Pages

May 13, 2015

Subsurface Seethe

I can't say with 100% certainty that the rage I feel just beneath the surface of my exterior began after the anniversary dinner incident with my mother that I mentioned in the last post. My base level of frustration with life in general right now is high enough to where the smallest thing will set me off. Clench my jaw; bit my tongue or the inside of my cheek til I taste blood. Punch a metal desk. Growl and curse. I feel there's an aspect of it that I'm unwilling to control, I willfully cede action over to the emotion because it feels better. For a moment, anyway. Then in the aftermath of thought I'm left frightened. What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck has happened to me?

Just asking those two questions right there...right there. I can feel the rage bubbling up inside my chest but for whatever reason it doesn't come up near to the surface. Truth is, I kind of hate life. I kind of hate what life promises, I hate what life both guarantees and withholds. I hate thinking about what life will be like in five years. I hate thinking about what life will be like in ten years, in one year. I hate thinking about how the fuck I'm every going to become a real responsible adult and actually give a shit about my house, my yard and my surroundings. When I'll actually allocate money away from treats and luxuries like pot and craft beer and dump it into new fucking windows and a water heater and maybe some landscaping. I fucking hate that I feel like those domestic goals are what I should be shooting for first and foremost in life.

I hate not fitting a mold. I hate knowing that I don't really know who or what I am. I hate being a chameleon. I hate that I can't figure out how to be a chameleon. I hate that I can't be comfortable. I hate this fucking blog. I hate the fact I'm still dealing with the residual of whatever this bullshit is now at damn fucking near 32 years old. I hate that my fucking job is so mind-numbingly boring and demandless to where I consider walking out with absolutely no safety net because fuck these ignorant self-serving twat-slapping fucksticks. I'm tired of being fucking bored out of my god damned motherfucking mind eight hours plus per day. I"m tired of driving round trip an hour per day to be bored for eight fucking hours per day.

I hate that this rant has only afforded but a brief respite from my work duties. I hate that somehow only a little over two and a half hours have passed today when it feels like surely a fucking lizard would've crawled out of the primordial ooze by now if we were talking on a universal evolutionary scale comparison. I hate that if these ramblings were ever found, they'd be analyzed with much more seriousness than it deserves.

I don't hate that I feel just a bit better after letting that all out.

Fuck all the idiots. And by fucking cock-smoking purple Jesus, there's so many of 'em.

Switching Focus

Immediately following the last post, I entered two words into a Google search: be happy. Sadly, at that very moment the internet at work and the page error'd out. I'm still self-aware enough to chuckle at that irony. 

The point being, sometimes you just need to choose to be happy. And that's not something I've ever really done well. I very much react to my surroundings, the environment, and if I'm in a more depressed state, the last thing I'm capable of doing is choosing to not be depressed. Or, at least that's what I say and think. 

I realize that, in addition to life stresses, I had a pretty challenging childhood---I didn't struggle, but because of the type of (or lack of) relationship my parents had, coupled with my mother's alcoholism, it fucked me up a little. I realize that. I should probably talk to a therapist, rather I should have talked to one long ago. Currently insurance (or the lack of) prevents me from pursuing this course. 

So I googled "be happy" once again after the net came back up. And one of the first suggestions I read was to seek out the positive things in your daily life, no matter how small, with purpose. The thought of chronicling the fact that when I came to a 4-way stop at the same time as another driver, I let them pass, they smiled and waved a "thank-you" and how that made me feel a small burst of happiness or joy seems pretty...contrived. 

But whatever. It's worth a shot, and cock-smoking Jesus knows there's enough shit to focus on. It's time to shine a light on the better stuff. 

Text Message Interrupt

Just as I finished that last post, the woman sent me a message wondering how my day was going. And also to let me know that the cleaning lady finally showed up. Which is a joke, as she's referring to herself. I told her the day was going way too slowly, which is obvious by now.

I really appreciate that we remain in communication with each other throughout the day after being together 6+ years now. Even if it's just one or two texts throughout the day, it's nice to know you're thought of by the person you love, and who means the most to you in life. It's something I take for granted too often, which probably contributes to the likely false sense that things are a lot shittier than they are.

5/13/15 Lunch

I went to place money in the parking meter in front of the vape shop. Across the street, three young women got out of the car and were about to do the same. I glanced back, and noticed that it looked like there was an older, shabby looking man talking to them. I looked closer and it appeared like one of the ladies was giving the man a dollar bill. I cannot say for sure if that's what was happening but it sure looked like it. Later at the practice spot I made a breakthrough on the drum set. Celebrate the small things.