The War Is Waged As It Must Be, At Least I Tell Myself That Every Time I Feel The Knife Slip Deeper In

So I lied, I’ll write another one today.

It’s a little bit before four in the afternoon and it is deceptively warmer than you think it would be outside. Mind you, I would say that and have said that, when the temperature dares to go past 55, but I mean, we all have our likes after all. I am working into what I want to say, so this is the small talk/foreplay section of the writing for those of you unfamiliar with the rambling, half-assed way I make a point I want to make and don’t want to just call someone a cunt or something.

There are things in this world I will never understand because they are not mine to get. There are other things that I will never understand because I think what I am trying to understand is broken somehow and I am never going to get the gist of the thing because it is not presented as it should be.

I love pretty much everyone at first blush. Not quite bromance/sismance/theymance kind of love, but the deep, respectful love I feel that you should have for your fellow human beings kind of love. I love you until you give me a reason not to love you, and even then I will forgive you eleven times out of every three. I hate not having that feeling towards people so, sadly, I have a massively developed White Knight syndrome wherein I feel the need to save people from being in the least bit unhappy in any way. It doesn’t matter most times if they don’t want me to “save” them from the situation, my mind is very task-oriented at a certain point and the only thing left is The Goal. The Answer. The Fix. The Thing.

Yeah, it is that bad.

I know, logically, that there are simple problems, even those that I can, do, and am asked to help with, that simply don’t have answers as easy as the scantron during standardized tests would have you believe. However, logic is often the first thing I cast aside so that I can feel my way to the root of the problem and rip the poison from the source.

This isn’t based on gender, age, or any other kind of descriptor that people like to apply to themselves and others, this is something that I do for anyone and everyone.

Therein, of course, layeth the rub.

You know the old saw about pouring from an empty cup, right? I am more of a fill everyone up with what is my cup first, you know, to tide them until *I* find the tea that goes into their cup. I never think of myself because, well, no. I don’t do that thing, except of course for the glaringly humiliating examples of me doing only that scattered throughout my lifetime. I want everyone to be happy, through this, you betcha, I get my happy.

So, as I sit here desperately trying to find a way to do precisely what I should not be doing for a person I love more than family, I am trying to balance loyalty over sanity, friendship over needs I do not want to acknowledge, and of course, love for myself over love for others.

It is not going to end well, no matter what, but sometimes you have to burn the motherfucker down and see if you can pull some phoenix action out of your ass after the fact to see if there is anything left, or them or I, to salvage for the next day, the next thing, the next battle of the Internal Fear and the External Gifting.

Today Is About Her

I think I fell in love with her the first time as I was sitting with her on the phone while at work. She was having a massive panic attack and was literally under the counter at Tim Horton’s where she worked because of course, she worked at a Tim Horton’s. She was so scared, so very alone at some hour far past the time where most people get coffee in the middle of the night. She wasn’t scared of being there alone, or robbers or any of that, she was simply scared and she called me to help her with that. Being me, I made her laugh. I made her laugh until we realized she had used the store phone to call me long distance, back when things like that mattered and she promised to call me when she got home to make sure I know she was okay.

A few hours later, home with who I would later call my Elder Duck, she had just got out of the shower and drank some of the coffee she had been making all night and called me. It was a much more subdued, yet pleasant conversation. I am pretty sure she was embarrassed by calling me earlier, but I never once ribber her for it, up until the day she died I never mentioned it again actually. We talked about how abysmally cold it was where we both were, I was in Kansas at the time, and all we wanted to do was curl up with one another and get some much-needed sleep for both of us.

No sex talk, no flirting, just a scared human being calling another human being who they thought would be able to help them through a tough time.

The entirety of the time we were married it is what we excelled at with one another. Even if we were outrageously pissed at the other, which admittedly happened a lot more than it should have, if there was ever a point where one of us went past a place, we would simply know. Whether it was a look, a hitch in the voice, or suddenly needing to leave the room. Not out of anger, but fear.

We would stop and just be there for one another.

So on Mother’s Day that is what I am choosing to focus on, that is what I am choosing to allow into my mind and my heart, and I am pretty sure it will get me through the day just fine.

Allow Me To Dust Off This Old Chestnut For Your Perusal. Also Known As A Passive-Aggressive Cry For Help?

I have a horrible habit of letting people kind of make me do things. Insert the “You’re the Bear” commentary. I’ll wait. Done? Cool.

I have this ingrained need to help people. I need to help them as much as I need to breathe and it never occurs to me, except in situations precisely like this one, when I am just allowed a moment to think, that there will always be people willing to take advantage of this fact. My good friends, hell even my kid of friends, don’t do this, it is those people on the edge of things, the people in your orbit yet not close enough to you every day to say hello, you know the people I am talking about here. it starts with a little favor, then a bigger one, and so on until I gave that fucking bitch two grand and I didn’t even realize it until way too late. Or when I let that cunt move into my house, destroy a relationship, and kick ME out of MY house. All because I needed to be the White Knight riding to the rescue.

I have learned a few things over the years.

For starters, all of the People in My Heart are not helpless. I am never going to be their Obi-Wan, I am not only okay with this, but it is also a principal column of my sanity. When you make me realize that I am not SUPPOSED to help everyone, my mental health gets a massive boost and I can be as normal as whatever that word means to me.

These insidious motherfuckers though, they worm their way into me because I am about as soft a touch as ever has been. I assume they won’t lie to me, because, I mean, we’re people, right?

No, no we aren’t.

So yet again, and I know some of you are sick and tired of me having this epiphany, trust me, you are way less sick of it than I am of having it. Yet again I sit here with the decision made to, while not necessarily hardening my heart to those in need, perhaps inspect their motives just a little deeper, maybe ask a question or two. Why? Why Me? Why would you possibly need me to look up flight times when you have the internet?

Basic things.

My Tribe knows this does not apply to them, however, I am saying it so I can show them it does not. Friends help friends, it is a cornerstone of the whole word.

For now, more caffeinated bean beverage, maybe with a lot of extra wake up juice added.

Maybe meaning yes.

It Doesn’t Matter If You Understand What I Am Saying As Long As You Simply Sit And Let Me Fucking Say It

Since I have not got much approval, or even traction, for my self-termination plan, I am going to go ahead and listen to a techno remix of Toccata and Fugue at insanely loud volumes to try and quiet the inner Bear. later I think I am going to sage my bedroom and try as hard as I can to remember how to assemble an altar the way I have in the past. After that, I will probably try and mentally accept the teachings of Frank Herbert vis-à-vis the Dune universe with emphasis on exponential self-growth rooted in internal desire and possibly psychotropic psychopharmaceutical interactions with enforced solitude and the freeing of an inner-worth based secondary, or perhaps tertiary personality to interface with the basics of the lizard Id and the haughtiness of the superego as described by Nietzsche.

I have never been particularly good at multitasking, I can, it is just infuriating to me to not have things in a form of ordered chaos. It is why each virtual desktop always runs the same programs, why I call my computers the same names and why I make a new email for every format. There is an order to the Chaos I find myself in most times and if I can find it I have discovered that I can very happily adapt to the situation and make sure the things I am supposed to produce are thusly manifested.

Overlong I have thought of where I might blend my unique perspective of psychology and vaguely remembered theological dogma. Outside of the rather obsolete form of cult leader that sadly is no longer as profitable monetarily, socially or even sexually as it used to be, I am either forced to abandon the thought altogether, which is not particularly distasteful, or to begin walking the streets wearing a placard and a loin-cloth telling people that the end is nigh and that they would be best suited for survival if they decided cannibalism wasn’t as abhorrent as western thinking makes it out to be.

Occultism, as seen through the eyes of people who view the occult as a type of pseudo-intellectual masturbation practiced by former employees of Hot Topic and soulful poets in need of a dark and forever damning patron, is a thing where people sit in the dark and chant things in rudimentary Latin or the so-called angelic language of Enochian, that was most likely invented by Edward Kelley when he was inhaling things that people of the later sixteenth century usually stayed away from completely or at least had the common sense to call themselves prophets or oracles because of.

This causes people who practice paganism of any stripe to be painted with a vast brush called Satanism that is ironic as the Church of Satan has nothing to do with the Judaeo-Christian angelic figure Lucifer, but rather lots of hedonistic self-expression and cultivation of personal power by disallowing those who would take from you to do that thing in any capacity. From the heady days of the Malleus Maleficarum to the modern televangelist, those practicing the purest of the spiritual avenues have been hounded, blamed and burned because the simplicity of an herbal poultice is proof in the eyes of those who seem to be believers that they are living in a world where perfection is not as easily prayed for as is thought of at first.

However, I have wandered into this particular minefield inadvertently and so I leave you with important words for a few very special people that hopefully read this and know it is meant for them.

Ama me fideliter, Fidem meam toto, Decorde totaliter, Et ex mente tota, Sum presentialiter, Absens in remota. Plus, since I promised my best friend I would never make her look up my Latin again, the English is “Love me faithfully, See how I am faithful, With all my heart and all my soul, I am with you, even though I am far away.”

Friday? Right? I’m A Little Hazy On Days Of The Week At The Moment.

Days are melting together now, so here goes an attempt at something vaguely vague. I don’t want to talk about COVID anymore, but it isn’t quite as small as an Elephant in the room, is it? It is more like the black hole in the middle of your heart that will not be ignored or denied. So, in tribute to the current Lord of Darkness, I write the following words and I hope that it will somehow slake the blood-lust and hunger for humanity it has shown thus far, however, I am not holding my breath that it will be so.

Me and mine are safe, we are healthy and we can shelter in place for a sizeable amount of time if need be. The only thing we leave the house for anymore is prescriptions, and we very rarely even get out of the car when we do that much. We are distancing ourselves socially as is warranted, and yet we are not being distant. We talk to our People, we ensure them that they are cared for, thought of, and loved. School resumes Monday and the new pattern of, dare I say it, normalcy, shall return to the house at that point.

I have been telling people, and seeing similar things posted on Facebook and the like, things that will change after this immediacy of hiding has toned down slightly and we can go outside and breathe some fresh air without having to shout to the nearest person so they can hear us.

I can’t say no anymore, not as I have been. I suffer from chronic migraines, yes, but you know what, it is going to hurt no matter where I am, so why not go be with the people who give my life joy? I am not saying ignore the pain, but there is a balance and I have been placing far too much weight on hiding as opposed to seeing the world and I am not a fan of the hermit that I have become. Is going to a bar for a beer going to make my migraine worse? You know what, it might, but when I get home and I lay in bed in the dark and the cold where I can heal, it will be the smiling faces of the people in my life I will see and not this void I have allowed myself to fall into.

I want to go and see them, to be with them, to have them come to me so we can do things we used to do. I ordered an entire case of wine so I could record myself giving tasting notes on it because, according to very reputable sources, I am pretty good at sounding snooty when I am doing it. If they don’t have any, I will make that shit up on the fly as glasses go down my pie hole like so much, well, wine.

Hugs. Goddess how I miss hugging them. I get to hug my babies, yes, and that is a vital part of my life. However, it is not the only thing. I want to lift pretty girls off the ground and spin them around and have them make little squeaky noises and lock my hands behind people and never want to let them go because that connection, that power, is so wonderful for everyone that is involved. I will let scientists talk about chemical releases, I just really like to hug. I mean, how can I be the bear proper if I don’t bear hug?

Gatherings, birthday parties, socials, weddings, baby showers, how many of these and more have I missed because I just chose to be a hermit, afraid to leave my house for reasons I increasingly believe were essentially all fabricated by my brain as it hid away from the pain of things?

No more, I have drawn my line in the sand and I made sure it is just wide enough that I can’t ignore it. I will be a human being again, I will permit myself to be alive and happy and I will kick my ass, or even ask someone else to do it for me, if I stupidly backslide into this perdition I find myself in.

So, like in the days of yore,

Rawrz Motherfuckers.