D-Minus

Usually these posts are nothing but a negative rant about this, that, and the other. I suppose this is okay, because there is no real audience, and this is mostly about working through singular issues as they occur in the day-to-day. Sometimes, I think there might be a little humor here. Other days, I find absolutely no humor or merit at all to what’s piled up below. In the end, it doesn’t matter.

Negativity is a poison, and I’m trying to get it out of my system the only way I know how. In rehab or in twelve-step situations, a person is always encouraged to talk through their problems. I always thought this was bullshit, and I still do. My prerogative has always been to do something about it. I think a person like me is aided very little in talking through personal issues. Now, when someone actually does something tangible, well…that’s a somewhat different story.

And I’ve not been particularly good at action, either. I’ve said for a very long time that there are a number of factors in play that contributed to a drunken lifestyle, and that the drinking was only a symptom of deeper difficulties. I still believe that. For example, I still generally hate myself, but I think I’m becoming somewhat easier for others to navigate on an interpersonal level. There is little chance of random arrests, asset forfeiture, bench warrants, etc. And consequently, maybe I hate myself a bit less than eighteen months ago. There are now significant periods of time when I don’t completely disgust myself…And most of the things I hate most about myself, I’m working to change. I’m not even trying to correct all that shit—just to make something different out of it.

The only thing that truly ignites any action at all is my lack of desire to talk about anything. I mean anything. I don’t want to talk about the weather, politics, the length of the grass, a leak in the roof, and especially, myself. I have nothing to offer any conversation where the topic might be what’s going on in my head. For starters, I have no fucking idea what’s going on in my head about 99% of the time, and that other one percent can be usually reserved for the instances when I’m wrong about something, but I’m convinced I’m right. It’s unfortunate.

And it doesn’t take much to initiate the action these days. It’s almost always some comment made in passing by one of the few people I know, and there is an overwhelming desire within me to not have that particular comment ever made to me again. My father probably didn’t have any idea at all what was going to happen when he made the comment not too long ago: “There are plenty of projects you could do around here that don’t involve you climbing around on that goddamned roof.” Well, he was right. Unfortunately for him, I most certainly don’t want to discuss any of those things with him until they are done. He’s gonna have to trust me on this one, and it’s got to be one of the hardest things in the world for him…the den was his room as a child, I’m told…and it’s going to be torn to shit for a little while longer. I’m not spending half this winter sick again. I’m convinced the ridiculous levels of mold and mildew infesting this place from years of neglect had contributed to illness last year. That situation is gone, but a whole new problem now awaits…

So I suppose the only thing in the world I have going on that is modestly interesting is the fact that the most badly damaged pieces of this house are getting fixed. My crew isn’t very big, but what do you do? I’m thankful this year I have so many people who’ve been patient with me over the past year and a half. I’m trying to get a little more patience myself these days. I’ve been told it’s a virtue.

Blind Man Driving

I’m a terrible blogger. I don’t care about that, but it’s a fact. There should probably be something interesting going on in one’s life in order to provide content for a semi-periodical publication. I’m lacking that. Maybe, in this case, where the stated goal is cheap and ineffective therapy, we’re finally getting somewhere here. For starters, this thing hasn’t cost me a dime. I’ve saved hundreds (maybe thousands) of dollars, and I’m still not a highly functional person.

Progress might be happening…I don’t know. When the bar starts out on the floor, it’s a pretty easy obstacle to overcome. It’s taking a long time to raise the expectations and demands on myself. Maybe I’m doing that right now. I’m not the one to ask. I know nothing about myself, except that I’ve wasted a lot of time, hurt a lot of people (including myself), and really haven’t contributed anything of note to myself, my family, or my friends. It’s good to know where you stand, at least.

Painting gives a person a lot of time to think. It might be a good thing, and it has the possibility of becoming a very bad thing. It’s kind of interesting to think about what the hell I was thinking about a year ago at this time when I was painting. There’s so much time wasted on frivolity—and the very nature of painting is quite temporary—there isn’t much of a chance anything I’m painting will look even decent in a decade. Paint is transient on a continental steppe. As transient as any mood or feeling…

The things going through the mind a year ago make absolutely no sense to me today. I’m getting more confident the things rushing around in there today might well make no sense in even a week. In a year, I might not be able to even decipher the swirling mess that now exists. Today’s stew is notably better than last year’s stew—still inedible gibberish.

I still follow sports, for example, despite the fact that I’m aware it’s one of the very few things that can get me truly bent out of shape. The thing is overwhelmingly out of my control, and I still sometimes get upset about events that occur among people I don’t know doing something better than I ever could, and I get upset because I have chosen a side. I’ve taken some rooting interest, and with that interest comes inevitable comparison/contrast, celebration/damnation, success/failure…and I guess I still care because the good can be pretty damned good. Or because I’m a fool. Or both.

That aside, politics in this country/state/community has become sort of the same type of event. There is one side that seems to be clearly overwhelmed and much dumber than the other. Sometimes upsets (common sense) occur, but more often than not, silliness and stupidity rule the day. I’m not claiming I’m bright at all—I’m not. Given the opportunity, I could rip a page out of the phone book, and within an hour or so find an auditorium of people quite a bit smarter than me about an incalculable number of things. I don’t know shit. So I’ve got to somehow turn that personal deficiency into an asset in the coming years. Unfortunately, I’m quite stupid, so I don’t exactly know how to devise a plan to make that happen. I’m too dumb to even know where to start, except that I’m pretty sure I have to make myself a little smarter, at least, in order to make it happen. It’s a terrific dilemma. I hope, I suppose, to find and listen to what someone has to say about that someday…I’ll likely be too stupid to recognize when it’s happening, and I’ll fail to give the advisor an audience, in all likelihood.

Now that I’m stuck on the subject, I’m not sure I’ve made one good decision in my life. Almost all the “good choices” I’ve made were made more or less on my behalf—my elections were made by default. When a person is backed in a corner without a true choice, or a plan of action laid out and directed as an alternative to demise, I guess that’s not much of a character builder. I guess sticking to the plan is something, but I’m not even sure about that.

It’s the life choices I’m talking about here. I don’t necessarily want to be alone, but I sure as hell don’t want anyone around making me miserable. I’m told by others that it doesn’t necessarily have to be that way, but I honestly don’t think I’d see a good thing if it were right in front of me. I have absolutely no confidence in my own ability to discern good from bad on an interpersonal level. I have to classify everything as categorically “BAD” and work back from that point. I don’t trust people at all. I’m told I do to an extent, but most people out there say the things that they believe are pleasurable to the ear. People aren’t deliberately assholes, usually. There are exceptions to every rule, and I seem to be living my life through being always wary of the exceptional.

There is no guidance, no direction, and no point to this discourse. I know that. This is the everyday state of my existence at this time. Maybe someday I can improve on this.