Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about the golden years and writing now or later.

"How many of you out there have been thinking about your golden years? Where would you want to retire if money wasn't an issue?"

Oh man you guys...what's up? My blog calendar thingy says I haven't written a blog entry in sixteen days, which normally wouldn't be too much of a story in itself because I'll go through stretches like that...but I'm not even gonna count the marathon 9-entries-in-1-night bout of creative ridiculousness I suffered from the night of Halloween (where I had to make up all my late entries for the "Resurrection Jukebox" ) because they weren't real entries in the sense of how I come up with them. So it's been a really long time (and yes, I'm too lazy to look back just exactly how long, but when I'm saying it's been awhile, it's been awhile).

And on top of that, I've been without internet at home for almost exactly as long (which means it's been really long, because an hour without internet is like seven dog years or some other unquantifiable mathematical formula). The building's maintenance guy happens to also be the one who supplies our floor with the wi-fi, and he decided to put a password on it, so I had to rely on the public library for awhile (when my laptop and/or tablet would actually connect to their stingy system...I've bitched about that plenty enough though), and I eventually figured out how to access WDC on my phone that was made for calling people and not doing useful/fun internet stuffs (and oh my gawd with the data charges...even stingier), but let's just wrap up this paragraph by saying the whole of November so far has been one giant bundle of suck, and not even a bundle of dollar-store suck, but like the bags of suck no one wants at the places they give out bundles of suck for the needy which then just sit around for months collecting even more suck until it gets thrown out but not in the dumpster- next to it, because why would a bundle of suck deserve a proper disposal- and then the shady homeless guys are like "Check out my great new (old but new to me) bundle of suck!" Thank you, November.

So here I am, first full day of internet at home in like two weeks, and I should be ecstatic! I watched football last night and fell asleep to SportsCenter, and woke up today all prepared to write a blog entry with links open already and a general idea of how it's gonna go down...annnnnnnd nope. In less than a half hour's time, I have reverted to a state of I'mma Cut A Bitch, and it's all because I decided to visit the general public first (and it may or may not be related to medication changes and the sense of malaise having a bad month can bring on one's soul, but it's just so much easier to blame other people...especially when it's so easy).

See, it became lunchtime, and I was feeling the hunger a little. I went to the spot I often go to, which is a church at the back end of my building's parking lot. I'm not churchy- y'all know me better than that- but it's a decent meal that I don't have to cook or clean up after, and I'm in a position right now where I'm not gonna complain when someone says "Free food!", so I go. And yeah, the cafeteria area is generally filled with old people who are one rung on the ladder below needing assistance to eat, shower, and socialize, but there's also a decent amount of what we refer to colloquially as "White Trash". And then there's me, with a book and my headphones and a scowl...but I'm getting food, so whatever.

And I left before lunch was served. I had a cup of coffee and a biscuit, and I was gone. Usually there are one or two really old guys there who need a push shove into washing machine, and if I avoid them it's tolerable...but it seems multiple people have caught the stink this week. And no matter where I went, it was everywhere. Not a "weird overcooked meal all the crazy old people eat" scent. Not the aroma of filthy pond on the lam from the highway trying to outrun itself as well. Not an episode of CSI where they walk in on a days-decomposed body...no amount of Vicks Vap-O-Rub under the nose would've helped. I had apparently stepped into The Church Of The Great Unwashed. It's serious when I walk away from free food.

And that's all it takes for me lately to become mentally unwound. I have been soiled again by humanity, and it has outworked all the goodwill I'd just earned back from having something work out in my favor. I'm trying to calm down, but it may take me awhile. Please bear with me while I write out my frustrations...seeing as it's difficult enough for me at times to find the will to leave the house, being shunned by the grooming habits of others (or lack thereof) can be a major blow in trying to overcome my anxiety and other social phobias. Oh what a tangled web my mental health has weaved for me.

Now watch as I parlay this into today's "Blogging Circle of Friends "  prompt. I'm 40 years old, or roughly at the halfway point of an arbitrary average life expectancy. There are many definitions of "golden" in relevance to anniversaries and such, like a 50th wedding anniversary being "golden", etc. So let's say I've got ten years before I can think about what it means to be "golden", because not all these things hit a person directly. Then, there's "retirement age", which varies I guess, but let's face it: I haven't worked gainfully in over three years because of different disabilities. What the fuck am I gonna retire from? I can't walk or stand for extended periods of time, and my main job experience is retail (which is little more than standing and walking all the time). At this rate, my "golden/retirement quotient" may exceed my average life expectancy, and that doesn't take into account heredity factors or lifestyle deviancy. Therefore, I'm probably gonna need more time before I'm truly "golden". Thanks for reminding me.

So let's say I make it to live to be 150, a number which is "triple-golden". First of all, shame on Hallmark for not being on point with their "Congrats on 150!" line of cards; they've got every other miscellaneous bullshit excuse to give someone a card, and with my run of luck I'll probably make it to that point and can't be feted for it because "Fuck you, Norb!" Second, even if science and technology and medicine advance so rapidly in the next half of my life to prolong my existence to nearly twice its capacity, what kind of shape am I gonna be in? I can't get out of bed in the morning now as it is without hoping my legs don't decide to give out under the sheer weight of the first forty years' worth of beatings they've survived...how effin' crippled am I gonna be at 140? Science hasn't even been able to build a microwave that can cook a Hot Pocket so the temperature of the insides is consistent with each bite, and I'm supposed to believe they're gonna be capable of reversing the aging process so that I can once again be a spry ol' man able to outrun cars when I'm crossing the street? C'mon man. Thirdly, we all know Life Is Too $hort  , so how's that gonna work when life gets even longer? What if you feel like you've lived just enough? "Peace out, I'm good with all this...", and then you're stuck with another 30 or 80 god damn years of WTF-ery and whys? I'm pretty sure that's how you end up being the old guy at the free lunch that no one can stand the stink of...like, regardless of how far we advance in society or medically, something will always click in your brain that triggers the "I've given up on life-itis; now if only the rest of my systems would comply". Something's gotta give, ya know?

And the prospect of where I'd want to live out the rest of those days, with money being no object? The way my mind works versus the way my luck runs, I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm not gettin' on that bus/train/plane to the next/final phase, because of paranoias, phobias, and whatnot. I'm not gonna chance the possibility of death by transportation when I could be trying to live out in bliss. I may make stupid decisions at times, but oh no brothers and sisters- not this time. I'mma stay put, with my music and my menthols (if money's not a problem in this scenario, neither are smokes and cancer). I'm better off this way; a broken heart several times removed hasn't done me in, anger and disgust haven't brought upon too much of a blood pressure spike, and my limitations as a person of mental well-being haven't stroked me out or given me the HIV, so why start risking shit now? Hell, I might just even stop updating my antivirus definitions on my laptop when the Grim Reaper starts lurkin', and maybe go for a swim less than a half hour after eating, just to make it look like I'm stickin' it to the afterworld, but deep down I'll know nothing's gonna kill me later that hasn't already yet. Christ, now I feel like myself how we all looked at my crazy Italian gramma Rosie...she's gonna outlive us all, and spit on our graves because we used drugs, dated girls who weren't Italian, and thought we were gay openly and brazenly questioned our sexuality in front of our boyfriends/girlfriends at family holiday dinners. When you feel like your life is ruined at times, and you're still around to shake a fist and proclaim divine existence without the help of religion (smelling nice helps too), then I guess you're doin' alright and it doesn't matter where or how you spend "golden years"...you're golden already.

"Ludwig Wittgenstein said: 'I wanted to write that my work consists of two parts: of the one which is here, and of everything which I have not written. And precisely this second part is the important one.' Do you agree with Wittgenstein and believe that what you haven’t written yet is more important than what you have already written?"

The quick, 3-second Wikipedia background check  : dude was a philosopher who worked in math, logic, and language...three of his brothers committed suicide, and he contemplated it himself. He's a major player in lotsa smart stuff, and was prone to mental illess. Alright; I can get down with him.

I think my man Ludwig is spot-on, and not just because I lived on Ludwig Ave. in my teen years, or worked with a guy once whose last name is Ludwig and has gone on to take pictures that have appeared in USA Today and in many other news articles all around.

Basically, and I think any person who writes anything regardless of their current feelings (be it writer's block, or a period of sustained the levee broke) can dig this: what we have already written and posted and published so far is a known quantity, and what lies ahead may be greater than we or anyone else can imagine. What's already been put out there has been seen, and we mostly know all we know about it...our own feelings, the criticisms, the stats, if you will. And yet we make the choice to soldier on, because at some point we will either ride momentum, or rediscover passion. The point is to keep believing and keep doing; remain optimistic in the sentiment that we can/will touch someone with something of varying importance to others. There was a certain joy writing brought us once, and whether or not we feel it, a reader might, so for that we must push on...even if we don't live long enough to see the outcome, the appreciation, the questions.

I'm on board with this guy.

Like, for instance: my personal writing output that isn't blogging has definitely lagged over the years, but not having internet the last couple of weeks sorta forced me back into (my version of) poetry writing, if only for the sheer time-killing enjoyment. Not great stuff by my standards, but items I'll eventually share ("Purpose?" came about after, of all things, a therapist session- well-timed with my current state of aggravation, "Nine-Four" and "The Broken Code For Remembering" are pretty decent, and "Cryptogram" might be my favorite, sparked from an ongoing conversation with pinkbarbie because I'm a difficult person at times). I know how what I've written and posted for consumption by others has been received so far. After awhile, the reactions settle into their respective places. But what isn't available yet, and what the reactions are, is a great unknown. Maybe they too will rest in the "Good, But Not Great" part of my canon...or maybe they're part of my turning a corner into some vast pantheon that centuries later will be discovered (like, when I'm triple-golden ). Who knows? There rests an excitement in that...like posting a blog entry where you get really deep and serious and wait for it to be liked twenty times because of how awesome it is, only without the disappointment of waking up to it not even getting ten views.

I'm not gonna rewrite the Bible or the Constitution. I get that. But I've made a difference to people before using only words, and within that lies the hope that maybe I can do it again. We all write whatever we write for different reasons; there are as many genres and excuses and feelings as there are interpretations and understandings and circumstances. We like what we like and that's where we gravitate toward, and sometimes the lines are blurred and we become drawn to something completely out of our comfort zone because one blurb smacked us up in the domepiece with the importance. Once in awhile, we're the domepiece smackers, and we know it, and it's a great feeling...and that leads us to think that we can do it again. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but if we stay true to what we do and who we are, then we won't be so consumed with being it, and we can just keep doing it.

Also, eat a good breakfast, and like the Good Sir Of Canada Brother Nature once said, "Never give up."

It does sorta feel nice not to have to pick out music related to dead people, even though I love the research that can go into Rez Juke entries (I learned a lot...like I'm not Cinn -level, but I'm comfortable with where I am and open to more discovery). That said, the playlist changes often along with what life throws at you...today, I was almost sated by using David Bowie's "Golden Years", but I hated it because I hate obvious shit (not that Bowie's shit by any means...just a...well, you know). So I'm out on my walk after the church stank episode because I'd planned to go afterward anyway to CVS to get me some strawberry sparkling water (my god damn everyday thing, because it's delicious and cancer-causing aspartame) and the cute girl works today (I need to stop with the whole cute girl thing at drug stores, but that's another biographical story for another day) and this song comes on and I'm like "YASSSSS!!" so I don't care if this has showed up in an entry or six before. I'm about this daily, because from what I've seen, a reboot is in order. Maybe it makes you sad, or it clashes with your worldview, or I piss you off, or whatever. My blog, my life, don't care. We all see things through different lenses...not like I'm gonna bomb Paris or Atlanta or your hometown anytime soon ever. A Republican presidential candidate recently got away with saying "Shit Stuff happens"...and it's not like I'm close to bombing anything or becoming a Bush brother bent on carrying out Reagan's "blow 'em all up" terrorist campaign. I'm just sick of real people doing real people things in their environment...so much so that I don't have time nor patience for fake people and their propaganda. If I'm gonna grow old and stink, I want this played at the wake for me no one goes to but seems to know where the banquet is held after I'm grounded six under.

"Nothing
seems to kill me
no matter how hard I try."
Lyrics.  

Like I mentioned up above, I haven't been totally inactive when it comes to writing. But I've been reading my ass off too, which is amazing because I don't know if I've ever devoted so much time and effort into reading before (and I've worked in a bookstore- with positive results- for the love of your own deity). I credit the Goodreads app on my tablet, which has kept me accountable for what I've read and liked and shared and progress I've made (if you want to see my truth about it, mouse yourself over here  ). I think I signed up for it in spring or early summer, and I've read 17 books so far, which sounds absolutely ridiculous to me, but I guess it's legit. And so many of your WDC friends are already my friends and your friends and are doing it, so you should too (peer pressure thing in effect)...Elle , Grateful Jess , 💙 Carly- Hello 2025 , Jeff , they all do it. Get that app. Impress your friends with your reading skills, or just mystify yourself with all the reading you do, and get some inspiration to read something else out of your TBR (to be read) list/stack. You'll thank us all.

And I've added to my virtual TBR pile, thanks to the coming across of The Bloggess, Jenny Lawson  , and the new book she has out, Furiously Happy. My local library system, while it's great with all the new-ish DVDs they have (and the sorta nice people that work there now as opposed to the cagey, stuffy shitheads before), has me 9-of-11 on the local waiting list for this (which means there might actually be some seriously smart and/or depressed people on the same waiting list). I may have mentioned her before, but the link to her blog was in my Pocket (another great app you should get, for syncing links between all your devices), and I found out about her via an NPR article, which...

Today is the 20th anniversary of "This American Life"   on NPR. Back when I moved to Cortland all I had was a radio, and it was NPR and oldies all the time here at The Gable Inn. You're never too old for NPR, as I learned. It's informative, helpful, cleansing...especially when it's all you have between crosswords and Sudoku puzzles. In the midst of reorganizing my room (another pitfall of no-internet boredom) I came across one of the radios I had, and I almost pulled it out just to have some "current" noise going on, but I didn't feel like trying to pull in stations I was no longer familiar with and I grew obsessed with my iTunes account (where there was music I had not realized was no longer available unless I'd downloaded it from my purchase history again) and then I dropped an 18-gallon plastic tub containing my cd collection on my head while trying to store it up in a nook in my room...Thank you, November; as if I needed more head injuries. But hey, NPR is pretty great actually. That's my word.

And finally, my man Charlie Sheen came out as HIV-positive   this morning, and the media wants to eat it up like there's no other shit to worry about...like no one else is winning; the tiger blood has been swallowed up for good. Fuck 'em, I say...good for this guy, this a-hole, y'all think. No, he's not a god damn hero, but he's brave for coming out and saying it, being in the position he's in...how many others are hiding it? How many people have watched his tv shows, and secretly (or not so much) loved his characters, and gave his assholery a pass in the past because he's a batshit actor? Like he's the first one to have indiscretions. Yours just aren't as public as his. I'm cringing just thinking about how ridiculous the Facebook and Twitter worlds would be if they existed 25-some odd years ago when Magic Johnson (only perhaps the greatest NBA point guard ev-ahhhh) retired from the game because of his hivvie prognosis. Oh, the outpouring of racial epiteths on social media! "That <n-word> deserved it!!" No. No one deserves a disease, no matter what him or her does. Eat from the hobo's bag of suck that I referenced earlier in this entry, and tell me otherwise. Tell me any asshole deserves what he gets because of his stature, bombast, or shithead living, and I'll tell you all about someone fighting for his life with a disease you can't see and I'm absolutely sick about ringing the bell for. And I know depression isn't the same as HIV or AIDS, and I'm certainly no celebrity (even though I'm still the Blog Champ, in my words), but hey...don't fuck with someone who comes out for anything, even if it's for their own sake. Deep down we're all human, fighting our own battles...sometimes it comes out with Tiger Blood, and sometimes we become hermits searching for why we are the way we are. We're all dealing with shit...even the postcard families waving around at you from across the coast. You just don't know...you never know. Just be nice to people. I know it's been said before, but someone's fighting a bigger battle than you, so stay humble. <insert a haha here...no, don't; let your audience do it>

Alright you people, I'm gonna try to eat something because I foresake lunch and wow is a nap from that calling me. Know where your bread is always buttered, even if you're the one butterin'. Peace, don't let the world bring you down, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!

Don't act like y'all don't agree with it.