The Mind Of An Introvert In Consensual, Non-Consensual, Social Isolation – Day The Wednesday

So, when I am in a position where I am forced to think even more than I normally do, such as being in the same room for forty and fifty hours at a time, I try to think of things I can say to people who are, in this case at least, in a similar situation, to see if I can help their brains as they are all so very good at helping me every single time I ask, which is so very often.

I try to think of ways to tell them how they are appreciated and how I value them in all the ways I do. Except, in my head at least, it all gets to be this repetitive, trite-sounding, mealy-mouthed words that I say over and over again. Which, as you can imagine, does nothing for the airplane taking off in my head demanding to fix the problem that I am having and say the things I need to say to make the feelings feel the way the feelings should feel and all of that.

So then I try to over-explain what I feel to these people and it ends up this gigantic clusterfuck of nothing and everything and whatever message I was originally trying for is so hopelessly lost in the barrage of bullshit being projected from my mouth that I need to just stop and waddle, humiliated, over to my dark corner of the world.

So, instead, I am going to just vomit all of this up and hopefully, you can sift through the detritus, flotsam, and jetsam of it all and see if any of it applies to you.

I know I have been a live nerve for the last few months. I know I have been annoying and moodier than even I normally am and this raging ball of bullshit, but it is who I am. All of y’all taught me not to apologize for being me so I won’t do that. I do want to say that I know that I have said some fucked up things to some of you and I am so very sorry for doing that.

I want to tell you that there is no way I could have survived, at least mentally, this COVID-19 thing without the help of the awesome science humans I know who sat me down and very carefully explained to me why some of my fears were misplaced and, yes, why some of them were in fact very real. It allowed me to get prepared in a good way and not panic and buy 37 cases of toilet paper and no food. These people helped me make sure my babies were safe and taken care of from this thing in the ways that they needed to be.

I want to tell my best friend that I think that she is a goddamn superhero who puts up with my shit way more than any other living thing in the world combined. I do not deserve her in my life in the slightest and the fact that she can somehow make the entirety of the world stop spinning so I can do a simple thing like laugh means more to me than I can easily express without, well, doing things like this.

My friends whom I text at the ungodly times of the morning, the friends with kids who still take the time to make sure I am OK, the friends whose lives are just as chaotic, if not more so, than mine is. The heroes that still go to work outside their home in this, the champions that are working from home still. The mothers and sisters, brothers and nieces that have adopted me just as much as I have adopted them.

People who I have known forever and people I am only now getting to truly know, you have shown compassion to me and mine and while I will never believe I deserve it, I appreciate it more than you can ever possibly fathom.

Thank you for being the net I fall into every time the world gets to be chaos and I can’t accept that.


I Used Sisyphean AND Tantalus, So, I Get Bonus Points I Think, Don’t You?

There are so many things that I want to say to people that I am terrified to say to them because if they reject me, that’s it, I will shrivel and hide in a fucking corner until the end of time and pretend that I was never a thing, never mind a vague humanoid type thing. I am pretty sure that is the thing in the Universe I am more terrified than anything else. Not death, not meeting my Goddess, not seeing those who will demand answers that I will never know, but to be discarded like refuse on the highway and forgotten about before I even leave their hand all the way.

It is not the existential that drives my mind into the darkness of itself. It is not the fears of the afterlife, it is the stark and very real terror of being completely abandoned. I am very aware that this is a fear that most people seem to take care of when they are far, far younger than the forty I am turning on Monday. In fact, I am positive all the things I have been feeling for the last three or four weeks are directly tied to that particular fact. I can say that age is just a number and all of the other things, but I never expected to get out of my teens, forty is terrifying beyond rational thought.

So, that is where the lizard brain is.

The Bear, however, is in a completely different frame of mind, or at least a chunk of the Bear.

See, forty is a motherfucking milestone. It’s a huge thing. As I said, I got past seventeen, I am living on time that is beyond borrowed, this is the compounded daily shit the mob charges you when you go to Louie the Knife to see if you can borrow enough to pay off the other guy you borrowed money from. I have made mistakes that only can be made when you make other mistakes. I have hurt people, myself, and all of
that bullshit.

So, here I am.

Fourteen thousand, six hundred and seven days old.

Maybe life is not the Sisyphean horror show that I keep thinking it is. Maybe I am not the Tantalus of lore and just a normal guy who finally got his head just far enough out of his ass to live a life, marry a wonder, have gorgeous children and now I just need to stop and fucking enjoy some shit.

Let’s do this?

Yeah, One Of These

Sometimes you need to leech the poison out…..

I do my best you know. I try the hardest I can on the days I have the ability to fucking try at all. I get up and Dad the best I can, even the days I want to hide under the blanket and pretend that I have no idea whose kids those are making all that noise. I get up and I come down here and try to be sociable, yes, at 3:30 in the fucking morning. What am I supposed to do, sit here like a rock and ignore the little dude who wants to sit in my lap, the middle guy laughing at the wonders of the world and the elder asking me questions he genuinely wants to know the answers to.

When they leave I come in and I cry, almost every day, at least for a minute or two. I cry because I am missing them already, I am in pain, I am sad because that is what I do or because I saw a cat that was homeless. It doesn’t take now, it never really has taken all that much at all.

I sit here and I message my people. I message them all in the same way, in the same order, with the same words, every single day because if I don’t have my routine I have nothing.

Then the day does what it does.

I don’t want sympathy, I am writing this because my brain told me I needed to and when my brain tells me to write something, I write it. I have no option in the matter. I am a slave to it and I will never not be and it is what has kept me around here long enough that you get to sit and read this thing.

I have written hundreds and hundreds of thousands of words. You have read some, a lot it may seem, but no.

The things I can’t write down, the things trapped in my head forever out of fear and shame, guilt and pain. I read them, in my head, behind my eyes, every single time I blink or try to sleep or tell myself the headache will go away soon because nothing can last that long, right?

I whine a lot to all of you. I call it all kinds of things, but let’s keep it real, I whine. I won’t promise to not do it, that is a lie, but I will at least own the word and try my best to mitigate the circumstances in which I do things.

Randomness Ensues

If you know me past a little bit, you know February is up there on my list of months that go can go fuck in a grease fire.

I miss all of you so much.


Saturday Mornings In The Fall, Oh Yeah, Make Sure To Change Your Clocks Tonight If You Have Anything That Doesn’t Automatically Do It For You

The thing we all hate about winter, myself included I suppose, is the violent weather change from the near summer temperatures we have had to the now winter like temperatures we are experiencing today. The cold doesn’t bother me. My predilection for wearing shorts in a blizzard is an often quoted tale of the bogeyman in the night told to children who don’t think they need to wear warm clothes in the winter. No, what bothers me, and by me I mean specifically the delightful neurological events that are called migraines, is the the air pressure. If it is too high it hurts, if it is too low it hurts, if it switches too fast it hurts, etc.

Yesterday was a delightful example of that kind of day and that is why I didn’t write anything as I was trying to hold my brain in with my left hand and pressing my forehead in with force as to make everything stop. For the record this did nothing at all and only caused me to have an awkward hand-hickey on my forehead for several hours before it faded away, blessedly before I had to go and mingle amongst unwashed masses of geriatrics at Wegmans on a Friday afternoon.

I am not feeling particularly awesome today mind you, but it is a Saturday and I have a few minutes to kill before I zombie-watch college football until I go to bed tonight, so I thought I would fill you in with the salacious smatterings of the world that is me and the thoughts I have on such vastly important things like YouTube videos, old women in grocery stores and, of course, Duck Warfare.

Whilst watching a YouTube video last evening, I had a moment where I needed to talk to my best friend, and, not being able to do so because of the late hour, decided to record a message to them. What was said is not important to anyone but them, but what is important I suppose is that inspiration to tell someone what they mean to you is a magical thing that happens everywhere if you know how to look for it and don’t assume it is a miraculous and once-a-month thing.

There are far too many women who cannot see the items on the shelves wandering about the Wegmans of the world. While I am not suggesting we cast them off on the ice floe, I would like to, perhaps, suggest to people that if they are going to use Wegmans as a babysitter for grandmother while you go and have a few glasses at the bar you tell the poor woman that so she doesn’t look for you like a child in a department store when their parents have told them to not wander far and, well, they’ve wandered.

Now, lastly, Duck Warfare is a subject of which I am intimately knowledgeable. I am, at the best, a decent father. I pay the rent, I get the groceries, they go to doctors when they are sick and all of the base things that I am legally responsible for when it comes to the upbringing of the wee folk. What I am not is the Dad that does the things. I don’t. I never have. I am not the play ball in the back yard, try to build a bird house, anything craft based kind of parent. What I can do, well, they don’t want to learn. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, we all have likes and dislikes after all. I do computers, sonnets, and philosophy, not exactly the trifecta that will win awards or anything. I try, I do. So do they. I am sure there will be a middle ground at some point, most likely after this whole childhood thing has left them, where we will find a balance and at least get along with one another more than we do now. Ah, the joys of family.

Before I leave this delightfully gray morning, I just want to tell you all that there is nothing I would not do for you if I know you almost at all. Yep that’s it.

I Won You Life Stealing Fucking Plant Derivative

I had a rough night last night. Struggled with some of the biggest demons I have. I am here today though, I am here today and that is what matters to tell you the truth. I am here and even if three seconds after I send this out to the world they come back, I am still a motherfucking warrior who welcomes the battle that comes to me. I don’t talk about the Viking much anymore, but I think the Viking Bear is coming back slowly after being stolen for a time. Not a lot of you may know what that means, but if you do, you will smile at it I think.

You would think that after twenty years, literally twenty whole years, I would be able to look at certain things and not feel that spine chilling fear that it brought me this morning.

On October 24th, or within a few days of that honestly, Nineteen Hundred Ninety and Nine, I was sitting in the front row of a concert, a fucking expensive ticket I may add, when I was overcome with abject terror. Not panic, not anxiety, terror. I knew if I stayed where I was, I was going to kill someone or someone was going to kill me. For the record I was off of all illicit substances at this point for nearly two years, I wasn’t even drinking all that much even if I did smoke like a chimney.

I was standing there in my eleven-hundred dollar VIP section appointed space and I simply knew that something bad was going to happen tome. Either me getting hurt or, worse, me doing the hurting. I don’t know what it was, I will not dive into that Pandora’s Box today, but I will tell you what happened the next day as a way of contrasting things.

The next day I was sitting in the Viking Way apartments and all I wanted to do was do the aforementioned drugs I didn’t do anymore. I used all the things I taught myself and beat the urge, but the fact that something that maybe never existed nearly caused me to go dirty after two years is insane to me. I have told you how hard it was, I have told you the stories. Some of you may remember me from then. I wouldn’t go to that again voluntarily, not ever. I would end everything before I did. So I sat there with my arms nearly bleeding from the scratching and I turned and saw a book, I had no idea what it was and I just picked it up with one hand, let a smoke with the other and I read. I read the first hundred pages or so so fast, and Ia m a fast reader on a good day. I couldn’t tell you what the book was, this isn’t some I was reading the Bible and the Lord healed me bullshit story. It was something Science Fiction I think, maybe Piers Anthony as I was pretty into him then.

Hours and a book and a half later I had lost the urge, the feeling, the need that I had before and I took a look at the book and laughed at the title, whatever it was.

I nearly lost a battle and stories are what saved me is what I want you to take away from all of this. I read stories and mind went there instead of where it had been and I am not an obituary or a homeless junkie looking for anything to beg, borrow, steal, or kill for that next little bit of foil-wrapped hell.

So yeah,