I see that this blog has been viewed 24 times, and yet NO comments!
So, as of right this very moment I'm going to place a single pumpkin seed, up deep inside my ass, for each day that passes without a comment on one of my posts. I will discontinue planting these seeds when a comment is finally made, or when the first tendrils of pumpkin greenery make it out of my bunghole into the bright sunshine of that glorious day.
That is all.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
(NOT) Wrapping Presents
I cannot wrap gifts, and I strongly prefer GIFT BAGS. If I could please be excused from presenting my gifts wrapped in neatly folded paper taped cleanly and finished with a bow, it's ends curled with scissors...
My dear Jaime is a precision wrapper and I have relegated myself to the tape master position. I can also hold fast the folded paper and make supportive comments about the fine quality of the wrapping and the overall goodness of the person doing the wrap-job.
My dear Jaime is a precision wrapper and I have relegated myself to the tape master position. I can also hold fast the folded paper and make supportive comments about the fine quality of the wrapping and the overall goodness of the person doing the wrap-job.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Recently.
I stopped being a muslim, stopped never drinking (with 3 beers over 3 hours) and stopped looking for reasons to remain a bitter and unhappy fucker.
I still occasionally find reasons to be a bitter and unhappy fucker, but less so. I am grateful for this, and so is my little proto-family, as well as the greater kindred. When the rage and dismay rise, it's somehow possible for me to pull it back together within minutes instead of days. I too am grateful, but I don't know who or what to thank for this...my loved ones, my doctor, myself. I guess I'll thank all of us. It has been a long year.
About Islam. When I get especially manic, the centers of my nervous system that organize rational thought get to humming about the Big Questions and I have habitually turned to religious preoccupations to soothe the Great Emptiness caused by the Big Questions. I turn to one tradition or another and like Chris Piepenberg so aptly put, "I tend to yearn for a solid conceptual ideal and upon grasping it find that the ideal is often pockmarked with pragmatic pitfalls" Once that happens, I immediately sever all ties to that tradition and all the kind, well meaning people who welcomed me, a stranger, into their spiritual haven. I should probably admit to myself that no one way to skin that cat will predominate for long. I am to date, still a spiritual nomad, and I may as well claim that this will always be so.
On drinking. I missed Chimay. I missed Stouts of every denomination. I missed freely stopping by a charming little hole in the wall and having a few glasses of beer. I almost never got to do that with Jaime and I am looking forward to it. I am also looking forward to having a beer with my dad, and a cigar with my brother.
I don't miss the wicked black rage, the dark passenger taking the wheel, the "co-pilot" as Micah calls him. I don't missing being told what I did or what I said 12 hours after I did or said it. I don't miss the crusty chafed hollow feeling of a hang-over. I don't miss losing control.
I think I can moderate. I can restrain myself. It will take practice, but practice can't come if I completley disengage from any one specific vice. I do need some insoluble limitations. If I'm buzzing, I should get very nervous. I did actually. I have partied enough for two life times, and wasted enough time on this earth pissing into the wind. Tana said, "the truth is usally in the middle" I like to think she's right. The middle.
I read a funny version of the serenity prayer as I researched how to abuse Vyvanse. It goes like this:
God has granted me the serenity to avoid the drugs I can not handle, courage to do the ones I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.
Here's a favorite quote of my own, I just launched at Dennis the other day, as he faces a tough break-up, and is reconsidering his freedom.
Africa is one of the last places on this earth that a man can be eaten alive by something other than his anxiety.
My Job is a pride guzzling siege (Jerry McGuire quote).
I promote a broken system to people who desperately need something I don't think exists any more. It's exhausting and I feel it gnawing away at me. I see what it's done to all the vets and it doesn't look pretty. A few of them are brilliant but they must feel out of place in a system that promotes blind, silent obediance to a series of pointless cyclical morbid objectifications.
It pays the bills. Other than poisoning my soul and haunting my scant and terrifying dreamscapes, I find it rewarding even.
I keep finding myself in positions I would never have expected to be in. It happens so often I am beginning to stop expecting myself to be in positions at all. It serves me better to go in 4 hour spurts. 4 hours to lunch. 4 hours to home. 4 hours of house work. 4 hours of sleep until I wake up to have a piss. 4 more hours of sleep until I need to wake up and face the day. 4,4,4.
Now I'm just rambling.
I still occasionally find reasons to be a bitter and unhappy fucker, but less so. I am grateful for this, and so is my little proto-family, as well as the greater kindred. When the rage and dismay rise, it's somehow possible for me to pull it back together within minutes instead of days. I too am grateful, but I don't know who or what to thank for this...my loved ones, my doctor, myself. I guess I'll thank all of us. It has been a long year.
About Islam. When I get especially manic, the centers of my nervous system that organize rational thought get to humming about the Big Questions and I have habitually turned to religious preoccupations to soothe the Great Emptiness caused by the Big Questions. I turn to one tradition or another and like Chris Piepenberg so aptly put, "I tend to yearn for a solid conceptual ideal and upon grasping it find that the ideal is often pockmarked with pragmatic pitfalls" Once that happens, I immediately sever all ties to that tradition and all the kind, well meaning people who welcomed me, a stranger, into their spiritual haven. I should probably admit to myself that no one way to skin that cat will predominate for long. I am to date, still a spiritual nomad, and I may as well claim that this will always be so.
On drinking. I missed Chimay. I missed Stouts of every denomination. I missed freely stopping by a charming little hole in the wall and having a few glasses of beer. I almost never got to do that with Jaime and I am looking forward to it. I am also looking forward to having a beer with my dad, and a cigar with my brother.
I don't miss the wicked black rage, the dark passenger taking the wheel, the "co-pilot" as Micah calls him. I don't missing being told what I did or what I said 12 hours after I did or said it. I don't miss the crusty chafed hollow feeling of a hang-over. I don't miss losing control.
I think I can moderate. I can restrain myself. It will take practice, but practice can't come if I completley disengage from any one specific vice. I do need some insoluble limitations. If I'm buzzing, I should get very nervous. I did actually. I have partied enough for two life times, and wasted enough time on this earth pissing into the wind. Tana said, "the truth is usally in the middle" I like to think she's right. The middle.
I read a funny version of the serenity prayer as I researched how to abuse Vyvanse. It goes like this:
God has granted me the serenity to avoid the drugs I can not handle, courage to do the ones I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.
Here's a favorite quote of my own, I just launched at Dennis the other day, as he faces a tough break-up, and is reconsidering his freedom.
Africa is one of the last places on this earth that a man can be eaten alive by something other than his anxiety.
My Job is a pride guzzling siege (Jerry McGuire quote).
I promote a broken system to people who desperately need something I don't think exists any more. It's exhausting and I feel it gnawing away at me. I see what it's done to all the vets and it doesn't look pretty. A few of them are brilliant but they must feel out of place in a system that promotes blind, silent obediance to a series of pointless cyclical morbid objectifications.
It pays the bills. Other than poisoning my soul and haunting my scant and terrifying dreamscapes, I find it rewarding even.
I keep finding myself in positions I would never have expected to be in. It happens so often I am beginning to stop expecting myself to be in positions at all. It serves me better to go in 4 hour spurts. 4 hours to lunch. 4 hours to home. 4 hours of house work. 4 hours of sleep until I wake up to have a piss. 4 more hours of sleep until I need to wake up and face the day. 4,4,4.
Now I'm just rambling.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)