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I get a little closer to the keyboard everyday. A little closer to putting down some thoughts on paper, or in this case the screen. No matter how worthy, how ridiculous or arcane, I get just a tad bit closer every day. It’s been a a while really. Not because I want it to be, not because I’ve been busy, overwhelmed, underwhelmed or too over overburdened with other things to write. No, just because, well because it’s been hard and I’m fucking lazy. I mean that’s what writers are if nothing else, confused. fucked up and lazy, right? But it’s been hard I hate to say that kind of shit, but yeah these past few years have been hard. The writing hurts sometimes. I know, I know. right now you’re saying, isn’t that just the most cliche bullshit you’ve ever heard. We all say it, way too much. But it’s true. Sometimes it’s all I can do to sit down in front of the screen in the morning and spew out whatever I can from my mush of a brain through my crawling skin to my fingertips, into the keyboard and onto the page. Some mornings I’m good at it, others I just vomit onto the page whatever crap I can’t hold inside anymore just so I can walk away, no, run away and say I did it today. Like anyone really gives a fat rats ass what I have to say. I mean, with all I’ve seen and done you would think I would have an endless rolodex of interesting albeit sordid stories to share with the world that would impart some meaningful words of wisdom from which another can garner a good life lesson. Well, I do have a rolodex of stories in there, it’s getting them out that is the hard part. Maybe because most of them are from the sewers of my brain and to share them means I have to re-visit them. Bad choices. Bad Choices and plenty of them. Didn’t someone once say, bad choices make for the best stories? Well I’ve made plenty of them and I got ’em no lie there.
A lot has happened and what little emotional energy I once had to keep moving on as best intentioned I have been, simply hasn’t been enough to keep me going. I would be lying if I said I was not emotionally beat up, spiritually battered and most morally bankrupt. But, haven’t I been all those things most of my life? I have a theory that people are basically the same as adults as they were as children. As we get older we’re just better at hiding in plain sight and as better able to hide what we really feel and who we really are so we leave the best impression on others. I’m kind of tired of leaving impressions good, bad or otherwise on anyone anymore really. I’ve reached that point where I don’t necessarily give a shit what people think of me anymore. I’ve already got those who like me and love me and a gang of people who aren’t particularly fond of me or downright ate my fucking guts. So why worry about adding to the bunch. Everyday I wake up,raise my dome enough to peek through the blinders from my pillow and think today is the day. Today might be the day. Today is the day it might be possible to do something unusual, something memorable, something not ordinary. Then I roll over and go back to sleep until 11 a.m.
I used to have a rebellious spirit an thirst for excitement and a love of discovery. Well, to be honest it’s more like an anti-authority complex peppered with a thirst for adult delinquency and a carnival gypsy’s who gives a fuck attitude. Like I said, I care less what others think of me these days than ever before. I just want to find that attitude again and live. I seem to have lost it somewhere from these past few years on the way to now. I don’t want to forget how to really, truly live. Sadly, I know more people that have cheated themselves out of living than I do people who live like there is no tomorrow. Most people never wander out of a fifty mile radius from where they were born. Yes there is a huge difference between living like there’s no tomorrow and living like an asshole. Though I still struggle to find it, but my point is, comfortability, contentment and fear of making a decision will kill a life while you’re still breathing. I’m on the hunt for that again. I know if I stop looking so hard I’ll find its again. At the end of the day it’s who I am. I just have to remember to watch out for those bad choices. But bad choices, make for the best stories, and if you’re going to be bad be good at it.
It’s time to write those pages.