Up Stream

I'm pretty sure if I were a fish it wouldn't be an issue. That, and the law of gravity makes things quite difficult.

Perhaps the bigger dreams in my life never actually manifest because of my consistent goal/desire to avoid problems and making people upset. I find myself saying less and less these days. If I speak too much, there's a much greater chance of putting my foot in my mouth. This may be a reason why I've gravitated toward online journal/blog writing. When I speak in a blog, I'm not judged. I'm not contradicted. I don't feel fear. I'm not constantly worried about retribution. I'm allowed to be pretty honest.

Honesty is a great thing, though what I desire more is something I refer to as candor. There's a difference. Candor is usually solicited, objectively constructive, helpful, and loving. I'm pretty content with my ability to empathize with others and use candor.

And then there are THOSE people. Everyone knows THOSE people! The ones who openly celebrate how 'honest' they are. The ones who insult you, then get immediately defensive stating meekly, "I'm sorry but I'm just being honest." It always baffled me...who in their right mind consciously desires conflict and confrontation? I sure as hell don't derive any joy from battles. Arguments and debates don't make me feel better about myself. Is it the 'high' people are attracted to from being 'right'? At the end of the day, asserting that righteous indignation must just be more pleasurable than anything. The feeling of power!

Smug Ass: "I'm right, you're wrong. I win!"

I guess it's inevitable that these people exist. Unfortunately they don't live in caves, isolated from society. We all have to put up with them, and that's really what the problem is. As much as I try to ignore and eradicate these people from my world they always have a way of showing up again. They seem to desire people like me that won't question them, and just say "yes" to everything they say. Of course I'm insincere to someone like that! They walk all over people! They don't deserve even an ounce of my honesty! You want to know why everyone hides their opinions around you? Because you, sir, are a fucking prick.

When someone goes "I love baseball!" I don't instantly shoot back, "OMG Fuck sports!" It's true I don't give a shit about them, but so what? They aren't for me to enjoy then!

My wish is for more people to read Dale Carnegie's "How To Win Friends and Influence People," and put those principles into practice. I'm sick of so many people out there acting so selfish and manipulative around me. If you call someone out in public on some trivial piece of information that they may have gotten wrong, then go fuck yourself. Seriously, go right ahead. And preferably away from us in a cave somewhere, where only the trolls dwell.

Rest assured though, they are all 'honest' people!

Verbigeration

I have to compete, right? There's an entire ocean out there of eager word-smiths dying to have others listen to their gill movements.

Okay okay, enough's enough. I'm just being cynical yet again. One can't help thinking about how insignificant they are when there's an exponentially, overwhelming amount of voices out there. Actually, this has always been the case, but now the internet makes us a bit too aware of it. Twitter is filled to the brim with everyone's snark, everyone's promotions, everyone's agendas. We fool each other into thinking that the majority of people may one day give a shit.

The fear comes from the illusion, the dream we were taught as children that one day we all have the possibility of being culturally significant. If we try hard enough, it's actually inevitable! I envy those who don't have this mindset embedded into their consciousness; it's one of my many flaws. (No...I'm not talking about the 'envy' part...though that's also one of them) The joys I've known in life seem to have stemmed from entertaining others and the feeling of being 'important.' Yes, I know, we're all important. We're all unique snowflakes. I get it. That's not what I'm talking about.

I'm an only child...with siblings. "What does that even mean?" you ask me.

...or you don't...but I'm sure you at least THINK about asking the question.

My youngest sibling is 14 years older than me. Our relationship is a bit different; she's always been a second mother to me. Since the other 2 siblings lived very far away, and were MUCH older than me, I wasn't very close to them growing up. For the most part I had my parents undivided attention, as well as my sister's. They'd take me places, buy me things, and generally showed appreciation for everything/anything I did. I learned very early on to be creative, because it was a fun job that paid well! Praise and compliments! At the time, I didn't realize that I could simply just deposit those into a bank account and retire at the age of 18 as a self-made millionaire of self-worth, so foolishly I spent every polite smile, every pat on the back, every "Good Job" I could get.

I was living the high life! Although I was very dependent on it, I had no idea that one day my fortune would be gone. I'm not sure of the exact date, but at some point during my middle school years I became emotionally bankrupt. The environment I had been put in consisted almost exclusively of emotional criminals, thieves that stole my positive energy on a daily basis. Needless to say, the bank foreclosed on my home and I was thrown out to the streets. Homeless. Eating fish bone compliments straight from metal garbage cans. Always begging for scraps. Many nights it would rain cold drops down on me as I attempted to sleep on a park bench, clenching tightly to the one soaked newspaper that wasn't completely torn to shreds. On the dry side next to my face, my eyes were fixed on my horoscope each night, waiting anxiously for the one that would read, "Today, people will change their mind about you. So long have they had the wrong idea, but now they'll see the error of their ways. Look forward to moving into that mansion next week. Also, your lucky lotto numbers are 3, 4, 15, 29 and 42."

I ended up just gathering and selling aluminum cans, enough to eventually buy myself a tent so I could live in the woods next to the highway. You'd be surprised how many people just throw their beer bottles out there! Cha-Ching!

Faultlines

When one attempts to analyze the probabilities of potential failures that await them in the not-so-far-away future, it can lead to quite a bit of stress and anxiety. Perhaps my focus needs to shift over. Rhonda Byrne's book "The Secret" suggests I'm creating the negative world by thinking about my fears, that I'm in fact manifesting the things I don't want to happen. My subconscious is trying to sabotage me!

I just spent a period of time today coloring with magic markers on graph paper in my son's room, and was very serious about it. Man do I wish I was kidding. My creations were copied works from the great artists of 8-bit history...A pixelated Mario, a pixelated Goomba, and a pixelated Kirby. If I were pretentious enough, I would just consider it "Pop Art" and own the hell out of it!

It helped take the edge off of my son's anxiety of the dentist. Had to get that tooth removed, one way or another. The funny part was that he was fine with the local anesthesia, just not the bubble-gum flavored Novocaine gel, the bubble-gum scented nitrous oxide, or the *gasp* rinsing water. Needless to say the dentist and his assistant had quite a fun morning, and stayed in good spirits by pointing out how purple his hands were as a result of me restraining his wrists.

The tooth was successfully removed, so I suppose this counts as a 'win' for the home team?

Artist

Why I don't use this thing on a habitual basis is beyond me! The only thing I can figure is that I get so caught up in new things all the time that all the activities I normally enjoy tend to slowly dissipate. Writing music is an activity I haven't done in awhile. Even just playing the guitar or keyboard is something I only rediscovered recently, and only briefly. It's pretty bizarre, since I do somewhat consider myself a musician.

Desires? I'm confused about them. In my daydreams I imagine what it would be like to finally have a million dollars and never have to work my day job again. Yes, the freedom would feel pretty good, but honestly what would I do with myself? If I ever have a day off from work I first feel excited at the idea of doing whatever I feel like, whether it's playing games, reading, watching television, napping, writing, going for a walk, or a million other activities that I don't normally get to partake in. The truth is, however, that at the end of the day I only feel disappointed.

Why disappointed?

Perhaps I expect way too much from myself, from life. I never feel satisfied with my decisions, always feeling as if I could have better ones. Regrets. The time always feels wasted. Then when I get creative, part of me feels a sense of hopelessness, as if what I'm creating brings no purpose in my life. Is it all just an endless pursuit of entertainment, expression, and togetherness? And even then, what's so bad about that?

Lower animal forms seem generally content. My cats used to always lounge around, enjoying my attention. That, and wet food. Nothing better than a life that consists of a succession of naps and feedings. From my studies on Buddhism, I've learned that real happiness comes from simply being in the present moment. If I worry about what I'm going to do next, I'll suffer. If I dwell about my past, I'll suffer. I know this to be the truth, and yet I keep straying from these practices.

To be honest, I haven't meditated nor exercised in a good number of months. Along with writing, I've always found myself looking forward to these activities. (Perhaps I've hesitated a bunch when I'm just about to enter work out sessions, though I know I always feel better afterwards.) Meditation sessions are hit or miss. Sometimes I'm able to sustain awareness for short bursts or a short period of time, though more often I find myself analyzing my thoughts, imagining the future, and hating the past. Even now my mind is elsewhere, always searching.

What was the name of that guy in that

film, and where did I see him before that? Whose he married to? What has she done? Controversy? What controversy? Where did this urban legend get started? A picture gallery of an abandoned factory? *click* *click* *click* *click*

I've always known this compulsion was there. I see it in my son. I see it in my friends. I see it in myself. It's as if there's a black hole in me that'll never be satisfied, yet believes just one more piece of trivial information is all that it'll require. More books! More music! More games! More movies! More! More! More!

My environment and my belief structure seems to be at play here. I'm constantly reminded of the joys that others feel. Immediately I compare and contrast their lives to mine and always conclude that I drew the short straw. My life is filled with boundaries. Can I simply just run off and do an activity? Absolutely not! My life is embedded in a complex matrix of political bureaucracy. There's a very specific structure to my days, in which I struggle to down play the boring and less desirable aspects of.

I'm wasting my time soliciting some sort of praise and gratitude from the world, especially via Facebook. Say something that people like and comment on, and then feel slightly more validated in one's existence. I'm a comedian, and the internet is my stage. I live and breathe on the laughs and appreciation from others, especially strangers. The drug costs no monetary value, only time and effort. (although it's said that time IS money...)

It's all set up to be a constant needing and irritation at the inevitable. "Sure, I still have this mortgage." "Sure, I still have these car payments." "Sure, I'm still not making enough money outside of my dayjob." "Sure, I'm not permitted to pursue other endeavorers." These are all facts of life, and yet I torture myself with them, torture myself with the idea that "You know, it shouldn't be like this, and you're suffering until reality has disappeared."

I despise the term "artist" because it feels so pretentious and counterfeit. Who the fuck doesn't desire to be expressive and creative? I've yet to meet anyone intelligent that can simply be happy with mundane processes. Admittedly this comes from undying cynicism, the double-edged sword that I'm always inflicting new wounds on myself from. Quietly I'm a hardcore, self-aware Contrarian who is always disappointed when anything personal to me becomes mainstream. I know I'm wrong! It's ridiculous, and yet I can't help feeling this way. My mind organizes and categorizes everything, reducing it all down to the lowest common denominator and transforms ideas, people and places into simple numbers. Not in a sociopath-sense, just a quantifiable measurement of the perceived reality around me.

Driven for some sort of cosmic justice, I get snarky about all events. I sit on the very back of that auditorium, that bus, where I can see the backs of the heads of everyone except myself. I'm no longer vulnerable to attack. I'm a ghost. I'm not a player in society's constant competitive game, but merely a spectator that doesn't suffer from any results. Participation would force me to defend myself, and there's nothing more I hate than having to do so.

Space

It's interesting. The relationship between the outside world and the inside world. How they affect each other. One's mind uses the body to conform the world around. The world, with it's powerful omnipresence, molds and forms the body and mind to it's will. A manipulative, codependent relationship. That's not true. I don't believe the outside world requires the observers. It's indifferent.

My meter is calibrated differently than others'. What's too much and too little is only relative. Varying degrees of one or the other.

When one world becomes unbearable I retreat to the other, arms flailing. I shut my mouth and let others speak, or I hide away and close my eyes.

Probably Should Be Using This

Everyday I used to post. Well, back perhaps five or six years ago. Ten years ago, definitely. Posting kept me connected to the objective world, whatever that is. I can say I have nothing to say, and that would be a paradox. That was said, so it was something.

I've been on fluoxetine for over a year now. If I had to guess, I'd say it's only been beneficial. It stops me in my tracks before I can really get depressed or angry. The stuff is almost like a new voice in my head, whispering quietly every once in awhile. "Down? But why?" This, along with consistent meditation. Now I realize how much power I gave to material possessions and, regardless of value, have given most of them up. Sold the things that would sell and disposed of the stuff that wouldn't, by either donation or by simply tossing in the trash bin. There's still more work to be done. Isn't there always?

A new baby is on the way, perhaps in another week or so. If my stress threshold hasn't been tested enough, this will bring it to the next level. It will test my patience for dealing with more things outside of my control. I consider myself on the right track though. Certain things, upon immediate reflection, will be allowed to be. Instead of judging the situation and claiming it's wrong, panicking, I simply observe and examine. Take a step back. Of course, I have to be consistently reminding myself to do so and do catch myself forgetting.

Control yourself.

With my new Kindle e-book reader I've been reading quite a bit. No real video game playing. No real TV or movie watching. Between that and my Zune HD, I think I pretty much have everything to keep me entertained, especially at work!

Also, I gained about twenty-five pounds in the past few months. I'm guessing that my more relaxed state, and lack of exercise, has caused me to eat a bit more than I'm used to, even just subconsciously. That, and we switched from ground turkey meat and turkey bacon to beef and regular bacon. Half & half in my coffee too. And no more Rockstar Energy drinks. Just coffee.

You Bet!

Blah blah. Haven't blogged in awhile. Facebook. Twitter. Life. You know, excuses.

I've surpassed 20k words on my novel. For once I don't completely hate what I'm writing. Nanowrimo asked for 50k, and I tried, but it's not easy with a full time job, family, and more excuses.

Ah shoot. I haven't made coffee yet. Ask me later about the rest of my thoughts.