Friday, September 14, 2007

"The world is scratching at my door…"-Bad Religion


Yesterday. Yeah that's the day before today. Today is now. Today is okay. Today is what I draw from yesterday, and where I prepare for tomorrow. Kinda deep huh? I tell you. I'm full of these things, just drop by, I'll make some coffee and sprinkle you with wisdom. Bring a notepad, it will just spill on the page. And Just like a theme park, I'll let you keep what you catch as a souvenir. None of this intellectual property stuff. But you have to come over to my house. Otherwise it's all intellectual and it's all my property. Except what MyUnwife took; that's just gone.


Back to yesterday. Why did I start by talking about it? Well because that's when the body of today's blog was written. I was strapping on my iPod for my workout and thinking. Always thinking. How can you shut that whisper machine off? All it does is blurts out thought arrays like some crazy confetti gun. Little sparkles of this and that rain down: what ifs, what's nexts, and half-hearted translations of what's nows. Every day I have to sweep it up and throw it away. Yesterday I got fed up. I stormed into my office, pounded keys and what's below appeared before me.


While the brain reloaded, I clicked "select all" and then paused with my finger over "delete." I didn't want it. That’s why I spewed it on the screen. It was out and I felt a little better; time to flush. Did I want to do that though? It said something, it said how I felt, and maybe I should share that. I closed the file for later.


Today is later. I reread it, and thought that somebody out there might need it. I know it's sort of like reverse-pack-ratism. (Unload-ratism? Oh, it's the ratism you're having trouble with. Tough, for now I like it.) Maybe they can glean something from it, or at very least read and go "Eww. I don't want to be like him." That's fine. It's just me raging on paper. I've been frustrated. There are so many reasons in the bingo hopper that I'm not even sure who's number popped up to set me off. Maybe it's that I haven't seen another human since last Friday. Maybe it's that I watched About a Boy the other night. I'd forgotten the whole "No man's an island," speech. Yeah right back at you Hugh Grant, you oblivious bastard. And while we're at it, screw you too Nick Hornby, for writing it. Of course it doesn't help that it's the theme of the whole film. It just keeps pounding away at my little atoll, until credits roll and none of me is left above the waterline.


So whatever the reason, here it is. I didn't really edit it, so read with caution. Today, I'm doing much better. I've got lots to do. Lots of things to keep me busy. I've wrapped my mind in duct tape, so that should keep it quiet for a bit. It's still trying to spray confetti, but it looks more like a little kid trying not to laugh-spit his orange juice. So until it comes out my brain's nose, I'm safe….


***


PBBBBT.


Yeah, that's kind of how I feel today. Remember how I said I felt I was on the verge of something big? Maybe I am, maybe I'm just so "Blah!" that I need to believe there's something beyond it. Something to make all this bullshit worth while.


My whole life has been a song lately. Want to here the chorus?


I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know.


Yeah great huh? Then after some meandering guitar solo, a 15 minute drum solo, an drunken Jim Morrison rant, it comes back to the hook:


Nothing I can do about it

Nothing I can do about it

Nothing I can do about it

Nothing I can do about it.


Then back to the chorus in a never-ending loop.


FUCK! I am so tired of this! It's like one of those wind up cars. I've been on wind so long I fear I'm gonna break before I get let go. And no! This isn't about the divorce paperwork. This is bigger than that. Yes, it's about the divorce itself, because that’s what threw me into this rut, but I'm so fucking tired of not seeing a way out. I just want my life to progress, but it's not. It's stalled. And when I look at the reasons I come back to the refrain


Nothing I can do about it.


I want to do something! I'd run naked on my lawn and sing "Mandy" if I thought it would help. But I'm playing Chutes and Ladders, boys and girls and it's all Chutes. It's gotten lately so that my evening prayer sounds like this "Just one little victory Lord, please. Just one."


I daily remind myself of the things I have, and yeah. I do have some good things. I have a talent for writing, I have a good family, and they're just cool and strange enough to be interesting (not to mention how they create fodder for the first thing). I have a handful of friends scattered like jacks across the continent. Sure, I don't have anybody here, but at least I have something. Maybe when God get's to twosies it'll bring some of us together. Until then…


Nothing I can do about it

Nothing I can do about it

Nothing I can do about it

Nothing I can do about it.


I'm a control freak in the passenger seat of my own driverless car. My wife bailed out but she took the steering wheel and pedals when she left. Until she crashes the damn thing or brings it to a stop I'm clutching the door handle, tapping my foot on an imaginary brake and making sharp inhale sounds. When it crashes I can do something: clean my wounds, check on the guy in the trunk, walk away. Something. When are things getting back to normal?


I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know.


AHHHHHHHHRRRGGGG! I know so fucking much and NONE of it fucking applies here!


Who wrote Moby Dick?

How do you make a Margarita?

Who liked "The cars that go boom?"

Who shot the sheriff?

What's the best way to eat crab?

Why is the sky blue?

When was the war of the roses?

What's the differentiates an acid from an alkaline?

What's a Petros?

What's the verb form of vamp mean?

How many counties in Arizona?

What do Anise and Fennel have in common?


I know these answers! I know a lot more! But not this other crap. And I'm floundering in a sea of "I don't know."


"Great answer Mr. Spicoli…."


All I can do is wait. Maybe I'm more impatient than I thought. Or maybe it's just that I'd like something to go my way, something I can stand on. Even mountain climbers need a ledge. I'm all face.


And no, I'm not on some disastrous brink. I just need a breath. Something I can affect. Something I know.


Something.


Anything.


No comments:

Shades of Color: