So much for tomorrow.

There's times when I feel like I'm in control of everything in my domain, when I feel like I'm where I want to be. I've got everything a young bachelor could want. And yet, there's times when I feel like I'm going to implode under the weight of everything out there. And the problem is, I find myself increasingly unable to reconcile the two.

I'm better off than I was in Tucson. I don't know how I survived without going nuts down there. Oh, wait... that's right... I DID go nuts. But anyway, where I'm at now is better than that, and I still feel like I've got nothing. I can't put my finger on it, but increasingly more often, I find myself zoning out, lost deep in thought over where I went wrong. Should I have stayed in school? Would I have met the girl of my dreams there? Would I have found some career path that would have given me years of exciting work days to look forward to?

No, strike that last one. I still love my job. I hate my home, is what the problem is. I stay at work longer than I ought to, just to avoid coming home to the cold, empty cavern that is my apartment. I find myself spending more and more time at my parents' house, finding excuses to come over... doing a load of laundry here and there, doing bookwork that doesn't need to be done, even (today) wanting to touch up what the car wash didn't catch on my truck, so I came over to borrow the Windex, justifying it by thinking I'd feel weird standing out in the parking lot of my apartments cleaning my windows. But I've got my own damn bottle of Windex, just the same as I've got my own damn washer and dryer, and 2/3 of the bookwork I do, I could just as easily do on my own computer. As we speak, I'm sitting at my parents' house doing this blog.

Why?

Why?

I don't know. My apartment just represents the abject failures of my life, even though it represents the successes I've had, too. But being there just reminds me how insignificant I really am in the grand scheme of the world.

Can you tell my dogs are running poorly? Am I ever this depressed when I'm having a good week? I need a vacation, but I don't have anywhere to go. Sure, going to SixFlags again would be fun, but it's awful expensive, and besides, given my luck, it'll be raining the whole time I'm there... again. I managed to make Tucson livable by living off credit cards, just buying whatever I wanted to make myself feel better for that small amount of time. Now I'm paying for it, literally. By my projections, I ought to have them paid off in four years, if I make no other major purchases during that time and my rent and utilities don't go up. I'm not behind on any of them, and I haven't used a credit card to buy anything in months, and even then it was some gourmet chocolates online but I refuse to use my debit card online for security reasons.

So I'm doing all right. Like I said, I'm so much better off than I was two years ago... why then, sometimes, do I still feel like I haven't gotten anywhere?

And just as there's times when I wonder if it's all worth it, there's times when I wonder why I could ever feel like that. I look at the kennel I'm in charge of, and I beam with pride. I can out-train anyone in the state, I feel, with maybe the exception of the two-headed monster that is my aunt and grandfather. (My dad also doesn't count, since he's not in the state, see.) I've finally been given the controls of a kennel with potential, unlike in Tucson, where I made the most of what I had, which wasn't much. The possibilities are limitless with this fleet I have now.

And though on an overall look, they're doing better than most other kennels we've ever had here, when they hit a cold spell like they're on now, I can hear the voices warming up in my head, asking me why they're running badly, why I can't seem to get them to snap out of it. I guess that's a bad description... I don't actually hear voices, no, but I think about it. My mind overreacts like that. But when it's at its worst, I feel a pressure descending upon me, such that I feel like my ears are going to explode. It only goes away if I hit a stretch of good luck.

It's on me now. Not bad, but I can feel it, almost like my brain's too heavy. I had a chance to go to Tucson tonight with Jeff and go to one of his wild middle-of-the-desert parties, but I told him I couldn't because I had to be at work at 6:00. Is it any wonder I feel like I do? How am I ever going to have fun if I can't give myself permission to cut loose and enjoy myself every so often? But, then again, cutting loose and enjoying myself usually means spending money, and we already discussed why I can't go out and drop a wad of $20's at Christie's every weekend. And then I reach another conflict point, because in spite of my desire to just blow the world off and lose myself in a weekend, I can't. I press up against the Plexiglas wall that is my morals, and just on the other side, I can see myself having a good time. But I can't get through that wall, though I've tried several times to drink just to fit in, and it still makes me cringe. Even when someone gives me something and says, "Here, you can't even taste it." The fact of the matter is, it's in there, and thus I can't drink it.

Why not? I don't know! I want to! But I can't. I'm too weak.

I'm not as crazy as I was before I went and hashed things out with a psychiatrist last year. I don't view my problems and my internal conflicts as two distinct people fighting for control over my mind anymore. But just the same, all the same conflicts are still there. And I don't want to deal with it anymore.