thing for you,but emotionally I am still too scared of myself and what I might become if I open that particular door.

Same with BDSM. I can imagine being dominant to someone. I have the right kind of controlling, dominating personality. All I would have to do would be to imagine the person had done something really horrible and had to punished for it.

But I am terrified that if I let that side of me out, it would never go back in.

And then where would I be?

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.