Today is December 2, 2021.
You undertsand what that means. Right?
In 30 days it will be January 1, 2022.
This time of year freaks me out. The entire month of December quietly prods me: "You didn't do anything. You accomplished nothing. You didn't even try. You are wasting your life, motherfucker. You will be 68 in 30 days. Sixty fucking eight. How much time do you think you have left?"
I feel odd this year. Not apocalyptic. Some things in my life are moving in the right direction. Got some people here working on the house today, cleaning up mold and other evil things in our basement. They'll probably find a couple of corpses. If they do I'm throwing them on the grill. Special supper.
Big project. Two days. A big step towards the goal of foisting this house on some unsuspecting rube.
In addition, it is highly likely that change will occur in the area of my life that causes me the most pain. There are rumblings in that direction and I feel quite hopeful.
These are two hugely important areas of my/our life that must change, and that is exactly what is happening. That's heady stuff.
I gotta get moving on this weight gain bullshit. It can't be ignored. When your body does not feel like your own, when you feel uncomfortable and gross, you are always aware. You cannot pretend that all is well. And that will fuck with my head. I can't have that.
Losing a couple of pounds this month will go a long way to restoring confidence.
I don't know how to handle this. Typically I trip into the new year filled with foreboding. This time around there is some positiveness mixed in.
It's not a bad feeling.
2022 can be a year of big change for Carol and me.
As I have said a million times in here, my mother used to tell me I'm a late bloomer. I hated her for that; it did not sound like a vote of confidence to me. But, as I have said before, she might have been right.
Tough for me to say - I hate admitting that my parents were right about anything.
Blooming at the age of 68? Seems ludicrous. Most people at that point in their life are slowly dying - not living - whether they admit it or not. A sensation that I am quite familiar with.
The slowly dying thing reminds me of a Townes Van Zandt lyric that I love from a song titled Waitin' Around To Die.
"Sometimes I don't know where this dirty road is taking me, sometimes I can't even see the reason why, I guess I keep a-gamblin', lots of booze and lots of ramblin', it's easier than just waitin' around to die."
Great philosophy. I got the boozin' down but I sure as shit ain't gamblin' or ramblin'. Maybe that will change in 2022.
Back to this late-bloomer shit. Why not at 68? I mean I gotta do something sometime. Or die a fucking pantywaist.
Imagine if I stepped right in to myself at this point in my life. Just aired out my true personality, talents, quirks and interests for all to see? In bare, naked honesty?
It would be such a joy for me to see the looks on peoples' faces. They would not have a fucking clue who I am.
Imagine if I sought out people of similar interests and actually hung around with them? I suffocate every day because I can't talk to people about the The Blues, The Allman Brothers, music in general, song lyrics, poetry, literature.
Know who I talk to about all that now? NOBODY! That's why I am so fucking bored. Every conversation I have every day puts me to sleep. So much so that I conduct most conversations on auto-pilot, making meaningless comments at all the right places and in all the right tones so that people actually think I am listening to them.
The rare and random times when I actually stumbled into a conversation with someone who shares my enthusiasms blew me away. Blew me away at how happy I was, how natural I was, how me I was.
Those brief moments felt so fucking good. If I surround myself with the right people I could feel that good almost all the time. I wouldn't know how to handle it, that happiness - but I would quickly adjust.
I am laying a lot of shit out here today but, Christ, man - a new year approaches. A new year offers a chance for everybody to turn the page. Doubly so for me because my birthday ushers in a new calendar year and a new year of life for me.
That's powerful stuff, baby. Magic, really.
I am positioning myself to exploit all the goodness out of the resulting karma that January 1, 2022 will bring.
Gonna be a new day, baby.
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