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First of all, let me just say that Quiet Riot and Skid Row tore the fucking house down at the Clearfield County Fair last night. I felt like I was 10 years old again, rocking out to the songs I had to play in a walkman, so my mom wouldn't trip about me listening to that "devil music."

The Clearfield County Fair itself is, supposedly, the social event of the year, especially on Friday night. Everyone, and I mean everyone, comes out of the woodwork to attend, get ripped off by carnies, eat a metric shit-ton of food (mostly Polish and Greek), and gossip like there's no tomorrow. Take one lap around the fair, and you're likely to see people you haven't spoken to in years, people you just left five minutes ago, and many others whom you interact with on a semi-regular basis.

It's like six degrees of separation crammed into one square half-mile.

Last night was no different for me, though there is one person I saw that sticks out in my mind above the others, and I have a feeling that, at some point, that person is going to come and read this blog, having seen me as well. The only problem is, this time, they're not going to find what history has taught them they will.

You know, you seriously fucking amaze me. No lie. How do you do it? From one failure to another, and each time, it's the "greatest thing ever," only to fall apart at the worst of times and become the springboard for another bad decision. When will it end? When will you wake up and smell the coffee?

Honestly, I don't think you want to. Because guess what: The coffee is stale. About 13 years stale, in fact. Noone bothered to cover it, put it in the fridge, reheat it, nothing. And would you like to know why you're smelling stale coffee?

Why, that should be obvious to you. Because you're a lie. Not just a lier, but a lie itself. Your entire personality is a direct contradiction of the actions you take. And the worst part about it is, you're lying to yourself. Not just me, not just everyone else around you. YOU. You've become the victim of your own catch 22.

You dug the grave. Lay in it. I'm not going to pull you out this time.

In case I have to spell it out for you, it's H-A-T-E. I hate you. You go on bouncing from perfect world to perfect world. My perfect world might suck more than anything has sucked in the history of things sucking, but at least its real, not just an empty hope or dream.

Or a delusion...