Each and every day can be the beginning of a better life.
Each and every day can be the beginning of a better life.
Obviously something that’s on my mind lately. Loneliness is something we all know from time to time, and if you don’t, well then fuck you. It’s a feeling that I have come to accept as part of my everyday life and I don’t really know why. Why would I let such a miserable, consuming feeling invade my thoughts on such a regular basis? There really is no good reason for it. I don’t really have any friends these days but most times that is little more than superficial bullshit anyway. I have my kids, and my ex-ish wife, who have become my best friends. Yet, somehow, even with them here, I still find myself trapped an an endless search to stamp out this loneliness I feel.
We aren’t supposed to feel this way, you know. I can’t understand why solitude has been given such a glamorous reputation. When our body experiences pain, it is a signal designed to get our attention and tell us, “DON’T DO THAT STUPID!” If we continue to do what causes us physical pain, we risk seriously damaging the affected area. I believe the same thing applies to all our layers. Not just the physical body, but also the heart, mind, and soul. If a sensation or a feeling torments you and is unpleasant at best, agony at worst, then something inside you is telling you that this isn’t good for you. Everyone has a different physical pain tolerance and I think we all vary in our ability to deal with emotional pain as well. Nonetheless, when you feel that weight on your chest, or the pang of disappointment in your gut, realize that it’s bad for you. It’s unpleasant because you are not supposed to feel that way. Those who say they enjoy loneliness and isolation…fucking masochists.
So, what do we do about it? Hell, what don’t we do? Drinking, drugs, mindless one night stands, self flagellation…sad really. Fix one problem we have and suddenly we rid ourselves of a great deal of foolish self destructive behavior. Fine, some people will always do those things, but many of us aren’t interested in bullshit band-aids for the soul. Fuck that. I don’t want to cover up the wound so I don’t have to look at it. I’ll try to explore it while I have it, pick at it, make it bleed, feel the pain so I know what it feels like just in case it ever happens again. Eventually it will heal. It will leave a scar on the psyche. I’ve always been proud of my scars. It means I healed. Now someone go get me a fucking band-aid…
Time. I’m so fucking sick of thinking about it. I’m so tired of seeing people take it for granted. Hell, I do that too but I think it has more to do with me fitting into the world around me rather than my actual feelings about it. FUCK CONFORMITY. I’ve done a lot of thinking about time over the last few years since I’ve had a shitload of it to sit and ponder the topic.
Time is the most valuable commodity we have. Fuck your money, fuck your car, fuck your house, your TV, clothes, collections, etc etc etc. None of it matters. All of these things come and go at the drop of a hat. If you lose your money, you can make more. If your house burns down, you can rebuild. When a moment ticks by on a clock, it is gone forever. No getting it back, no refunds, no changing what happened in that moment. When we are born, we are given a finite amount of the most precious thing the universe has to offer and most of us squander it, let it go to waste. We spend years of our lives toiling away at some goal that has to do with money, status, possessions, or some other crap that just doesn’t matter. These are the people who lie on their deathbeds just wishing they had more time. They realize then that they had enough of it, they just managed it very poorly. We’re all guilty of it. Most of us don’t have a choice. Society has placed us in a position where we have to decide whether we want or time to ourselves, or we want to survive.
My job sucks. By all applicable standards of the working world…it just plain fucking sucks. I can’t give it up though. Why? It gives me more time. I’m usually off work by 2 in the afternoon, many times before that. Think of all that free time. What do I give up to have that time? Money. A lot of it. I’m ok with that though. I have time to come home and lay in the afternoon sun watching clouds drift by. I can watch the sunset from my backyard instead of an office window. I’m not in such a hurry that I don’t smell the leaves changing. When was the last time you really smelled the season? I do it every day. I jut wish I had more of it.
Time is the one area in my life where I have become obsessively greedy. It’s the one thing I feel is truly mine. I hate having someone wast it for me. If I want to let it casually slide by without utilizing it, so be it. That’s my choice. That being said, fuck you eight ways to Sunday if you think it’s ok to waste my time for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying my time is more valuable than anyone else’s, not by any means. It is mine though and I should be allowed, as should you, to freely choose how I spend it. So those of you that like to drive slow in the left hand lane…move the fuck over.
I’ve often wondered, as I am doing right now, if I use this viewpoint as a scapegoat. Do I just say time is important to me so I have an slightly admirable excuse for being lazy? Do I just use it as an excuse to have a shitty go nowhere job where I only have to work 6 hours a day? Is it just so I have more time so sit on my ass? I don’t really know. Hell, who the fuck am I anyway? I’m about as self aware as a fucking tree stump. Sure, I’m slowly learning about myself, what makes me tick. Maybe I’m just full of shit.
Here’s what I know. I used to drink a lot. There’s a not so brief period of time in my life that is just a haze. This particular span of time also happens to be when my son was 4 and my daughter had just come into the world. It’s supposed to be a beautiful time with nothing but the best memories you can dream of. One problem with that. I don’t really remember it. That time is gone for me. Never coming back. Just a haze of empty liquor bottles, hangovers, and third shift hours. There is a picture frame that hangs on the living room wall with six photos all from that time period. I hate that picture frame more than anything else in this house, and yet, it is probably my most cherished possession. It’s what made me understand that once time passes by, it’s gone forever. So quit fucking up and make the most of it. You don’t get a second chance. If that means sitting and staring at a wall, do it. Revel in it. Immerse yourself in that moment of time that is yours and yours alone. If you really, truly want to use it to pursue the “finer” things in life…go for it. Be balls to the wall and throw your time at those pursuits with complete abandon. Me? I’ll be here, wondering why I’m wasting my time typing.
Why the hell do I even bother with this crap? I suck at it. I really do. I do find it to be a little theraputic though. Unfortunately, most of it comes off much like the author. Simple, cold, impersonal, and cliched. I’ll admit that I do have a somewhat engaging way of typing or writing out my thoughts and notions when my mouth doesn’t have to do the work. Seems easier for me to think…if only I could type faster. Yeah, what you read on these pages is NOT what you will hear come out of my mouth in a conversation. My words in a conversation rest somewhere between dumbed down and flat out retarded. The poetry though? Christ. For some stupid reason I repeatedly subject myself to relentless self criticism and make myself look like an ass on paper. Now I’m making the mistake of sharing it. What the fuck am I thinking?
It takes a lot for me to actually put pen to paper. Not that I really matter, but just know that if you find out something here is about you, you somehow touched something deep inside me. The one little sliver of me that feels. There has been a lot of this garbage through the years, most of it laughable if not an outright literary atrocity. I’ve pitched most of it though because to me, these words are like a photograph of a feeling at a particular moment in time that has long since passed. So if I was pissed? I’m probably not anymore. Sad? Nah, I let it go. If you wonder…just ask. I don’t usually title anything. Do you title all of your pictures? Didn’t think so. I’ll put the dates on it but most of it will be posted out of order. Some will be left out. Well, get out the wine…here comes the cheese.
So here I am. I’m now going so far as to start my own stupid little blog just to get some of the crap out that is circling through my head. Can’t really hurt I suppose, it’s not like I really have anything better to do. Maybe a few people out there will understand me a little better, maybe a few will think a little differently of me. Some may even lose a little respect for me and just start to see me as some emo dude with long hair that likes to write poetry and share his feelings and shit. If you do know me, and I mean REALLY know me, then you’ll know I don’t care. If you think I’m a punk for spilling my guts, go fuck yourself and hit the back button.
I certainly don’t have a great way with words, never really did, so a lot of what I post here will be light fare…possibly good toilet reading. Simple thoughts from a simple man, who tends to over embellish and speak harshly. I’ll never claim to be a great author of poetry or prose. I’ll never claim to be a creative genius in the music I dabble with. I do try to put a little heart and soul into those things though. I find that difficult a lot of the time since I think I was born without either. I’ve said before that I think I think I’m a sociopath and I’m sticking to my story. That’s not to say I’m a bad guy though, ask around, they’ll tell you.
So what am I then? A walking contradiction, that’s what. I’m an antisocial loner that needs to be sheltered and mothered, with someone always by my side. I’m a miserable, pessimistic prick with laugh lines so deep they look like scars. I’m an egomaniac with self esteem issues. I hate standing out while I’m doing everything I can think of to call attention to myself. There’s a lot more I could put here. This is just the tip of the iceberg. I don’t really see myself as complicated so much as confused. Hell, the right person could probably play me like a damn fiddle. I know this because it’s been done before.
Anyhow, On with the show I suppose. Some of what’s here will be old news, by the way, some of it will be current. If anyone that reads this wants to talk to me about it, I’m fine with that, but know that if you’re just going to give me shit or tell me I’m mistaken or wrong with my opinions, I will casually turn my back and walk away. This isn’t here to arm the cruel with munitions against me. It’s here for the kind to understand. Your manner when, and if, you speak of what is here will tell me who you are and exactly what you think of me. Let the bullshit begin!