Feeling somewhat decent, I say what what

"So shines a good deed in a weary world" -Willy Wonka

I woke up today, feeling as usual, less than stellar. I am definitely not a morning person. I had a bizarre dream that my father-in-law punched me in the nose, and nobody cared. In fact, the rest of my family said I deserved it. Weird. Well, I was in a crummy mood upon waking, getting dressed, and driving to work.

My co-worker had a dilemma where she accidentally erased important information off of her digital recorder. I got on google, and by God's grace, I found a way to recover her data. I am certainly no tekkie but strangely I was able to help her avoid disaster. Go me!

I was thinking about life today, and what is it that gives us pleasure for the longest duration. Buying something new, getting married, having a child are all things that soon lose their luster and leave you scratching your head. Why am I not happy now? One could ask themselves. I don't believe it's about what you have, a child, husband, new car...etc. I believe it's about what you do and how you spend your time. I love my child and husband with all of my heart, but it's selfish of me to demand they become the source of my happiness. If that were so, then they couldn't ever be cranky, demanding or in a bad mood. I get irritated sometimes when I read about these women who say that their husbands are their heros or they stay miserable because they sacrifice for their children. I guarantee the children would prefer a happy mom over a miserable absentee mother. But I digress. For some reason today, I am not feeling very insightful. I must work on this mental lethargy. For now I bid adieu, adieu, parting is such sweet sorrow.

Blardy, blar blag

The time is upon me to start looking at myself, deep into the recess of my warped little mind, and search for the truth. I live a life of quiet desperation, yet, I am paralyzed by anxiety of doing anything more that just get by. I often find myself vacillating between self-loathing, self-acceptance, and self-denial. I am truly frustrated and feel isolated an alone. I talk to strangers sometimes on the web, and not for any perverted reason, but just so I don't feel like I'm so alone. I often seek out those who are somewhat neurotic and misanthropic like myself. I find them through friends, of friends. I get to know them before I even say hello. It's safe. I don't know if I will ever write professionally like I dream of in my own mind. Instead, I fear I am fated to work a seemingly endless stream of unfulfilling, soul-killing, and morally unsatisfying jobs just to support my family.

I love absurdity. When I am not a part of it, I have a genuine appreciation for farce and irony. There is just so much baggage in my life that I have to work through. So much. And no, I wasn't violently gang-raped by a band of roving crack-heads, or brutally beaten by a vicious captor. But it's sad all the same, and tragic. And it has shaped my brain, and force my mind to construct these defense mechanisms which, I still use to this day. Even at the zenith of any happy moments in my life, I feel this darkness creep in to my soul. It scares me, and depress me all the same. Ugh.

Good Nacht.

What's the haps on the craps

Hello fellow travelers and world weary warriors. I was very perturbed all day by a single thought, as is my compulsive nature. Point Break is a movie about an FBI agent (Keanu Reaves) whom infiltrates a bank robbing crime ring lead by Surfer God (Patrick Swayze). The movie dabbles in a little moral ambiguity, but there was this very simple scene that haunts me to this day. Keanu and Patrick are sitting around a bonfire, shootin the breeze, when Keanu mentions karma. Patrick Swayze looks over at him and says, "This was never about money for us. It was about us against the system. That system that kills the human spirit. We stand for something. To those dead souls inching along the freeways in their metal coffins, we show them that the human spirit is still alive."

Those words really shook me to the core. I was only 13 when I saw that movie, but I remember that scene so vividly, and vowed to not be a dead soul inching along the freeway. Well, fast forward 18 years, and what's happened? Yeah, afraid so. But I want to feel those lines, live those lines. I can't ever shake the feeling that I was destined to do something more meaningful than be a desk jockey. I want to open my heart out to the world and show the human spirit is still alive.

I don't know where things are headed. I asked the magic 8 ball, and it told me to ask again later. (Like its got something better to do, than to reveal to me its divine powers!) I've just got to shake off these empty feelings.

New Dawn, new day

I decided to start a new blog. My old one was full of crap and too much self-loathing. So, now for the introductory price of $14.99 I offer you 1/2 the crap and 3/4 the self-loathing.

I am trying to write this short story, at first it was for school. But now, it's for something greater. I feel like such a fucking failure in my life. I'm living in perpetual adolescene except more acne, more angst and more responsibility. The purpose of writing this short story was to let me feel like I used to, young, fresh and full of ideas. Except for one little problem, I'm old, used up, and brain dead. Trying to write this short story feels like doing an English Comp assignment after huffing freon. When I was young, I would write my name on a piece of paper over and over again until all the meaning was lost and it resembled nothing more than a bunch of random letters all smashed together. I feel like that's the vibe of this story. I don't know where I'm going with it, and when I re-read it, I cringe. It sounds too much like me, whiny and ridiculous.

And the thing is, I know who the real me is, and no matter how much I try to articulate that in any way shape or form, it's still muddled under my awkardness. I don't want praise or vindication. I just want to get this story out of me.

What the fuck am I doing?