Oh Fingers, Don’t Let Me Down Now

Listen to this song before, after or during reading this post.  Or don’t.  I don’t give a crap either way.

So, I haven’t been on here in a while.  I know this because I tried to log in several times then had to have the site send me my login and password to my email address then realized that the email attached to this account is in fact my OLD email address so I had to do five tries on login and password with my OLD email address, unsuccessfully, and have the password and login sent to my OLD OLD email address, which I knew I had no clue in remembering the login for that dinosaur post.  Shockingly, I knew that login and password…the name of the girl I lost my virginity to and what she called out when she climaxed.  WICKED PEACHES.

I’m drunk…duh.  Had a brush up with Knob Creek this evening courtesy of my new favorite bartender at Rosie O’Boyles.  Check her out Tuesday nights from 3-11.  She’s gentle, gentlemen.

What the hell are we doing here?  Anyone want to gesture a guess?  Any right wing nazi accusers want to register a guess?  See, ma’am, that’s just mean.  And ironic.  A hoe chasing a hoe chasing a hoe.  FYI.  You are going to die too.  Probably painfully, like most of us.

I know, news flash.  We are all going to die.  So, my question, to Touchdown Jesus, is why are we here?  What are we doing here?  I just want to beat my own face in with a blunt instrument because I can’t wrap my brain around what is the purpose for us being here?  Is it entertainment?  Is God up there sitting on his couch with a bucket full of popcorn (extra butter, extra salt, cause God don’t have to worry ’bout no fatty acids) and a 40-Ounce of Beast (cause God ain’t got no liver) laughing his ass off, watching us fight each other (sorry, HAD to do it again, cause that lady is hellafunny) and cry and scramble around in His maze looking for a bite of cheese; knowing all the damn time…THERE AIN’T NO CHEESE.  Matrix line, anyone.  Maxtrix, please.  Neo?

My name isn’t Neo, it’s Keanu: Dialogue

Thank you, Surfer Boy.  It all makes sense now.

See, we live, we die.  It’s as simple as that.  Those of us who live longer get the wonderful experience of watching those of us we love die, which in some way will define our lives for a short time.  Because the times when we feel the most alive are when we are experiencing love and experiencing death.  The rest, in-between, is non-reactive.

So, is that the big purpose?  Are we really living to accumulate loves, then die, to most impact those we love, thus shaping and changing their lives?  Cause I can’t comprehend a more complex vision.  At some point, our entire world will die, and those of us (or them, because one would hope that the ones alive right now will not get the opportunity to experience the death of our world) around at that time will feel such a sense of euphoria, such a feeling of orgasm of death…well, the rest of us will never feel those tingles on the tips of our fingers.

That’s why we are living?  To experience death.  That’s it?  Sweet.

OMG!!!!!!!!

Eureka!!!!!!!

I figured it out!!!!!

I love Eureka moments!

And, sign me the hell up.  Oh, that’s right.  I’m already here.  Cool.  Talk about being in the right place at the right M-Fing time.  Small pleasures.

So,

kill me then, already, kill me, cause I’m tired of waiting.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  TAke me.  Taje me.  Take me.  Take me TAke me take me take me take me tamt me take me tame me tame me take me tahe me mtake me tame me take me mtame me taje me at ake me takem ektamtatemacme metamtematematem tamek mteametemat tematemtetmeam

I Think I Broke My Wishbone

I talk a lot about choices and decisions in my blog, mainly because I struggle a lot in both areas.  I’m an extremely analytical person, who is prone to spending long hours poring over the details of a decision, stretching out potential ramifications years into the future (if I choose to do this, then my kids will attend private school, and Jakob will get into Harvard while Melanie “Melly” will have a nervous breakdown and end up in a psych ward), which can paralyze the decision-process and leave me standing still.

In the last month a lot of decisions have been made.  I am remaining near my family and friends in Chicago, rather than returning to Arizona where I lived for the past three years.  I am postponing my next attempt to gain entrance into Iowa’s Writer’s Workshop to forage into the family business (Leagues Now Forming!).  How will these decisions affect my life?  I don’t know.  I guess I’ll keep you posted.

I’ve already noticed some not-so-subtle changes in the short term.  For one thing, I’ve discovered what my writing friends with kids and Big Boy Jobs meant when they said, “I don’t have time to write.”  I never understood that until this morning when I woke up at my usual time of six A.M. and felt, well, EXHAUSTED, to say the least.  After spending all day yesterday with friends and family, and being at the bowling center until midnight, I woke up at my usual time of writing vigor…bone-tired.  

This concerns me.  Productivity had always been one of my strengths (I don’t consider myself a writing prodigy, but dammit, I’ll outwork the competition) I’d have days where I’d churn out twenty pages.  I’d go weeks without missing one day of writing.  My goals were 2,000 words a day, and most days, almost always, I’d reach that goal.  But today…today my goal is to write even one page.  I’m trying to focus my mind and I forget where I’m at on my new novel, or which short story I’ve been trying to finish.  This is uncharted territory for me.

And my biggest fear this morning as I sip my coffee and write this blog and listen to my dad telling my dog Roger that it’s okay to bark at dogs walking by on the street outside our house but it’s not okay to bark at passing cars is that the decisions I’ve made in the last month will break my wishbone.  Which is to say, the decisions I’ve made to help my family and allow me to achieve some of the other goals I have in my life (marriage, house, kids–I think Melly will turn out just fine) will ultimately kill all the writing wishes I’ve incubated since fifth grade.  I still feel like I’ve made the “right” decision, and maybe this is a bit of buyer’s remorse which will dissipate once I fall into step with my new routine and find nooks and crannies in time to get my writing done everyday, but as always, with everything I do, and everything I am, the fear is present.

But maybe, for me, that’s how it will always be.

Yet, look here, I’ve managed 527 words and it’s not yet ten o’clock.  Maybe my wishbone is intact after-all.