“Quite evil, the perceived reality — nothing real cooperates.”
I feel it hard. Very hard. I woke up this morning, imagining a different scenario of being approached by a woman for conversation, since I usually don’t start them myself. After failing to get a ride for something, there I was, with a pit of emptiness. I couldn’t take a score of sleeping pills or jump off a bridge, but my heart could stop. I struggle this year to survive the core illness. (You know I’m alive if you’re reading this.)
On Friday, the library was closed, but I couldn’t stay in the mold-riddled, smart meter-saddled house. The day went nowhere, and certain pressures that shouldn’t go public were building, so I went back home. The emptiness and pointlessness came over, and I ate the remainder of the snack box and the thin spaghetti. For Handcuffed, I could swear I’d clicked ‘Publish’ the day before, but the post didn’t go up.
The ‘approachment’ sounds like the “invisible man” story because the first paragraph in Background to Fore has basis on my past. That’s what made it so easy to start, that Saturday, left on break to finish the next day, only adding one paragraph, rewriting the last and tweaking the whole for flow.
How do you maintain willpower seven days a week?
“With a hole in one’s heart left unfilled, how does one’s heart continue? Do you suffer alone the consequences of decisions made forgotten?”
I’m too conscious a person, observing everything I can see, wondering why others don’t. Of course, I realized they were busy, especially busy rising and maintaining social and work status.
I still believe in freedom of mind — to remain open-minded, but I lose the ability to socially move in my broken expectations. I could talk about anything to the best of my abilities. In being quick to critique, I could spoof just about anything. In a good mood, I can still do it. I could come up with all sorts of fantastical stories. But, “He works to no avail.”
It’s the exception that no one talks about. To be ignored to death. Other than enthused Facebook members, you primarily hear success stories, or the marketable, “whatever helps the economy” whatever. And don’t forget the walking advertisements. It’s a “joke” today, a game to big brother government and illegal institutions, giving the bigger criminals a slap on the wrist. Whoa— got political there.
As if pretty images and emotionless text can really describe life. In this ‘blogosphere’ the popularity, of course all goes to the adventures, the relatable ups and downs, the forgettable entertainment, the brilliant guides and the bottomless well of comments that follow. More views go to cute animals and…guys in Spandex™? “Poop Adventures!”??
Well, on a lighter note, Heather Atkins won the Bucket List Travel Photo of the Year—the lions pic. And an…organic T-shirt company for turtle conservation is now following. Okay…
Expansion of intelligence requires effort. I have some obsessive-compulsive qualities that make that IQ growth happen. It becomes a waste when no one utilizes it. I do know of one blogger that will visit with the mere ‘humor’ tag…I’m not doing that.
Hopefully, the sh*t will change. But, so far, hope is rendered meaningless; anything good gets contaminated.
Does a former drill sergeant make for a bad psychiatrist?
“’You know what makes me sad?
YOU DO! MAYBE WE SHOULD— ‘CHUG ON OVER TO MAMBY-PAMBY LAND,’ WHERE MAYBE WE CAN FIND SOME SELF-CONFIDENCE FOR YOU, YOU JACK-WAGON!”
[Lee throws tissue box over patient.]