offline writing

Not that it means much, but I've been really great about doing at least a little offline writing every day for a couple of months now.  I've been off of work for six months now and the trickling of ideas for different fiction pieces have started back up, but I haven't started anything.  Right now I'm focusing on putting the pen to page -- it's become something of a mantra for me. . . .pen to the page.  pen to the page.  I'm just not sure if I have anything to say quite yet.

Although I was all excited about moving home a few years back -- making new starts, accepting a little responsibility for myself and my station in life, tempering down some of my less constructive habits, and maybe cleaning out the closet that was my terribly over-packed mind at the time -- it just feels like the last five years have been a terrible time suck.  Admittedly, I feel like I'm having a minor and somewhat early mid-life crisis here of late, brought on by some sad although not sudden losses, which is doing nothing but contributing to this feeling of uselessness.  The fact of my age (nearing thirty here) coupled with the inescapable view of my own mortality has made me into a little ball of retro- intro-spection.  And all I'm coming up with is, "Fuck."

That depresses me to no end.  Because it's familiar.  It's what I consider the old me -- my old addage to every thing from being late to work (fuck it) to dealing with stupid people (fuck you) to the very general, all-encompassing (i don't give a fuck.)  I need a pick me up that's not chemical related -- just any old good news will do.  Good will couldn't hurt either.

Hope you kids in the blog-o-sphere are enjoying the holiday season.

-dboy.

Get Busy Livin'

I picked this title from a Stephen King quote, although the first time I heard it was from the Frank Darabont adaptation of King's novella Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption.  The quote is from Andy Dufresne and reads "Get busy living, or get busy dying."

I've spent the last week staying the nights with my Mom's stepdad while my Mamaw was visiting family in Virginia.  They (my Mamaw and Papaw) have been married since before I was born, so we've always been close despite there not being any blood relation.  Papaw (I nick-named him very young) DudSpud is semi-dependant, having had a couple serious strokes a few years back.  Basically he doesn't walk so well, which has directly lead to him not doing much for himself any time he can get away with it.  He relies on a wheel chair much of the time even though he is capable of walking, and physical therapists say that his condition could improve if he's willing to work on building some muscle mass and joint flexibility.

Anyway, he's pretty semi-dependant right now so someone had to be there all the time.  His stepkids (my mother and her two sisters) and one of his two sons divied up day time hours and I spent from about 8 o'clock at night until 8 in the morning with him every night.  I volunteered for the long shift because even though it put me there for the most hours, they were fairly easy hours when he was sleeping, or at least when he was supposed to sleep.  heh.  I mostly read with a bathroom break averaging every two hours throughout the night.  I got to catch up on some books that I wanted to read -- even though I've been a reading fool this past year I've seriously slacked since I moved out of my house and inheritied mindless cable television and free internet access whenever I feel like it.  I'm a fucking addict.

All that back story to say that I realized something that's been gnawing at me for some time.  Hanging out with a 70 something, physically deteriorated man gave me a lot to ponder on - bringing some buried fears to the surface.  See, I'm not really afraid to die.  I haven't been for some time -- even if there's nothing out there after this world (which I don't really believe,) I'm more than willing to go when my time is up.  I don't think that most people are afraid to die, really.  I mean why would you be?  If you are a religious person, that is to say that if you prescribe a belief system that deals with the afterlife, then you probably feel like you're going to be rewarded or taken care of in the very least.  And if you don't have a belief system at all, then you probably don't worry about it too much, unless you're obsessed about going up in a cloud of nothingness (that I could understand a little better than say believing in hell and then believing that you're going to hell.  If you think about it you don't really get too many people who actually believe in hell saying tha they'll be there some day -- rather, they like to make reservations for other people.)   In fact, I'm quite sure that me and most of the rest of the world would rather die, even if it is a harrowing, violent death, as long as it's fairly quick rather than having some long drawn out illness that might involves minor pain that builds and builds over time and leaves you unable to care for yourself.  I figured that it's the thought of aging that bothers me.  It really upset me to think that some day I might not be locomotive.  Not being able to wipe my ass I can make a joke about, but not being able to get up from a chair, or out of bed and walk to the place I'm going -- there's nothing funny about that to me.  It's scary.

Dunno -- That's just what's been on my mind these last few days and so I figured I would put it down here.  I made a fuss about restarting up this blog and then didn't write in it for over a week.  doh!

Other than my own personal bullshit, I have to say that the most easily defined emotion that I've felt taking care of DudSpud is honored.  It has always sickened me (in a wholly mental way) that we (as a society) treats our elders as burdens -- I was happy (and a little suprised) that it felt good to help him get where he was going.  And although it's a little weird to know first hand that my Papaw is circumcised -- the whole wiping someone else's ass thing is breezy.

yes, that was a fart joke.

 edit: Upon rereading after posting this it came to me that perhaps the title makes it sound like I'm implying that my Papaw ought to "get busy dying."  That wasn't in my mind at all -- just wanted to make that crystal, yeah?

Merry Go Round from Hell

I've just finished reading this blog from the get go. 

It makes me afraid to write here.  :ninja:

But I'm going to do it anyway. 

See you tomorrow. (maybe)

-d.

It's like riding a bicycle

It's been a long time since I've put any thoughts in this space, but in looking for some place to blog I realized that it would be easiest to write here.

Even with no job life has been rather full. Knowing that I was going to have to rent a storage space, I did my best to rid myself of all the unnecessary junk that fills up our apartments and minds. There is still a lot to go through, but once it's all sorted I'm going to have a little sale and whatever is left over is going to a local charity. I couldn't believe the amount of clothes I've gathered over the last however many years - nearly as many boxes as the books (which did not get sorted but all put into storage.) Leave it to me to end up shirtless but have plenty to read.

This week has been particularly hectic - my Great Grandfather, Eddie went into the hospital with a serious infection. He had a procedure done a week or so ago to have his gall bladder and bile duct checked out and while they were inside of him the doctors decided to place a temporary stent in the duct to allow gallstones to pass. It was a fairly uninvasive procedure done with a scope and a light anesthetic, but being 98 years old pretty much any surgery, no matter how simple, can be a matter of life and death. He ended up septic when the stent collapsed and bile started leaking somehow into his corrolary systems and eventually into the blood. He was put on a heavy antibiotic on Sunday, and then Tuesday the doctors removed the colllapsed stent and replaced it with a larger, stronger one. He was up and talking (asking for food) after the procedure and has since been moved from ICU. I know that I'm lucky to have even known one of my great-grandparents. The old man has always said that he's going to live to see 100 -- I hope that he's right.

So that's the doldrums of my life right now. I've been reading a lot and otherwise filling the void with the internets and reruns of CSI on cable. If I get a bit of alone time later maybe I'll share some of the pen and ink that I've been working on these last few days.

Oh, and watch mom! No hands!

final thoughts

I'm shutting this place down.

It may reopen later.

I'm not taking anything away, but I'm not really adding anything either.

you can find me here or here.



thanks,
-d.

a million saturdays working

So here I am again. Stuck at work on a Sat. evening. My bestfriend from highschool got married sometime in the last hour or so. Next weekend friends from around the country will be meeting up to celebrate their love for great music. I'm sure that I'll be sitting here in this chair.

And, truthfully, I feel absolutely wonderful. I know I'm missing out on these things, but it's not affecting me like I would expect. I hit a plateau in my stress levels last week, and it was driving me mad, hurting me physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. And so I did the only thing I know to relieve the agonizing why's and what if's. I started letting things go -- little by little at first. Soon you start feeling better. So good, in fact, that you start shredding all the worries of life from yourself. Bliss and Peace become tangible things that you can wrap yourself in; it gains you comfort. And now, like my warm bed on these very chilly mornings, I'm finding it hard to leave behind. I'm finding it hard to concern myself with anything that will cause pain or strife or worry.

In short -- I don't care. I don't want to, and you can't make me. heh.

And sometime along the way, the Holiday Spirit crept in. I've found myself humming bits of old songs under my breath as I proof orders, or file reference sheets back into the filing cabinets. If I could play music on a daily basis here (the music nazis won't allow it for some odd reason,) I'm sure I would be in full-swing Christmas Mood. I find myself sitting at night wishing that I had put up some sort of decoration - some garland hung across the door frame, or some Christmas lights strung along the ceiling, even a small tree (maybe.) I didn't do any of that, so I light a candle and smoke another Marlboro and fall into the duldroms for a while. I think about you and imagine us having a great time spreading cheer. Wouldn't that be nice.

Life gets pretty heavy and I wish it was light,
but after all I love the night.
OtR

momentary lapse of reason

All of the sudden, I feel like dying. I feel desperation sneaking up inside me, swelling, begging to be set free. I know that I won’t do it. That I cannot, will not, give myself into that lesser emotion, but it does not change the fact that it’s there, deep within.

Am I foolish to think that I’m on the path that destiny has chosen for me? Am I foolish for letting fate take the fall for all my iniquities and the consequences of the million poor decisions I’ve made? Do I spit in God’s face, and my own, when I chalk this life up to circumstance and not the free will of this man?

In many ways I am still but a boy, a sapling yet to grow into a tree, but here I am a man with a man’s responsibilities. This is my life, chosen by me or some other thing, for I have not words to describe such a malicious being, that gnaws at a man’s heart and steals his secret aspirations while he is not aware.

Do you do you still dream of great things? Do you chance to love and be loved and to live life for what it is worth? For life is worth all life, and both end in death – reward or recompense, decisions again.

. . . . . .

not a journal entry folks, but more of what I call conscience writing. no worries, enjoy!

haiku

Snow drops keep falling
Skies spit orbs of winter dust
Spinning white gold rain

Liberating God From the Minds of Men

Last night, as I lay awake in the heat, trying desperately to sleep, I began a conversation in my mind. In it were two characters: myself and an ex-pastor of mine. We have quite a history between us, but that is neither here nor there. In the short, a long time ago, we wronged one another and neither of us have had the gull to apologize to the other, and so we have since parted ways. Anyway, before I get completely off track, The Pastor and I were discussing our views about the world, mankind and the like. Needless to say there was and is a great divide in our beliefs, but as you may already know it is quite possible for two men to walk two entirely different paths, ending up at exactly the same destination. Regardless of our differences, the two of us were managing to have a fairly civil conversation, except that he kept insisting that I not use any profanity (and if you know me personally, you’ll know that is a near impossibility)

Throughout our conversation, The Pastor has relatively good points – this I’ve always known, being as I attended church regularly since I was a boy up until a few years back. The way of church, I believe, is fairly righteous, if not often a little backwards. For the most part though, the guidelines they set before their congregation are simple values in place so that the people may lead a good, wholesome life. The trouble begins when the masses become so institutionalized. Soon enough, they start using their own accepted values as a measuring stick for all man’s worthiness of God’s grace (forgetting, in fact, that no man is worthy of God.) The imposition of a single set of values upon the whole of society doesn’t end up being righteous at all, but terribly obtuse in judgment.

Literalism can be quite dangerous, especially when taken to the extreme. History shows us that Fundamentalism and the imposition of their (often extreme) set of moral codes most often results in violence against those who the institution deems unworthy, or unclean. Often it seems that the church has taken on the role of Michael, the archangel, seeking to cleanse the earth of all traces of perdition and sin; it is through these acts of ‘cleansing’ that we find the most terrible acts of atrocity: war, murder and genocide, justified because the institutionalized masses collectively decide, with surety, the will of God.

And there’s the rub.

Now, I don’t think it an impossibility to know God or His will. I think that God speaks to all of us, everyone. I know with certainty that I have felt a guiding hand in my life; I have seen His great works with my eyes, but I would not suppose that what He does in my life is a mandate issued for the earth. Of course, The Pastor comes back with the only rebuttal a Literalist can have: Scripture! Scripture! Scripture! But that’s where we have to disagree, in the interpretation of the scripture. The Pastor uses the scripture to trap God into a little box of dogmatic do’s and don’ts, and I try my damndest to let it set me free.

. . . . . .

Once upon a time, I too was quite the literalist. Some would even say that I was a fanatic. But when I became so wrapped up in my spirituality that I wanted to abandon everything this earth had endowed me, and take up my cross, and walk the earth on faith alone –everyone, the church especially, told me I was insane, a crazyman. They told me that I could not give up my life, that faith simply did not work that way. Some days I actually lament that I listened to them, but I would have missed out on so much.

pneumonia for my birthday

*ugh*

So I came down with a weird flu-like virus last week that magically transformed itself into a nasty (slight) pneumonia in my right lung. It was pretty much a downer with a lot of coughing and aching and fever. And if this was a *slight* pneumonia, I don't think I could ever put up with the real deal -- you'd think people die of such things. But, anyway, the doctors pumped me full of Amelox (a strong antibiotic) and cough syrup with HydroCodone in it and gave me an inhaler (my first one) full of Albuterol.

That pretty much fixed me up in no time at all. Which is good, because today is my birthday. And it would be nice to be able to go home and drink a couple of beers in celebration of me breaking out of my mother's womb, some twenty-five years ago. Thank God I finished the antibiotic yesterday (I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to drink alcohol whilst on an antibiotic.)

So, I just wanted to write and say that if I've seen you (in real life, or in cyberspace) and you've wished me a happy birthday, or good health, or a hello -- I just wanted to say thanks. I appreciate hearing from you. I appreciate your friendship. I've been working on being a better friend, myself. Trying to keep up with everybody and responding to emails and whatnot is a lot of hard work. So, I wanted to let you know that I do like you (and appreciate the hard work you do too.)

later gators,
-dboy.