That's it. That's what I am all about.
Words. How they are used. How I use them. My worship is reserved for words that are used creatively in a way that I can truly dig.
"Future Regrets". This came from a commercial I saw today. Selling commemorative coins, believe it or not. The push was about avoiding blah blah blah and future regrets if you don't buy now.
Are you kidding me? Jesus Fucking Christ.
I have enough regrets. I have so many regrets I gotta lump them all together into one category called "Life Regrets" just to make them manageable.
Future regrets? Who the hell wants to think about that? I hope to fuck I am not laying the basis for future regrets right now - how crushingly awful would that be when the bill comes do?
Future regrets is a powerful phrase.
Still, I am not buying any commemorative coins.
Next topic: I just ordered a Stephen King book titled "11/22/63". The book is about time travel and tinkering with/changing the results of, the JFK assassination. King wrote the book in 2011. Allow me to explain.
I used to read King voraciously. Gobbled up every book he wrote for very many years. Then they became predictable to me. The characters bored me because I had seen it all before. So I stopped. Dropped Mr. King off my preferred authors list.
This book caught my eye many years ago. But I hesitated and hesitated and hesitated because I was burned out on Stephen King. Not sure what it was, but today became the day I pulled the trigger. Nine years later.
We'll see how it goes.
The description of King's writing in Amazon said his characters are typically "characters of good heart and wounded lives".
Wow, baby. That describes most of us. Most people are good, most people lead wounded lives. There are plenty of fuckfaced assholes out there who will rape your grandmother and eat your pets. But really, when you think about it, most people are small, leading small lives and just trying to scoop up a little happiness from time to time. And getting kicked around while they try.
"Characters of good heart and wounded lives".
Words, man. They shatter me. They inspire me. They make my life worth living when they are strung together in fascinatingly creative ways.
Tuesday, July 28, 2020
Winter is Coming
If you watched Game of Thrones you understand the ominous nature of those words.
Dont'a Hightower opted out of the 2020 season with THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS, out of health concerns regarding the coronavirus. He has a weeks old son. I don't blame him. I believe three or four other PATS players have opted out as well.
If every single NFL player, if every single professional athlete "opted out of the 2020 season" I would support them. These are frightening times and there is no end in sight. We are not winning this war.
I don't think there will be an NFL season this year. If there is one it will be spectacularly bizarre. If there is one, I will watch it. If there isn't, I am in trouble.
Football is my defense against winter. Without football I am left naked and afraid.
In addition, as sports begin to crumble, my mental health becomes more fragile. I watch the NFL network and various sports talk shows as an escape. Very often they make me smile, they make me laugh. It is the nature of athletes and sports pundits. Carol is addicted to MSNBC and watches it 27 hours/day. I hate it because it depresses me. Nothing but trump crimes and death counts and watching my life being compromised by the cold-hearted stupidity of elected officials.
But now that same depressing shit is all over sports networks. Coronavirus took sports away from us and is doing its best to make sure sports do not return.
I cannot get away from this shit and it is taking a toll.
I went back to work last week. Walked in on Day One wearing a mask. Nobody in the office wears a mask, unless they are dealing with the public. I was a bit uncomfortable at first but I noticed that everybody keeps their distance. And frankly, there is no fucking way I will wear a mask for four or 8 consecutive hours.
But I am uncomfortable.
This shit is on my mind at work, at home watching MSNBC, at home watching sports networks. The only escapes are books, movies, TV series. But really, there is no escape.
The cruelty is that sports gave us hope, and that hope is rapidly dwindling.
What are we left with?
I am 66 and a year of my life has been stolen from me. I cannot afford that. And it ain't over. This shit will infect 2021 as well.
There will be no new normal. It will be a new abnormal. And we will have to adjust. This is so big and so dangerous that we have no choice but to learn to live with it.
There is no escape.
You think the fucking virus is dangerous?
No escape is equally dangerous.
Dont'a Hightower opted out of the 2020 season with THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS, out of health concerns regarding the coronavirus. He has a weeks old son. I don't blame him. I believe three or four other PATS players have opted out as well.
If every single NFL player, if every single professional athlete "opted out of the 2020 season" I would support them. These are frightening times and there is no end in sight. We are not winning this war.
I don't think there will be an NFL season this year. If there is one it will be spectacularly bizarre. If there is one, I will watch it. If there isn't, I am in trouble.
Football is my defense against winter. Without football I am left naked and afraid.
In addition, as sports begin to crumble, my mental health becomes more fragile. I watch the NFL network and various sports talk shows as an escape. Very often they make me smile, they make me laugh. It is the nature of athletes and sports pundits. Carol is addicted to MSNBC and watches it 27 hours/day. I hate it because it depresses me. Nothing but trump crimes and death counts and watching my life being compromised by the cold-hearted stupidity of elected officials.
But now that same depressing shit is all over sports networks. Coronavirus took sports away from us and is doing its best to make sure sports do not return.
I cannot get away from this shit and it is taking a toll.
I went back to work last week. Walked in on Day One wearing a mask. Nobody in the office wears a mask, unless they are dealing with the public. I was a bit uncomfortable at first but I noticed that everybody keeps their distance. And frankly, there is no fucking way I will wear a mask for four or 8 consecutive hours.
But I am uncomfortable.
This shit is on my mind at work, at home watching MSNBC, at home watching sports networks. The only escapes are books, movies, TV series. But really, there is no escape.
The cruelty is that sports gave us hope, and that hope is rapidly dwindling.
What are we left with?
I am 66 and a year of my life has been stolen from me. I cannot afford that. And it ain't over. This shit will infect 2021 as well.
There will be no new normal. It will be a new abnormal. And we will have to adjust. This is so big and so dangerous that we have no choice but to learn to live with it.
There is no escape.
You think the fucking virus is dangerous?
No escape is equally dangerous.
Monday, July 27, 2020
State of Shock
Back to work last week.
City job. Worked Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Wed half day, Thurs and Fri full days.
State of shock. I haven't worked for four months. Wednesday is survivable because I don't have to be in until 12:00. Thursday and Friday I gotta get up at 5:30. That was pretty shocking.
This narrows my focus. My priorities are: fix my brain, get my house off my back, deal with the job. The timing is good. I was beginning to bend in the discipline arena; being dragged kicking and screaming back into "reality" juiced me up good.
Not a bad schedule. Work 2 and 1/2 days, get 4 and 1/2 days off. I like the way it feels.
Back in the pre-Covid days I worked Mon and Tues at CCA, Wed, Thurs, Fri at City, and usually a Friday night and/or Saturday at CCA. Having CCA out of the picture is like a breath of fresh air. Frees me up. Gives me a chance to breathe.
Dragged my ass back to work with the right attitude. During those 4 months off I thought about what I didn't like about the job and how I could make it better. Simultaneously I was working on my brain.
Apparently I was somewhat successful.
I noticed at work last week I reacted differently to annoying situations. Didn't let it get to me. Felt confident. The biggest change was in the 5:30 shit. Used to be on Wednesday and Thursday nights I would be suicidal. And I would go to bed like an old man. 10:00 at the latest. If I woke up at 3:30 I would keep myself awake with anger, so fucking pissed that I couldn't make it to the alarm.
I realized that it makes no difference when I go to bed; I am always tired. So I decided not to give a fuck. Last week I went to be at 11:00, 11:30. Thursday morning I woke up at 4:45. Think about that. 45 minutes before the alarm was rigged to explode. I didn't care. I laid comatose in that in-between space until the alarm went off.
Friday I woke up at 4:00. Didn't care. Laid comatose in that in-between space until the alarm greeted me. Recognizing that no matter how tired I am I can still function, has freed me. I go downstairs, Maka makes me smile, I go to work.
Moving forward, baby. Hate working, like the security (? - further Covid complications) the job provides (and the pay is damn good). Worst case scenario - neither job called me back, unemployment ran out, there were no jobs available. I would have been swimming in Whiskey River.
My liver has been spared.
I am going to stay on top of this job, stay tough, not let it get to me. We have a solid plan on how to get out from under this house. Spoke to 2 realtors and the Ugly House people. Got a real feel for what we need to do. I continue to work on my brain.
The one thing I need is something to throw myself into. I figured that out when I started to feel empty during the layoff. I gotta come up with something to throw myself into, something to work on, something I love that inspires me. That is what's missing in my life. HUGELY missing in my life.
Anyway, got some positive shit going on. The One Year Plan. We are hoping to be out of here next spring or summer.
I think that is called looking to the Future (with Hope).
Ciao, baby.
City job. Worked Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Wed half day, Thurs and Fri full days.
State of shock. I haven't worked for four months. Wednesday is survivable because I don't have to be in until 12:00. Thursday and Friday I gotta get up at 5:30. That was pretty shocking.
This narrows my focus. My priorities are: fix my brain, get my house off my back, deal with the job. The timing is good. I was beginning to bend in the discipline arena; being dragged kicking and screaming back into "reality" juiced me up good.
Not a bad schedule. Work 2 and 1/2 days, get 4 and 1/2 days off. I like the way it feels.
Back in the pre-Covid days I worked Mon and Tues at CCA, Wed, Thurs, Fri at City, and usually a Friday night and/or Saturday at CCA. Having CCA out of the picture is like a breath of fresh air. Frees me up. Gives me a chance to breathe.
Dragged my ass back to work with the right attitude. During those 4 months off I thought about what I didn't like about the job and how I could make it better. Simultaneously I was working on my brain.
Apparently I was somewhat successful.
I noticed at work last week I reacted differently to annoying situations. Didn't let it get to me. Felt confident. The biggest change was in the 5:30 shit. Used to be on Wednesday and Thursday nights I would be suicidal. And I would go to bed like an old man. 10:00 at the latest. If I woke up at 3:30 I would keep myself awake with anger, so fucking pissed that I couldn't make it to the alarm.
I realized that it makes no difference when I go to bed; I am always tired. So I decided not to give a fuck. Last week I went to be at 11:00, 11:30. Thursday morning I woke up at 4:45. Think about that. 45 minutes before the alarm was rigged to explode. I didn't care. I laid comatose in that in-between space until the alarm went off.
Friday I woke up at 4:00. Didn't care. Laid comatose in that in-between space until the alarm greeted me. Recognizing that no matter how tired I am I can still function, has freed me. I go downstairs, Maka makes me smile, I go to work.
Moving forward, baby. Hate working, like the security (? - further Covid complications) the job provides (and the pay is damn good). Worst case scenario - neither job called me back, unemployment ran out, there were no jobs available. I would have been swimming in Whiskey River.
My liver has been spared.
I am going to stay on top of this job, stay tough, not let it get to me. We have a solid plan on how to get out from under this house. Spoke to 2 realtors and the Ugly House people. Got a real feel for what we need to do. I continue to work on my brain.
The one thing I need is something to throw myself into. I figured that out when I started to feel empty during the layoff. I gotta come up with something to throw myself into, something to work on, something I love that inspires me. That is what's missing in my life. HUGELY missing in my life.
Anyway, got some positive shit going on. The One Year Plan. We are hoping to be out of here next spring or summer.
I think that is called looking to the Future (with Hope).
Ciao, baby.
Wednesday, July 8, 2020
My Brain (My god, My Brain!)
It is not good for me to be left alone with my brain.
I have been feeding it stuff to ponder, shoveling in strange new thoughts and philosophies like an old time fireman feeding coal into a locomotive engine.
I have faltered over the last 4 weeks. First I pretty much stopped exercising. Now, it got hot as hell, 90 degrees and all that, but that's a bullshit excuse. When motivated, I can force myself to exercise under any conditions.
Simultaneously, I stopped the brain workouts. Strange. Not really.
I hopped back on the exercise train last week and continued it into this week, so that discipline has been recaptured.
The brain remains mushy.
The ironic thing is the doubt is fueled by my need for immediate results. Explosive change. Instantaneous rewards. Odd because I am trying to adopt the philosophy of James Clear, which is to make incremental change consistently until all those victories add up to achievement of a goal.
I know in my heart that flexing my brain is the right thing to do. It is the only way to redirect the polluted thoughts of 45 years of misdirected thinking.
My mind keeps wandering back to the practical. Practicality kills creativity.
We have decided to move in the direction of selling the house. Got the Ugly Houses people coming over today, mostly for the fun of it. I pretty much don't trust them but I want a baseline offer from which to work.
I have spoken to a local realtor for advice. We will be having contractors do some work on the house, inside and out, to make it pretty. Up the value.
These are concrete things. I find I need concrete. I am a bit lost without work. Strange, considering I have hated every job I ever held. 'Cept bartending.
Fixing my brain is not concrete. It is malleable, a moving target with no solid results yet. I notice small changes in my thinking (incremental, for Christ sake - incremental!), but when the chips are down I revert to poison thoughts.
However, I know that redirecting my brain is without a doubt the most important thing I can do with this time that I have.
Still reading James Clear. He makes sense to me. Found a guy named Mark Manson who caught my attention but I'm beginning to think he's full of shit.
Emerson and Marcus Aurelius didn't pan out; it was heavy reading and did not take root in my brain. I am searching for other inspiration.
I am learning Italian, strictly for the brain exercise. I will never use it, will forget it all two weeks after I stop, but it forces me to think. Feels good to do it. Makes my brain ache like overworked muscles.
I dabble with meditation but have not immersed myself. Which makes no sense because when I do it I love it. Shit works. Gotta make that happen.
Fun fact. I do not always do things I know are good for me. Not sure why. I can fall in love with something that makes perfect sense to me and then forget about it for 3 months. People are strange.
Anyway I am working back towards distracting my brain. I got off track a little bit but I'm bending things back around.
Shit, man - the last thing I need right now is to have all the time in the world to spend in the company of my diseased, un-evolved brain.
I have been feeding it stuff to ponder, shoveling in strange new thoughts and philosophies like an old time fireman feeding coal into a locomotive engine.
I have faltered over the last 4 weeks. First I pretty much stopped exercising. Now, it got hot as hell, 90 degrees and all that, but that's a bullshit excuse. When motivated, I can force myself to exercise under any conditions.
Simultaneously, I stopped the brain workouts. Strange. Not really.
I hopped back on the exercise train last week and continued it into this week, so that discipline has been recaptured.
The brain remains mushy.
The ironic thing is the doubt is fueled by my need for immediate results. Explosive change. Instantaneous rewards. Odd because I am trying to adopt the philosophy of James Clear, which is to make incremental change consistently until all those victories add up to achievement of a goal.
I know in my heart that flexing my brain is the right thing to do. It is the only way to redirect the polluted thoughts of 45 years of misdirected thinking.
My mind keeps wandering back to the practical. Practicality kills creativity.
We have decided to move in the direction of selling the house. Got the Ugly Houses people coming over today, mostly for the fun of it. I pretty much don't trust them but I want a baseline offer from which to work.
I have spoken to a local realtor for advice. We will be having contractors do some work on the house, inside and out, to make it pretty. Up the value.
These are concrete things. I find I need concrete. I am a bit lost without work. Strange, considering I have hated every job I ever held. 'Cept bartending.
Fixing my brain is not concrete. It is malleable, a moving target with no solid results yet. I notice small changes in my thinking (incremental, for Christ sake - incremental!), but when the chips are down I revert to poison thoughts.
However, I know that redirecting my brain is without a doubt the most important thing I can do with this time that I have.
Still reading James Clear. He makes sense to me. Found a guy named Mark Manson who caught my attention but I'm beginning to think he's full of shit.
Emerson and Marcus Aurelius didn't pan out; it was heavy reading and did not take root in my brain. I am searching for other inspiration.
I am learning Italian, strictly for the brain exercise. I will never use it, will forget it all two weeks after I stop, but it forces me to think. Feels good to do it. Makes my brain ache like overworked muscles.
I dabble with meditation but have not immersed myself. Which makes no sense because when I do it I love it. Shit works. Gotta make that happen.
Fun fact. I do not always do things I know are good for me. Not sure why. I can fall in love with something that makes perfect sense to me and then forget about it for 3 months. People are strange.
Anyway I am working back towards distracting my brain. I got off track a little bit but I'm bending things back around.
Shit, man - the last thing I need right now is to have all the time in the world to spend in the company of my diseased, un-evolved brain.
Saturday, July 4, 2020
Just When I Thought I Was Out, They Pull Me Back In
I am not happy with Covid-19.
It has thrown a blanket over my brain. It is always there, no matter what I am thinking or doing or thinking about doing. There to remind me that the world is dangerous and fucked up.
I see those commercials that try to make light of the situation, to do the best that they can with an insane reality. Like Corona (ironically enough). But it doesn't help me.
Their ad shows people "finding their own beach". Sitting in kiddie pools in the living room drinking beer. Or zooming a party, drinking beer. Or whatever.
I don't smile. It depresses me. People should be out partying on beaches. It's fucking July.
I wouldn't be out there because the current state of my body has me banned from any public beaches. Every time I try to visit one they throw a net over my head and drag me back to the parking lot.
But the pretty people, the young and the sexy, should be drinking beer on the beach in complete abandon. Laughing their fucking asses off. Worshiping the sun. And life.
I catch a little racing, lose myself for a bit, until they show the pit crew wearing masks. Post race with no fans. Drivers with masks. Six foot long microphone poles. Christ, I even watched Formula One racing yesterday and today. Same mask shit. Don't tell my family members. I was sworn to NASCAR loyalty 40 years ago. Used to sneak into the closet with a TV with a 4" screen to watch open wheel.
Don't get me wrong. I support mask wearing. Heartily. If you don't wear one you are a fucking asshole. But it's the constant reminder that you can't get away from this shit. It is everywhere. Affects everything.
Pro sports trying to crank up but athletes keep testing positive. I am not feeling hopeful.
"Lives well lived". At the end of the 4 o'clock MSNBC broadcast. Two people every day who died from Covid-19. The other day it was an eight year old girl. Eight years old, for Christ sake. And a pregnant woman. They delivered her baby early because they knew Mom was gonna die. Dad got a new baby and a dead wife.
Happy stories too, and thank god for those. The people who beat it. Were reunited with their families.
I have covered this territory before. I just can't get away from the emotional roller coaster.
My brain cannot accept this situation. I am in a constant state of disbelief. When I go out and come across young people they don't seem as disturbed. Could be my own warped interpretation but I just don't get a feeling of dread and despair from them. They seem to just be dealing with it.
The summer is trickling by, moving so slowly, which is something I have wished for all my life. But I am not enjoying it. I am and I'm not. Carol and I have been eating dinner on the screened-in porch, which is nice and something we never did enough of before. I am warm, and happy to be padding around in shorts and a t-shirt.
But I feel like a prisoner in solitary confinement. Ain't seeing nobody, ain't doing nothing.
In the last few weeks we met up with Craig, Amanda, Jason and Karen outdoors and had lunch. We got out to Portsmouth, saw Keith's apartment, met Krista, and ate lunch in a park with the two of them and Craig and Murray. Beautiful day. A couple of days ago Carol had to pop into Concord so we had lunch at Cheers on the patio.
These three events were magnificent. I enjoyed them more than I ever would have before.
Despair has become a fact of life and joy has become cathartic.
Strange fucking world.
It has thrown a blanket over my brain. It is always there, no matter what I am thinking or doing or thinking about doing. There to remind me that the world is dangerous and fucked up.
I see those commercials that try to make light of the situation, to do the best that they can with an insane reality. Like Corona (ironically enough). But it doesn't help me.
Their ad shows people "finding their own beach". Sitting in kiddie pools in the living room drinking beer. Or zooming a party, drinking beer. Or whatever.
I don't smile. It depresses me. People should be out partying on beaches. It's fucking July.
I wouldn't be out there because the current state of my body has me banned from any public beaches. Every time I try to visit one they throw a net over my head and drag me back to the parking lot.
But the pretty people, the young and the sexy, should be drinking beer on the beach in complete abandon. Laughing their fucking asses off. Worshiping the sun. And life.
I catch a little racing, lose myself for a bit, until they show the pit crew wearing masks. Post race with no fans. Drivers with masks. Six foot long microphone poles. Christ, I even watched Formula One racing yesterday and today. Same mask shit. Don't tell my family members. I was sworn to NASCAR loyalty 40 years ago. Used to sneak into the closet with a TV with a 4" screen to watch open wheel.
Don't get me wrong. I support mask wearing. Heartily. If you don't wear one you are a fucking asshole. But it's the constant reminder that you can't get away from this shit. It is everywhere. Affects everything.
Pro sports trying to crank up but athletes keep testing positive. I am not feeling hopeful.
"Lives well lived". At the end of the 4 o'clock MSNBC broadcast. Two people every day who died from Covid-19. The other day it was an eight year old girl. Eight years old, for Christ sake. And a pregnant woman. They delivered her baby early because they knew Mom was gonna die. Dad got a new baby and a dead wife.
Happy stories too, and thank god for those. The people who beat it. Were reunited with their families.
I have covered this territory before. I just can't get away from the emotional roller coaster.
My brain cannot accept this situation. I am in a constant state of disbelief. When I go out and come across young people they don't seem as disturbed. Could be my own warped interpretation but I just don't get a feeling of dread and despair from them. They seem to just be dealing with it.
The summer is trickling by, moving so slowly, which is something I have wished for all my life. But I am not enjoying it. I am and I'm not. Carol and I have been eating dinner on the screened-in porch, which is nice and something we never did enough of before. I am warm, and happy to be padding around in shorts and a t-shirt.
But I feel like a prisoner in solitary confinement. Ain't seeing nobody, ain't doing nothing.
In the last few weeks we met up with Craig, Amanda, Jason and Karen outdoors and had lunch. We got out to Portsmouth, saw Keith's apartment, met Krista, and ate lunch in a park with the two of them and Craig and Murray. Beautiful day. A couple of days ago Carol had to pop into Concord so we had lunch at Cheers on the patio.
These three events were magnificent. I enjoyed them more than I ever would have before.
Despair has become a fact of life and joy has become cathartic.
Strange fucking world.
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