Something (Anything)
Listening to music. (Not one particular artist, but several different ones. — Rhapsody is calling it Matchbox Twenty Radio.) Trying to get up the desire to continue the story of Teddy and Doc, or write more bits and pieces of the Novel. I feel like I’m empty. I’ve tried to write a couple of long posts on the main site. I have several drafts that are just gigantic wads of hurt feelings and bittersweet anger, twisted into oddly shaped pieces of prose.
I’m terrifically bored. I can usually entertain myself with various activities: music, writing, games, reading, etc.. None of that is working this day. Insomnia has me in its terrible grip and boredom is his murderous accomplice.
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Very interesting song on Rhapsody now. (I owned the album when I was a kid.) Moon Over Bourbon Street by Sting. Wickedly mysterious song. I always think of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
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Decided to stop for a few and go catch up on unwatched vlogs on Youtube. Something has got to give. Either this or me. Stay tuned. I guess.
Inspired Bits (of intentional snark)
(Looking over this thing I realized it made little to no sense to those not living inside my brain. It’s meant to be a sort of Random non-something or other. I didn’t list the titles of the songs for a very specific reason. So, if you are reading this, -and I doubt very much that you are- just supply your own personal soundtrack. Much of what has been said here could be said about many different songs/singers. Sorry for any confusion.)
Lies. I’m telling you. All lies. (By the way. Remind me, how long it takes for a non-contested divorce to be finalized in California. — Of course, I could have my facts wrong. I’m pretty sure I don’t, but even a year is a pretty SHORT period of time.)
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I was this once. It’s been a few years. (Great sound. Some wiped out by years of chain smoking. — I’m just saying.)
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There may have been cannabis involved. Or just wine. (But then he doesn’t drink. Much. Does he? Again, might have his — er, um — MY facts wrong.)
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Bruno Mars Break. (Grenade) Dance!
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Birds. I’m not in the mood for birds. Plus, too obvious. Seriously.
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How long have people been naming their kids this. I knew a few in school. Sort of thought it was a recent (see 60’s-80’s thing). Never met anybody’s Grandmother named this. (Bit of unintentional snark there. Age ain’t nothing but a number.)
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Used to sing this to The Kid to put her to sleep. Beautiful song. Genuinely remarkable voice. (I hate cigarettes. Just so you know.) — No real snark here. Unless one can be snark-y towards cigarettes. Pretty sure that ship sailed a while back.
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This song used to make me cry like a baby. (Then my heart died. — No, but seriously, I used to sob. It doesn’t get to me like it used to.)
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Well, I can see why they paid him $58 million. I know it would take that much money to get me to wear that horrible uniform.
I’m sorry, I’m just going to miss him SO MUCH.
THIS HURTS SO MUCH!
I’m gonna vomit.
Fuck. This.
Fuck all of this.
Sweet. Zombie. Jesus. It’s even worse on a good player.
I thought they were the Marlins — not the rainbow trout. Yuck!
It’s Been A Long Time, Baby
(I wrote this back in October. I let myself be too hurt by things that I have no control over. Since that day I’ve learned that jealousy and anger only cause pain and destruction. I’ve let go of jealousy and what I thought was anger. Love, which I still feel for this person, is too precious to be discarded for pettiness. I leave this — slightly edited — version here, only to remind myself how not to let myself feel.)
More than a year since I was here last. What has been going on lately? Life. We moved. I live upstairs and hardly ever venture out. I quit going to therapy, because I’m not being forced to anymore. (I was wrong to start when it was because “they” made me. I need to do it for me, not “for” them.)
Big family problems resolved themselves by my having a huge blowout with my mother which ended in her leaving and (literally) never being heard from again. I mean, I’m sure she still exists, out there in the great big world, but she’ll never insert her depravity into my life or my daughter’s ever again.
Oh, yes, and finally… The man that I decided I loved more than life itself, the man I once turned my life upside down for (whether he knew it or not, that’s what I did), the man I thought wrote the sun for the sky and other poetic stupidities, that man, is marrying someone thirty years younger than himself. Third marriage. She’s even younger than me. (Also younger than his last gal pal.) But I’m never ever bitter. No, not much.
What Is This Thing Called Life?
It is unfathomable. We wake up in the morning, with the day stretched out before us and we begin to make our choices. Do we get up and go to work or do we get up and go to the park? Or … Do we get up at all? I could use another six or seven hours of sleep, on any given day.
What amazes me is those who wake up in the morning and make the choice to go out and do something incredibly illegal, or horribly immoral. How do you make the decision to get up and go sell another vial or baggy or whatever of crack or crystal meth? Is there a gun to your head? Or maybe you’re so addicted to it yourself that you have to do it?
I know people who have done it and I’ve never asked them that question (mainly, because they’ve put it so far behind them that I don’t want to bring it back to their consciousness), but I’d really like to know. You destroy, or assist in the destruction of lives, on a daily basis. Is there really nothing else you can do? Or are you just a monster?
In this life we all have choices to make. We choose to be good or bad? We choose to turn left or right? We choose to make the best of our situations or to change them entirely? Everything is a choice.
(Including that gun to your head. Choices you made put it there, one way or another. At this point the choice may be lousy. Let the hammer fall or continue in the living death that a gun to your head affords you. It’s all choice.)
