Holy shit, I've been looking for you, you've been looking for me and apparently we passed like two ships in the night.
Where have I been ? Where have you been?
Funny how it goes, no? You have plans and ideas, you get a rhythm then you lose it, you are in control and then you are out of control.
You don't even know how it happens and you don't necessarily mark the passing of time.
But suddenly there you are and a week has gone by or a day or a fucking year and there is a void in your brain. An uncomfortable sense that your life is not in your hands.
Which is odd because you recently made a commitment to wrestle control of your life back where it belongs - in your mind, in your hands, in your headlights and not in your rear view mirror.
It doesn't go that easy, does it?
Because you have so much petty, meaningless bullshit to deal with every day that you are left with 18 minutes available to you to try to save your own life.
Unless you want to devote every available free waking minute to saving your life; to pursuing your dream. Which, honestly is exactly what every worthwhile human should be doing.
After you brush your fucking teeth, and load the dishwasher and take a shit and attend to your bullshit, soul-sucking job; after you eat supper and settle in - shouldn't you attack, attack, attack until midnight or three a.m., until you fucking drop from exhaustion?
And when the morning light comes streaming in, you get up and do it again.
Don't work that way, do it? Especially if you fucking despise your life. Your compromised, boring, predictable, embarrassing life.
Which is odd because if you despise your compromised, boring, predictable, embarrassing life, that is precisely when you should shoot the moon. Right?
It takes major fucking effort to undo a life. And then to reinvent it.
That is the irony. You are forced to expend so much fucking energy, both physical and psychic, just dealing with the pitiful life you have crafted for yourself that you cannot, cannot, cannot summon up enough energy to push that fucking boulder up the hill.
Especially if you have gotten along in years. The older you get the more hope dies.
An unbalanced equation if ever there was one.
You accumulate a lifetime of experience and "wisdom" (fucking joke), and at the very critical moment when you desperately need to take advantage of what you have "learned", you don't have the energy or the commitment or the support or the guidance or the inspiration to do anything about it.
You flounder about like a fish on the beach as people sadly shake their heads.
So, yeah, I guess that is what has been going on. With me? With you? With everybody?
What is this thing called life? What exactly are you supposed to do with it?
Crawl like a pig in dirt, eat shit and sacrifice dignity until your time is up?
Naw, can't be the plan. Can it?
Billions do. Billions crawl through life until somebody kicks them in the ribs and they roll over into a grave.
Then the whole thing gets repeated, ad infinitum.
This is the strangest life I've ever known.