Skip to main content

Free Writing - Take 91

Yell! Scream! Hit inanimate objects! This is what we do when we're mad. It's been years since it's gotten to this, but it does happen. It used to happen more and at the end of the day, it's more frustration than anger. Sadly, it seems that my life has been filled this frustration and this is generally my release. Did it feel good? Not particularly when it happened, but afterwards, when I calmed down, stopped sweating and someone made me laugh; yes it did. It didn't matter that the object of my frustration won't change and probably didn't hear one word, because why would anyone change after 45 years (the span of my life) of selfishness. When someone expends so much energy making stories about one person, to make themselves feel better about their own inadequacies, there is not changing that person. I've been told I think I'm always right, but I actually don't. I just need someone to explain what is wrong and believe it or not, I say sorry and you're right a lot more than people think. I've apologized to people out of the blue in the past year, for things they weren't even really angry about and it's not to toot my own horn, but to let people know it's OK to be wrong, but when you're so wrong, you've changed your life, in a very short period of time, and that change has caused others misery, it's time to take stock. The worst part of this anger and frustration is it was foretold by someone who had to deal with it as long as I did and right down to what it was over about. Picking someone relatively insignificant to fawn over. It was a pattern, that apparently has been going on since childhood and I was warned again more recently, another deathbed confession of sorts. So today, one might think I would apologize for my actions; hell, I always have, but no, today, I'm going to stand firm and there is not a single regret and there won't be. Ever!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

11 Rules of Life - Bill Gates?

I read this on Facebook this morning.  A friend had posted it and said that every child should have to receive this. I of course read it and started to think.  I immediately wondered who really wrote this, as I rarely see things like this attributed to the proper person.  I immediately found it was written by Conservative Charles J. Sykes when he wrote a book about how America is dumbing down our youth.  I read it twice and started to wonder how true it was.  Below is a link to the actual picture I saw.





So let's look at each of the rules and analyze them.

Rule 1: Life is not fair — get used to it! - Life is not fair in that we are not all afforded the same opportunities based on race, creed, color, socio-economic background, but in general, those who are afforded the same opportunities to succeed are very often rewarded for their individual efforts.  Sure there may be underlying circumstances, but hard work is proven to pay more often than not and those who strive for success, migh…

Out Of Options

Two winters ago, I was in a bad place. Physically, financially, but especially emotionally. Life, which has rarely been anything I could view as fair, had really begun to weigh me down. I was living in a motel room, paid for by my brother while awaiting a move to another state. A little late research revealed my soon-to-be new home was a bit of a nightmare. Think of Melrose Place with meth and hookers. The idea of flying halfway across the country with my cat, Swag, and less than $200 in my pocket was scary. Leaving everything I knew wasn't what scared me, it was knowing deep in my heart, I'd never return. 
It's always easy to put off keeping up with people when you're close, but as I've learned over the last four years, distance tests friendships, even those we view as true. One can't imagine the alienation of being broke, physically unable to walk, and having to rely on a motel staff's daily pleasantries to remind yourself you're alive. At times I que…

In Memoriam

For Shane

Yesterday, I sat in the library, thinking of you. As I pored over vegan recipes, tales of medieval monks, and descriptive biography of Yasujiro Ozu, I thought about you more. Who else could I call and discuss all three? Who else would be able to add insight to my last meal, movie, and chapter? I was tempted to walk, arrive work sweaty, but feeling accomplished, but a bump in the rode arose and I found myself driving. You'd have scoffed, claimed I took the easy way or accused me of always avoiding the circuitous route, in favor of ease. I'd agree, then buy you a beer.

Last night, I thought about us twenty-five years ago, maybe more. Rows of six dimes stacked on the bar. Cold Schaefer puckering our lips. Commenting on the old-timers, of which I am now one. You're not here to share those moments, that repartee or the serious moments we often shared. With every meal, movie and mountain life throws at me, I miss you more. There were years where we only spoke once. Thi…