  Darned ankle keeping me from walking normally today. Im resting it with the assumption that it just needs some down time. But Im afraid (as always, afraid) that I may have done something to it. The workouts? The walk down the pier last night? <> So when I limped into the chest-high waves at the beach today, I didnt last long.
The most powerful waves Ive been swimming in for a while. Dodging the impact by diving down to the ocean floor and waiting it out until I surfaced, I still got sucked back into the disorienting swirl. And having only one good (relative) ankle to stand on, I wasnt doing too well. Maybe three minutes into the swim, I decided to head back in before a lifeguard would have to come and fish me out. The waves churned up the floor to where every other step was a hole or an exposed sheet of rock of equally unpredictable surfacing. <> I do better on the sand, soaking up the sun and the lush views of bright sky and under-20 girls ogling Kyle.
One of them I caught actually licking her lips while staring at him. I saw her before I saw that it was Kyle, fresh out of the water, who was about to plop down beside me on the blanket. What people must think seeing my fat ass in a bikini sitting with him <> Then again, this dude was lying near us. Now, I only snapped this shot in the hope that Id be able to show yall the nipple rings, not because of his size alone. Sadly, they werent captured properly. Being fat is lovely.
Most of us are anyway. All the more credit to him for showing it off at the beach in So Cal. But the piercings? It didnt add up. Lovely day though, yes? <> Im happily browned.
Yet still today, Im struggling with the guilt problem. The whole way home, my mind wandered from topic to topic in an attempt to locate the source of it all. What did I do wrong that Im always so worried about? The cat, sure. But intellectually, I know I was pressed to deal with him by locking him outside. I dont live in a barn.
Urine in my sheets is not going to happen. <> Its the job hunt. Its the body pains. Its everything that makes me feel defeated at every turn. Its the prevailing attitude that colors all my perceptions. Im fucking up.
Slowly, passively blaming myself for it all is my only recourse, my only method of rationalization. It must be a failing of mine that set the stage. <> Think Ill rent a film and ice the wounds. But I have no money and no real desire to leave the house. Maybe Ill just listen to This American Life and pack for my trip. Even my trip is making me feel guilty.
For not being here to interview with SLT. For having fun. For being somehow inadequate in the face of the task to write someones memoir. Fraudulence. Maybe thats why I write for this thing each day. To prove my authenticity.
<>Im being heard, thats for sure. The sitemeter tells me Im more popular than ever. Im coming up on my 700 th post on this site alone. The compulsion towards confession. Who says the Church isnt a real player in postmodern life? Why, where would psychiatrics be without people like me?
Word of the Day: Crunk - a hip-hop hybrid meaning "crazy" and "drunk. " Like, "That party was really crunk! " 
