SING A HAPPY SONG

So… just when you think ya have it all figured out. I mean to say in 50 years of living and learning… here goes… MAXIMUM EFFORT!!.

AND GO!

What a fucking moron. I can’t even tie my gawddamn shoes with out making rabbit ears… and 5 times out of 10 that fails too. Perhaps faulty fingers? Perhaps vision is failing?!!? I could blame it on malfunctioning laces. The shoe manufacturer does not have the best record.

I think everyone reading this knows where this is going…. I am a bonafide, dyed-in-the-wool, fucking idiot. I have a bad brain. It’s totally fucked. Even the basics misfire. Somebody asks me which way to turn, I’ll point to the left and say “Make a right here”, or point to the right and say “Left here”. EVERYTIME…I SHIT YOU NOT! And what’s more, I KNOW I am doing it as it happens and I can’t stop it.

Self reflection only serves to drown myself in the wallows of self pity/loathing. Realization simply adds to that. Been there done that over and over and over and over …. Ad infinitum.

Why not revel in my own little brand of madness. Many have been witness to me getting a bit, well, “unzipped”. Rejoicing in my bipolar, maniacal collusions (we don’t always collaborate, but always get the jist of ourselves).

Embracing ones self doesn’t always require a straight-jacket (oh… but it does feel quite exquisite. Self love they say…).  letting go of our societal-driven ideology of normalcy is much better than measuring yourself by it.

Truer words never spoken

So to this point, my life is a well read shit-show. Bad, horrible, choices. Life skills not applied. A bad science project. One that has gone disturbingly, unmistakably wrong and left the kids in the classroom covered in “lava” from putting too much coke in the baking soda (yes my life as a grade school science project would be that passé).

FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE. I push everyone out. Those I keep around are at arms length. It seems that after last year after having been gone three weeks for what was supposed to be a two day business trip, I returned home to find I was relieved of everything I had owned. TVs, appliances, guns, a crystal decanter my grandmother owned, a banjo that had belonged to my grandfather, items from my children’s childhood, underwear, socks……everything. Gone. I was left with a few dress shirts, after all, scum bag thieves have no reason to look good. By the way… don’t lie or steal from me, your next appearance may be on the back of a milk carton… not that anyone would be looking for you.

I froze. I couldn’t leave my home (which by the way, had utilities shut off by the time I returned home). I’ve never felt that vulnerable or violated. This is in the middle of summer in Durant Oklahoma. I was miserable,  but petrified to leave. By day three, I had realized there was nothing left to be taken. I was locked into a prison of my own making. Still had some cash and a ton of points at the local casino, so I held up in a room alone for a week. It didn’t help… Dodging work, friends, and family. I was alone and didn’t feel any better. I was afraid of each knock at the door. Of what, I have no idea. Nothing I was doing made sense… 30 day vacation is what I needed.

REHAB!!!

So that’s what I did… 30 days of all the caring and sharing I could possibly handle…. then it all went downhill.  One year ago… and it’s gotten worse. Common denominator is me.

Bad brain=bad choices.

Repetitive mistakes seem less trivial once you realize the mental, emotional, and physical impact that stems from your own err in judgement. Case in point: I am one elusive, guarded fuck, that has difficulty breathing, formulating sentences when put on the spot, that loathes others and is out of his element everywhere he goes. I fall out of communication with anyone who is dear to me. I hate social situations. My own anxiety is damn near crippling at moments. And commitment to anything is the scariest thing possible. The thought of dying alone is, at times a pleasant one. At least I would have no one to pull down into my wreckage…
As I stare out over the Baja of California… I recall the day I got pulled under the tide while on my last vacation with my narcissistic exwife in Cancun. Dumb bitch assumed I went to the bar or the room when I was 5 feet from her moments before. I don’t know how far I was swept out, I do remember the fear, helplessness, and desperation I felt in that moment. Absolute panic as I rolled beneath the surf, running out of breath I wanted to live, and so, I remembered what a co-worker had told me years earlier.

If you ever get swept out, relax and swim horizontal to the shoreline.. float on your back to save energy.


She probably has no idea she saved my life that day. But what if that had been my last day? But for what? The wreckage of the last 7 years would have been wiped out. Had I actually had any measurable impact in anyone’s life since that day? I feel the world may have been better off. Sounds like self pity, but truly, over the last 7 years I have been an absolute tool.

So I sit here, along side a steamy pile of my accomplishments from over the last seven years. Wondering why I have allowed myself to create this overwhelming pile of vexation. Unpaid bills. Relational wreckage. And a slew of debtors clamoring for fiscal justice.

I force myself up every day and go through the motions. I get up, go to work, sometimes even make it on time (although that has been rare lately). I do only what I must do while I am there. I put on a good face. Even muster up a few good jokes (After all, nobody will pick up on the foul, musty stench of depression when you splash it with the dazzling perfume of laughter). I do like to make those around me laugh. But I swear to God, that is even harder work than actually doing my job.

Current status:

Adrift through this vast, lonely sea of oppression. Having sunk my vessel, clinging to a buoy to keep from sinking to the bottom.
For some reason, no matter how bad I want this voyage to simply end…I can’t force myself
           to just…
           let go…

It Is I, the De-railer (my supername).

FAIL

We all pretend, one time or another, to be something we are not. Children like to pretend they are adults. The empaths like to act as if they could give a fuck. The lazy try to portray that everything they do, is in fact, the most physically draining of activities. Likewise the insane, like to believe they are not in the least bit crazy. Gaunt people tend to puff up a bit more. Some morbidly obese people like to pretend in public they exist on merely salads and water. “IT’S GLANDULAR, MY DOCTORS ARE PUZZLED.”🙄😏👍

But not all people pretend. Some people are completely self aware and unashamed. 10% probably have no reason to be ashamed, the other 90% are likely narcissistic, and horrible people. As for them, I feel they should be bound and gagged… slowly lowered into a vat of hydrofluoric acid, toes first.. over the period of an hour. As they are slowly submerged into the liquid, razor sharp darts are blasted through their bodies at over 100 mph. These high speed darts run them through, leaving a tiny cluster of nerves exposed. Each dart would be followed by a sharp blast of lemon and salt. The soundtrack to their slow death, would be David Hasselhoff’s rendition of “I’m Hooked On A Feeling”.

FUCK YOU, HOFF!!!

Ironically, the ‘Hoff’ will be the first narcissistic tool put to this death (I somehow need to incorporate little people dressed as clowns into this). Their screams shall be harnessed to power a “Puppy Playground Paradise”.

THE “BOOD” ABIDES

Not sure what lead me down that route, wasn’t my intended course.

Moving on, I have always considered myself a reasonably sane person. Capable of rational thought, a good conversationalist, not necessarily paranoid or … you know… loco!

Self destructive at times? Perhaps I am a bit guilty.

Self indulgant? Well, I do have an appreciation for some of life’s finer things. I mean when considering Jack Daniel’s, or say Whistle Pig…. duh!!!

This ain’t cheap hooch

I have never really considered myself to be one of… well.. “fractured personalities”. Ok, there exists the running jokes about Gemini’s and all…. PLEASE….The thought that I could be that insane, is absolutely preposterous. Where are the voices? HMMM!?!? What about marked personality changes?!?! The personalities stemming from other decades.

Not EVEN an issue here.

I mean, sure, I talk to myself, who doesn’t?!?! At least I am not answering that crazy son of a~ wait… just one.. gawd… damn… minute. Somebody is trying to trick me into something here… I am way too… um, ‘all together’ to fall for that.

LET’S PEEL A FEW LAYERS

There is just one thing that plagues my inner-most private thoughts. It is only really, wellll, I guess you could say a ‘slight’ concern? I mean really, if we are all being honest with ourselves… there is that voice of consternation in the back of our heads. Well mine could be considered.. (AHEM!)

A little self doubt…

……….concern maybe?

………………….Trepidation?

I (I don’t know how I should phrase this) allegedly, as silly as this sounds, I seem to put landmines in my own path, unnnn..beknownst… to me???

Hahaha… That is rediculous, I know. But once I began taking responsibility for my short comings and failures… I was compelled to acknowledge my roles in the stupid shit that has taken place in my life. I, apparently unaware, lay out pitfalls, landmines, bombs in my path to fuck it all up.

Mutually assured self destruction is defined to me as:
When one, or more than one of me, are out to get me. Plotting ahead of me, for my own demise.

This would insinuate that I am secretly turning the screws against myself. That I am not alone in my head. Could I be schizophrenic?!?! LOONEY AS A FUCKING TOON?!?! AN ABSOLUTE MAD-MAN?!?!

All the sudden, Pink Floyd’s “Us and Them” is streaming in my head, complete with visions of me wandering down a lonely hallway, in a straight jacket, mumbling the question over, and fucking over in what sounds like 20 voices simultaneously….”Is there anybody out there??” This eventually becomes riddled with maddening screams coming from inside my own head.

Gawd Dan, can you be more melodramatic?

“Yes, I, can.”

Oh fuck! Answering myself now...

“Lithium, party of 10!?”

(Slips the maitre d a cool C note.)

“Hey pops! Make it a table for 12, a couple more us of popped in. Should be a gas, Dadd-io…”

Go Un-fuck Yourself

Driving home after a long, exhausting day, I stare at the hippie crystal pendant hanging from my rearview mirror, placed there to serve as a reminder to myself. To remind myself to be wise where I place my priorities… I really ought to look at it more often. I lose sight of the important things when I get busy.

“Take your pick bro.” Tyler said to me as he proudly displayed an armful of these necklaces he made for this event, “There is one there that was made just for you man, it’s special.”

I carefully sorted through the array of the bobbles he made. I dug his energy we became friends the moment we met. Good energy, good people.

“I like this one.” I said, as I pulled one out of the lot. “Ooooh! That’s a cool one! I love the crystal, look at how flawless it is. Yours indeed!” He said excitedly.

I need to hang with Tyler soon.

And the following four days were probably some of the most amazing I’ve had in god-knows-how-long. I decided to start living life in a less stress driven manner. More dialed in with the hippie culture. Peaceful. Altruistic. However, I am Dan. I am wise in the ways of how to “UN-UNFUCK YOURSELF”. There is at least a million and one ways, that I have personally tried and tested. When you’re down in life and need to be uplifted… try to un-fuck yourself. Not un-unfuck yourself… that is counterproductive.

THROW YOURSELF INTO YOUR JOB. (This leads to un-unfucking. Method #987,769)

No better way to achieve a quick morale booster. Go 120%, stay late, come in early. Work hard, learn more about your job than you need to know. Seems legit, a exemplorary employee always does well at work. Don’t forget to forsake friends and family. Yup, this comes with sacrifice. But just think of the accolades you will receive from those you work with. Of course many of them will go behind your back and call you a “kiss up”, “suckass”, “brown-noser”, or my personal favorite, “MEAT MANAGER”. #WORTHIT

Surely this hard work and personal sacrifice will turn into financial gain. And dont fret, the increase in hours worked will also thrust you into a higher tax bracket. Uncle Sam must also be inversely rewarded for your hard work… wait? WTF!?!?

Meanwhile, unbenounced to yourself.. as you hit these targets, rise above these summits, your superiors use these monuments as stepping stones, creating a path to rise to their own success.

Oh yeah! Home cooking becomes a time luxury you no longer have. Off to dining out regularly, leading to less healthy choices in food – I can feel my arteries hardening already. Speaking of higher cholesterol, that reminds me about the added stress of extra hours. No time for R&R. To dampen the stress, you’ll take up drinking and smoking more. You are definitely going to get less sleep than is recommended. I have experienced the pains of a tightening chest several times this year, paired well with numbing of limbs, and the sweats. Fortunately, I have aspirin on hand. ‘Pop em like PEZ’ I always say. I’ve been meaning to speak to a doctor about this, but you know, I’ve just been way too busy to make an appointment. I am sure it’s fine, my internal organs will forgive me later while I work them far beyond their means. Worse comes to worse, there are auto-defibulators all over the jobsite. I’ll be fine.

INITIATE A NEW RELATIONSHIP

Always a great idea. Companionship is good for the soul. Even better if you find a broken person. A project. Someone who needs you. Someone who in turn sees your faults and wants to help you.

Now these models always come with baggage that can impact you in a moments notice (*DISCLAIMER: I can’t judge, because I too have a mountain of over stuffed Touristor™️ and Samsonite™️ luggage, tattered and torn, bursting at the seams that I drag everywhere). An ex that they are “over” but isn’t over them (this is usually two sided). That, and abuse issues, trust issues, and “remaining interested” issues, tend to overtake that new relationship feel in a moments notice. I mean let’s face it, every girl says she wants a nice guy, one that treats her right, doesn’t abuse her mentally or verbally. Opens doors. Buys flowers. Compliments her. Is good with her friends and doesn’t hit on them. Doesn’t lie, steal, or cheat. Cooks. Balances checkbooks. Mows the lawn. Fixes things. Loves his mom. Chops lumber, yet saves the forest. Dresses nice. Has good hygiene. Still has all his teeth. Just the right amount of bad boy, mixed with the “boy next door”. All things that just seem nifty in a boyfriend.(YAAAWWNNNNN!)

Yeah, they get bored with that fast. Believe me, the dating pool in our 40’s is teaming with these types… Yes, yes, I know ladies, single guys in their 40’s are probably not any better. But this is being written from my point of view, so go write your own blog! I suppose being in a rocky relationship like that adds a lot of excitement to one’s life.

One could fill in the blanks with damn near any detractor. Television, addiction, Hobbies, projects…The list goes on and becomes quite redundant. Exactly at what point do we realize, when we are not focusing on ourselves, we are more able to direct more energy and lend aid to others, which, ultimately, is way more gratifying. We are more able to lead truly fulfilling and satiable lives. The true purpose of life is found in what we unselfishly contribute. What we give to others we should never expect a reward or compensation from. Ultimately, it comes back to us tenfold, when done with the correct motive.

What about the things in which we seek reward from? Well my friend, that is the clamoring, the distractions, the noise. That noise causes us to lose focus on the beauty of life, the true meaning. True purpose of life, as I see it, is to care for one another. However we choose to protect ourselves first. We become self-seeking, forsaking all others. That is selfish and ugly. Just fucking ugly.

Well, if my toes and fingers yield an accurate count…

that….that is one million and 3 ways to un-unfuck ones life….

Boom! Boom! Boom! (You know what that sound is? Dan beating his head on the walls again?)

Poor walls.

Walls in my abode, walls in my mind, walls in my life. Endeavoring to carry out my bidding, to no avail.

All built to keep unwanted things out. Perhaps I mean, put out, as in a fire. Keep the light off the things I don’t care to have detected by my detractors. The darkness remains behind the walls. Only for a compendious moment.

AND DAMN THE DOORS!!! DAMN THE DOORS FOR SURMOUNTING THE WALLS. The doors, you see, will not acquiesce the walls to do their calling. Keeping the consternation at bay.

Do I keep having to tell you what a walls avocation is?! Keep..Things…Away.

DOORS!!! Preposterous things they are..

“Come in, come look at the wretched state this man is found!”, the doors seem to shout.

The voyeurs cast deceit in his face and scoff at his troubles.

The doors let them by, I tell you. The doors, are out, to get me…

Bolt them! Latch them! With 16 penny I shall harden them to their jambs… their hinges will seem frozen.. yet I hear them still,

“Come friend, open your door.. let us enter, that we should lend a hand!”

Mockers! All of them. Offer a hand indeed! Extend a hand as they run me asunder by foot! Trust them? They must think of me as a fool. I’d be better for offering my bare throat to their blades.

What’s that? A sweet voice!? Let me put my ear to the wall to hear her out..

“It must be terribly lonely in there…” she wooed me with her soft melody.

“See, I understand. I have been lonely too. Allow me to trespass, that we should bring each other conviviality..”

I will not stand here for this. The grain of the wood marking my forehead as I pressed against it, “I beseech you! Go from me, now!” I heard myself utter in a newly weakened and trembling voice, tears stained the wood.

“I know the yearning of your heart, beloved, let me tend to your soul.”

“All of my resolve, where has it gone?” I asked myself as I felt my fingers slowly twisting the knob of the door. I began to drift towards the now sullen, cloaked woman nearly effortlessly. Looking back towards that doorway only for a moment, just in time to watch my flesh fall to the ground…..

Pourquoi Nous ne Pouvons Pas Avoir De Belles Choses..

We

………wreck

……………….EVERYTHING!!

Whether by self-sabotaging, outside forces, wrong place at wrong time, or just casual wrecklessness.

Perhaps by design. After all there has to be a creative force, that willed us into existence, that drives this crazy car, called “Our Lives”. I could have wandered off into self will, and got into something that would have led me off my “designed (or intended) path”, so to speak. I supposed I’d rather have it taken from me, than me just being smitted, I guess.

Gross negligence is a recurrent cause. Keep forgetting to water that plant, it will soon wither away. Ignore your significant smother (misspelling intended), POOF!!!! That will go away too.

Buh-bye now!

I am not sure why I am so captivated by that disappearing hand..

Subconsciously, maybe we wanted it to go away, or to be just done with it. We did not feel deserving of it, or maybe, that the work was too damned hard to be worth the reward.

Even better, as my mom had me believing until I was old enough to stop believing in monsters, demons were to blame. They would step in to negatively impact God’s intent for a persons life, fighting for the greater evil. In retrospect, demons did make me do some baaaad things though… My parents believed that, once they found my copy of Mötley Crües Shout at the Devil album in my room. I was indeed possessed.

HIIIISSSSSSSSS!

Some like to believe in karmic fate. Some force in the universe that rights all wrongs. You hurt someone, so in turn, karma kicks your ass as payback. After all, Karma is a bitch. I think belief in karma, this mystical, imagined force that keeps the justice scales balanced, is puerile. Who made that shit up anyways!? So long as it makes you feel better.

Take that! Ya little terrorist shit!

I don’t know, there, perhaps are a few of the reasons that, as the title suggests, Why We Can’t Have Nice Things. But I am just spit-balling here…

How Do You Continue To Live, When All Is To Die.

It must really bother Aaron Lewis that he is back to almost bar like performances. That man’s got more talent in his pinky, than I got in my whole body. And he is back to where he started, almost. Yeah a whole lot richer, but still pandering to the same types of assholes in the crowd that love to get the attention on them and try to make you look like an ass. And he’s falling for it. I see him act like a child in front of an audience it disgusts me.

Ego is self-defeating. I see it around me all the time. Yet I cannot let go of my own ego. I fuck things up on a regular basis and then I stomp around like a fucking toddler. And all it takes is for me to be humble, understanding, and to see things from other people’s perspectives…

really.. just ..so very easy… DON’T BE A DICK.

Be vulnerable.

Which, of course means being open to being hurt.

Um… again? Excusez-moi? Pardon mademoiselle? Translated in English: Ummm.. pardon me, fuck you?

That shit never goes away. Memory of emotional pain always lies in wait, serving as a ominous warning or devious foreshadowing of some eminent foreboding danger.

“Don’t,” it hisses, “Recoil, run. Before it is too late, before it has its razor sharp claws embedded deep into your entrails, ravaging your insides, tearing your bowels apart. For it’s ultimate pupose, is only to shred through your lungs, stealing your every breath, so it can pulverize your still beating heart, and feel your life blood gushing out to warm it’s own lifeless fingers.”

It always seems to be much more readily available in my memories. The pain, the anguish. The times I have been mortally wounded by rejection, betrayal, deceit, or unkind words.

I have to struggle to remind myself of the few moments that I have truly experienced love. And in those moments, I remember how richly rewarded they had left me feeling. As if nothing in this life had really mattered before those moments. How ultimately contented, and completed I felt. And how, if I were to die in those moments, it would have been quite agreeable.

And yet, isn’t it ironic, how pain can make you feel exactly, the same way?

So how exactly does one….. well you know.. do that?

Hey There, Village Idiot Checking In.

I am Dan.

Slow to learn, long to struggle. I have nary a desire to continue struggling through one idiotic decision after another. Have you ever imagined what it would look like, trying to parent yourself?

Planning, lack of planning, gross misjudgment and intentional, outright defiance is what lights my twisted path through life.

I’m a comedian, a joker, or rather, I AM ….the “Grasshopper”. As in the Fable of the Ant and the Grasshopper, by Aesop. Strolling through life, not even once planning the future.

I am an extremist. Thank goodness I have not been approached by the Taliban. I’d get all jihadist on ya’lls asses! Can you see me in their customary dress and a suicide vest?

Perhaps my calling… nah!! I’m too pretty to splatter-paint a building or bus with my entrails (I’m really trying to convince myself of that). I still believe I will meet my end, slipping in a shower, while alone. Not a magestic end, to an epic life (trying to believe that as well). Not a fear, a hunch.

Jumping before looking, never sticking my toe in to test the water. So lessons never learned. Carrying the pain and hurts of previous failures doesn’t even serve as a lesson. I may as well have my mind erased. Pain is supposed to teach us… even the simple minded learn not to put their hand on a hot burner. I’ve managed to turn carpe diem into crapped and peed them, my drawers, and well life, bank account, mind.. etcetera.

Perfect illustration of my life would be as follows…

“That fucking brick wall is in my way! I know, I will….RAM. IT. DOWN!!”

Assuming the sprinters take-off position…”Think positive, positive thoughts… you got this! Ok mutherfucker, You got this!!” I tell myself.

As I slap my self about the face i chant to myself, “Mind over matter. Full speed…Take that wall down…GOOOOOO!”

Full speed and almost to the wall, I lead with my head..

BAAAMMMM!!!!

Several hours later, I wake up disoriented, dizzy and bloody. Having no idea how I got here, I only know I need to get somewhere. Taking in my environment, surmising my situation (all the while, not even a bit concerned with the fact that I do not even recall my own name), while holding my throbbing head between my palms..

That fucking brick wall is in my way! I know..”

Oh dear God, someone call for a ambulance and a straight jacket.

Over the past four decades, it seems my conscious self, my subconscious self, my moral self, and my physical self have all been involved in some sort of bizarre melee. AGAINST, MYSELF.

And every single one of these pricks are Irish. Stupid, belligerent, stubborn drunks.

And guess who is getting his ass kicked tonight?

And yet, I keep going

20 buck says that Irish prick in the wheelchair hits a wall.

ERGO I AGAIN, ON MY OWN

Shallow people are definately more common than those with integrity, purpose and depth. Look around yourself. Two of every three people you have right there with you, are more than likely only assessing the situation to see how they can manipulate those around for their own gain. One of them is trying to find a way to make it better for all.

My life has not yet formed a purpose. And here I am finding myself at nearly 50 years of age. I’ve always tried to be a decent individual, oftentimes failing. What is my purpose and just how do I leave things better than when I was here? I don’t have the money to be the altruistic financial benefactor for some magnificent cause. Time and kind words seem to be the only real currency that I have to offer.

The shenanigans and folies of a misspent youth are what has plagued my life so far at this supposed middle-aged I’m hitting. I still feel like a teenager, that is until I’m getting out of bed in the morning. And my behaviors are the type that one would expect from a pubescent teenager.

“IDIOT”

So where do I make my mark?

Local nursing homes?

Animal rescues?

Homeless shelters?

Battered womens shelters ( I prefer mine non-battered. Thank you)?

Local church? … I think I would make an impeccable Latter Days Saint

Ummmmm… NOT!!

Orgasm donor? (So not altruistic, Dan!)

So I continue to find myself seeking a purpose for me. Something that will make me feel like my world, my existence, has left behind something that has made this place better. It certainly is not my writing.

Popping dogs anal glands at a local groomer? Ew, no! But someone will have to do that, I’m far too much a germaphobe to be THAT altruistic.

Nothing to say

Repeat..Repeat…repeat

It’s tough when you love to write, and you have nothing to say.

Like being an empty vessel. Sitting in a void, a dark place that is absolutely silent, without even the company of ones own voice.

And it’s not even depression. Or giving up, or in.

I feel as though I am lacking insight or inspiration. Just… being..

Get up…………..

…………… Go to work

……………………….. Go home………..

…………. Go to bed………………………

****Repeat..Repeat…repeat****

I don’t remember the last time I have watched, or for that matter, appreciated, a sunrise or sunset. Perhaps I need to do that.

As I reflect over my words, I realize it could be….

…DEPRESSION.

WELL FUCK MY LIFE!

My life doesn’t suck… geez Dan always so dramatic.

Time to face the fact that perhaps,I am chemically defective. Yup, broken. Emotionally handicapped. Cray -Cray

So do I go down to see my local psych doc. Let him poke around the old mass of grey matter. Pick at my emotional and mental regions so that he can stamp me with a label that will keep me from owning guns?!?!

Fuck that!

Chasing is Stalking

A gentleman pursues, never chases.

Here is what chasing looks like, for you poor, blind, bastards.

She gives you enough attention to seem nice. Kind, courteous… never really stand-offish. Her “I love you” is more of a “let’s always be friends”. You’re not ever really a priority. If someone does not treat you as much of a priority as you treat them then it is time to relinquish the pursuit. You may have to accept friend zone status.

AND THAT IS OKAY.

I have a lot of females that are friends. Yes, just friends. And I have personally witnessed the pain, frustration, harassment and irritation they have to endure from “the guy that just doesn’t get it”. I have a friend that had to quit going to certain AA meetings just to avoid one guy that didn’t get it.

What does the guy who doesn’t get it look like?

DON’T BE THAT GUY ⬆️.

He turns up at similar places and bumps into you. Calls/texts incessantly. Never notices that you don’t initiate contact. Drops by unannounced. Puffs up when you introduce him to other male friends. I’ve really noticed much firmer handshakes when meeting friend-zoned suckers. 1/100 times, this will end well for you. But each one of these guys secretly believe they are one in a hundred.

He has a sneaky way of trying to metaphorically “pee everywhere” to mark his territory. A passive-aggressive pursuit. Tries to rearrange everything in his schedule on the off chance he can accommodate hers, seldom ever working out. Ladies, this is when it’s ok to not be nice, brutal honesty is very necessary at this point. Tell this guy it is not, nor will it ever, blossom into more. In time he will appreciate your candor.

Even give reasons to eliminate any doubt this guy will have that what you are telling him will not change for you. If he doesn’t get it, next course of action will be a order of protection, if you are wise.

Again, I blame cinema. And women who leave any doubt in a guys head.

A true pursuit involves reciprocity. Glimpses of interest from the pursuant. An occasional, “I haven’t heard from you lately, I miss you.” or “Hey, just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.” or “Hey, what are you up to this weekend?” , NOT followed with I need help moving, I don’t want to go to the dealership by myself, or I need you to look at my car… she is using you then.

She will contact you to thank you for the flowers, not avoid you, prompting you to ask her if she got them.

She will call you just to talk. She won’t talk about this guy she is seeing. She will use subtle, yet obvious clues she is interested.

You won’t have to call the girl, that you have friend-zoned, asking her “What does this mean when she said ______?”.

She will express interest in you, you can’t change her opinion or her feelings.

If you find yourself spending countless hours reading over past text conversations, scrolling through her social media pages, friend lists, leaving endless messages without a reply, and generally obsessing with little or no actual interaction… your a fucking stalker. Stop wasting your time. Get a healthy fucking hobby.

This guy doesn’t see how really sad he looks.

So get over it bro. As for me I’ve had many opportunities at love. And guaran-damn-teed I’ve fucked every single one up.

I have learned the valuable lesson of loving me, and being good with being alone. I know how unhealthy it is to try too hard. Yeah, it gets their attention, and they know who they can depend on, but it never is returned. And it is perfectly okay to give without expectations, so long as you are absolutely sure there is not an underlying expectation.

The greatest gift given to me in sobriety is self-awareness. The gift of knowing what a great heart I have. Albeit sometimes led astray by worldly clamorings.

I am fully prepared to live my days out, happily, alone. After all, this vagabond life is not for everyone. Such a big world, so much to see, and so little time.

I want to see it all…

Might As Well Go For a Soda

I dreamed of going to a party. Many people I love and adore will be there. So will the bitch that fucked me over. The bitch that made and broke so many promises. The same relenting bitch that took my soul, chewed it up and spat it out.

She made me feel 10′ tall and bullet proof when she was by my side. She gave me a false bravado. I couldn’t pass a mirror when we walked by together. “Just look how amazing we look together!”, she would whisper in my ear. “Everyone loves us, wants to be us.”

Over and over she promised me she would not let me fall or break my heart. Told me she would love me and forever care for me. Over and over she left me looking like a complete ass..

Now, I fear running into her in a weak moment. Everytime I have let her back into my life, I fall for her again. Letting her run my life, with every thrilling twist and turn bring more excitement. She slowly weeds through my group of friends. She gets her fingers into my wallet.

But, she is so seductive. Her lies got me by, up until they didnt. Her whispers seduced me. Her kiss warmed me to my soul and stole my breath. I drank her in deeply. I craved her.

I hate the person you turned me into. Weak, untrusting, untrustworthy. In your lies you taught me to fear everything. You blinded me to the man I truly am. Kind, caring, giving and loving.

So this letter is to let you know. I am done with you. If I see you at a event or party, I may smile at you, only at memories of the good times. It’s not to welcome you back, in fact, don’t smile back. If you do I’ll walk away.

Take this personal…. it’s not me …it is you.

Goodbye you cold, sexy bitch.

Fuck you disease!

Of Fearz and Neurotic Mania….Weeeeee! Let’s Go Play!!

So here I sit, frozen by fear. Fear of what? I have no idea. Perhaps fear of failure. Or rejection. Or just plain old the unknown.

Anxiety is a motherfuker. Especially when you have treated it most of your life with drugs and alcohol.

Doesn’t mean I’m not going to go forward and try doing what needs to be done next. I need to move through the fear, breath and know everything will be ok. In the mean time… it’s a bitch!

Being fucked is always a temporary status. Doesn’t take away the feelings you experience in the middle of your fucked-ness. Anger. Shame. Hopelessness. Dispair… FEAR. Fear that chokes the willingness out of me.

Fear of being..

.. a failure.

..wrong.

..right.

..ridiculed.

..in trouble.

..in debt.

..fired.

..hired (and what if I suck at the new job? Honestly folks!).

..yelled at.

..resented.

..physically or emotionally injured.

..denied.

..ambushed.

The list could go on and on, ad nauseam. It is insideous. This is anxiety on steroids. It’s why I can’t get sleep. It’s paralyzing.

If anxiety were a monster..

I am tired of being bullied by my own fears. Generally, the struggles do not appear on the outside. It is all internal. But the fact that others do not see this, does not make it any less real to those of us that suffer with these constant internal battles. Believe me, it is a battle. Never ceasing. Even as I lay down at night I am forced to endure wave after wave of anxieties demons striking fear and self doubt into my every thought. Sleep escapes me. Today is day five of three to four hours of rest.

THEY’RE ALL GONNA LAUGH AT YOU

I hate asking for help, being vulnerable. Being helpless. Or looking incapable. After all, I’ve done a great job with my life on my own. Right?

We have to be vulnerable. We all need help from time to time.

Perhaps the void of anxiety could be found in the center of being humble…

Now if that is something for me to chew on…

My name is Dan, welcome to my journey.

Ode to the Lady in Blue

Today is a monumental occasion. 42 years ago today a beautiful child was brought into this world.

Her life would not be easy. Her life would be trying. Her life would be full of trauma. She was pushed very hard. Harder than most. What would have injured most people, put in this woman a fierce determination for success.

She was not shown a good example of what love is, yet she determined to become an example of love in this despicable world. A place full of deceit, anger, hidden motives, selfishness, betrayal and ugly people… she chose to touch people with her loving light.

A girl who was robbed of childhood, became a lover of children and like a child herself. Though she was never made a mother she would have been a great one, I guarantee you that!!

Her determination awarded her certain successes. In that success, she chose to share it with other people. Helping to build them up and show them their own talents. She seems to have a knack for seeing in others what they do not see in themselves. She has an eye for beauty, of what dwells deep within.

One could liken her to a greens keeper. She could look at a plain brown seed and recognize the beauty it hides from the world. Most of us would walk past it and never think twice about the unnoticeable, earthy nugget. She on the other hand sees it’s TRUE potential.

Carefully, she gathers the seed and shows everyone the oddly shaped pit and raves of its beauty. People may scoff at her, “What do you see in that!? Its a useless nut! Cast it aside and rid yourself of it, it will be of no good to you!”.

Against their advise, she places it in rich soil and waters it. She turns the soil and nurtures it. Most importantly, she quickly plucks the weeds away from it. Weeds that wishes to rob it of its water, nutrients, and hide it from the sun.

She does this simply to watch it emerge from the soil. To watch the sprout become a stalk full of leaves and eventually blossom to the brilliant flower she saw within the seed. And in that alone she receives delight.

I hope you all get to have a person like this in your life. Mine has been enriched by it and I am constantly inspired by her. In her words to me, in my observations of her, and as a bystander in her life.

Never let your light fade. Those of us who can call you friend, are blessed beyond words.

Happy birthday, I see you.

Oh, I would be remiss to forget to add… BOY DOES SHE ROCK BLUE!

SO, EVRYTHING TAKES CARE OF ITSELF… (shit!)

Problem number one is solved. 100% single, and I needed that. I made promises that I don’t mind keeping, but would made my life more difficult, and let’s face it… I have a broken picker. Not pecker! Picker!

The thing is, you can’t keep the truth down. It always makes itself known. And I am now a lover of the truth. And apparently an obstacle or hurdle, whatever!

Truth is, it hurts a little. But it’s not the debilitating hurt. Rejection sucks. But I am worthy of far better. I know this. Sure she was young and sexy, but for gawds sakes, have a little moral code. So many things I could say about this, about her… But truth is I may as well be saying this in a mirror. I’ve been guilty of the same.

Now to put my focus where it belongs, on my broke ass. I got a lot of repairing to do on my life, and believe me, it will be better than before.

I have a lot going for me in the next few months. By doing the next right thing each day, shits going to fall into place. In that, I have absolute faith. However my knowledge of what is the next right thing… well there is some inner debate, a dialogue if you will, as to what exactly the next right thing is.

Part of me, the very sick part, will tell me a good woman will help me to get shit straight, fill that void and straighten the arrow on my broken moral compass (Yeah right, you want more than your arrow straightened, asshole!!).

NO!!!! Dont listen to that dick!!

The other part, it tells me to glue myself into fellowship, walking through the steps of self learning, and rediscovering myself. Rediscovering the things I used to love to do. Off-roading, fishing, camping, and reading. Things that are important: friends and family, writing and the like.

That, and considering the fact that I may very well, die alone. I actually think I would be fine with that. After all, it would take a very incredible woman to change that for me. I doubt I will ever meet that game changer.

And sex… what about sex? I love it! Guess that will have to wait.. FML!!

Yeah… MOUNTIAN CLIMBING WILL FIX ME.

I’m not perfect folks. Just getting better. Sheesh! My name is Earl, I mean Dan, this is my story.

HEY, I AM SOBER…DOESN’T THAT MATTER?!

Sobering reality one.

People really don’t care what you’re doing now. What people know about you what you’ve done in the past. The only things that I can do is continue to try to change me. For that, I need Gods help. I ask him every day. Sometimes moment to moment.

I can promise people that I’m going to change. They need to see the change. You could promise them till your blue in the face. All they have to go on is history. I’ve hurt people. I’ve been selfish. I have reacted irrationally over real emotion. I have dropped out. I have not shown up. Have not answered calls, I’ve not replied to texts. I have straight up lied.

I have lost people… that’s a hard one to swallow.

Doesn’t matter what I say now. It’s important that my actions match my words. Telling people I’m going to get better… I would liken their response to what I told my high school girlfriend, “Sure, I’m willing to wait for sex, but you’re going to have to stop rubbing the outside of my jeans until we get there.” I’m sure you get my point.

I’m not coming out of this is a spiritual Guru. Hell I’m a straight-up shitshow to this day. What matters is making an effort every day to change. Consistency is key. Suit up. Show up. Participate. Be real.

Also, I need to remember, I am doing this for me. I am deserving of this.

My name is Dan, not Mark, not Greg, Dan is a drunk, pardon, addict/alcoholic. Not every day is perfect. Not every day is easy. But each day is a opportunity for growth. I am grateful to be on the top side of terra firma. Welcome to my journey.

Here I Go Again….

Y’all heard me say this before. Journey Of A Thousand Miles begins with the first step. Here is step one.

1. Came to believe we are powerless over (insert everything here) and our lives had become unmanageable.

Holy fucking understatement!

Imagine you’re cruising along. 100 ropes in your hand. Every single one is tugging from every single direction. People passing by, “Hey buddy! Do you need a hand?” All the while, one by one, each rope slowly slipping out of your grasp.

You simply look back try to charm up your most convincing smile, all the while sweat, profusely dripping off your brow, your eyes darting wildly in every direction and four more ropes slipping from your hands, ” Nope I got this, but thanks for the offer.”

“FUCK!”

HI, MY NAME DER-DER-DERRR!

I’m not sure how long I thought I could carry on that masquerade.

It didn’t last long. It wasn’t long before everything I thought I’d built-up came crashing down around me. My ego had gotten away from me. I thought I was being spiritual at moments. I was making it up, I was lying to myself and those around me. I was completely lost and wanted everybody to believe I had it all together. The lies you have to tell other people to get yourself to believe them. It’s insidious. Much like my disease. It snuck up on me I didn’t see it coming, I really knew it was there all along.

The beauty is today I don’t have to lie. I don’t have to remember what lies I told. I can be honest with everyone around me. I can be accountable. Once again I can carry myself like the man I have always been.

My name is Dan, I have came to the idea that I am powerless over people places and things and my life has indeed become and manageable.

Here is my first step. Welcome to my journey.

Hello, My Name is Addict… But That’s Not Who I Am……

For those of you who do not know what it means to be an addict, and alcoholic, a compulsive gambler, a sex addict, the list goes on ad nauseam….

OMG!!!!!! ADDICTION!?!?!

That is a label for people, who are otherwise driven, brilliant and often successful people… who have a issue with something that can get wildly out of control. Often the addiction makes a mess of everything in their life. As well as those who are around them.

Must be me age 11?

But do not mistake that label as the definition of the person. Regretfully, in society, that label clouds what lies underneath, an amazing person who is normally a beautiful, creative and loving individual.

To the people who are uneducated, uninformed, or have never been around such a person, addicts can be scary individuals. Addicts are capable of lying, stealing, embarrassing you, slipping, or out and out just totally fucking it up. But please do run and hide. Remember. Remember always. Addicts are scary people.

I say this in jest.

However addicts in recovery have some of the biggest hearts, have to overcome some of the biggest obstacles, and possess unmatchable drive.

How does one identify these so-called “addicts in recovery”? Excellent question!

An addict in recovery often has a smile on their face. Some, a sparkle in their eye. Many show real and raw emotion on their faces. They can often be found helping out others, looking outside of themselves, striving to do the next right thing. They do this with every fiber of their core. They show compassion. They sometimes over-react. Sometimes they’re just plain overly dramatic. They’re definitely not perfect people. But all are driven by something bigger than them.

At times they’re confused. Sometimes they can be irrational. But at their best? They’re absolutely beautiful.

If someone you know confides in you that they are a drug addict, an alcoholic, a sex addict, a compulsive gambler, or an overeater, whatever the affliction may be. Feel fortunate. They’re trying to be honest with you. They are trying to remain accountable. They’re letting you into a very vulnerable, private part of their life that could at any moment become a very serious matter. They’re trying to recover.

Please do not reply with judgement, sympathy, or avoidance. They may need to regain your trust if they have harmed you. But if they’re truly in recovery, and trying to better themselves, they just want to be treated like others.

Hi, my name is Dan, I’m an addict and an alcoholic. Welcome to my journey.

Yeah I believe I’m going to follow her.

NOT!!!

Can We Get a Reset, on Aisle (what aisle?… Oh, Ok!) All of Them.

Boy to say that our lives don’t go as we have planned out…

Quite the understatement.

I have been somewhat of an island. And there is a saying that goes no man is an island. Well let’s just say that as more of a prophetic saying than anything else because I failed to function normally.

PLEASE HOLD FOR SYSTEM REBOOT

Where am I at this moment of my life, I am being treated somewhat like a child. And in turn I am throwing temper tantrums as a child.

I am a grown ass man however I have failed to act like it.

Well… got so much to say, no time to say it.

But thanks ya’ll…. just for holding in there…. stay tuned…

Dammit, The Universe Ain’t Throwing No Breaks.

I’ve always been a believer, do good and good shall come on to you.

Lately it’s become: no good deed goes unpunished…

Oh I am not blameless. I’ve made my share misjudgments, bad calls, and outright shitty behavior.

Perhaps karma has stepped in from past wrongs that I have not yet atoned for. Who knows. But I don’t steal. Not to mention steal from people who I consider a friend, or someone trying to help someone who has been dealt a worse hand than himself. I always felt the need to help others.

What I saw was a hard working man, trying to clean his past up and had a lot of heart. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. He was human still making mistakes, hell we all are. The police officer/neighbor indirectly vouched for him in a side conversation we had a few weeks earlier, “He is a hell of a good guy, when he puts his nose to the grind.”

I didn’t notice the sidebar like I should have.

Leap forward to a work trip that would have me on the road for almost three weeks. He or his girlfriend would call almost every night to see how I was doing, to let me know what was accomplished around the house. For two weeks. The last week nothing. Neither would answer a phone. They communicated through a friend the phone was “damaged”.

I began to worry, not for them, about them. Spidey senses tingled a bit too late.

When I got home, the back door was unlocked. Electricity was cut off. The only thing I asked of them in return for staying there was to get electric paid. The place was ransacked. Not just mine, but the other tenant who was away. Only things of mine that were left behind was a crystal decanter that belonged to my grandmother and a older personal mac computer. I know he left the decanter of mine behind due to the sentimental value it had to me. Even took every pair of shorts, socks, t-shirts and underwear I had there. Left my button up shirts, how kind.

Anger, rage, betrayal, and hurt all in one huge slap. I felt exposed, violated and stupid. So fucking stupid. And hurt.

Dumb-hurt?

And to add insult to injury, the other tenants family came to get what was left behind of hers and accused me of stealing her things. And… took the decanter, my tablet, the toilet paper I bought (who does that?) and who knows what else before I realized it.

I’ve lost hope in humanity. People are fucking evil. Redemption is a fucking lie. Mankind IS the devil.

I really need my faith restored.

Give me something God!

FAIL MEANS FOREVER

True love is a thing only real in the movies. It doesn’t happen that way ever… when it does it fades quickly.

The flame that burns twice as bright, only burns half as long.

So true. The longer you invest in something the more you yeild. I love fiercely… and to my detriment. It hits hard and fast and then fades just as swiftly, and is always on one side. Never both. The heart break is crushing for one of the two.

And here I find myself driving away again. And with each passing mile I feel the separation becoming greater and greater. And the feelings fade away. She is somebody I will always love. But it won’t always be the same. And if I was being truthful, I would love if she were the one. I watch the romantic feelings dessicate and note a lack of appropriate remorse. Truth is neither of us will be crushed. A little bit of honesty never hurt anybody. But it does make me sad to realize this.

Authors Edit:

I removed two pictures that were seen by the person that I wrote about in the above paragraphs. I didn’t think she would read it as she wasn’t a follower or subscriber of my blog. I am sorry she saw it that way. And if you ever come back to revisit this post, I truly am grieving that portion of the relationship… I miss looking forward to what could have been… and in truth, it never waned, I had to shut it off to save me.

-Dan Dan

I’ve given up on any idea of forever. And it’s kind of sad because I’m quite a romantic. I have attempted love… over and fucking over. It fails. I guess the fail is the forever. I have hurt some amazing and wonderful women, that quite possibly could have been my forever, all due to the fact that I did not realize I hadn’t yet gotten over my exwife.

So again I am back to the idea of finding true happiness and true love within. I am “seeing” myself now. I am Gemini after all. I’m serious, he’s not (asshole!). We are quite happy together in all honesty. He is coming around.

Self-reliance for me is being happy with who I am. It’s being happy when I’m alone. When you stop being reliant on other people for your own happiness you can actually start being happy, and share that with other people again. That starts with coming to terms with your flaws, your demons, and beginning to walk through your struggles.

And that is a daily thing. A true forever struggle. That is where you may find your forever.

https://youtu.be/FicaTt-zUZ

It’s Over, Dead, and Gone. Signed, – Human

When you miss an old relationship, always remember, you are missing what it was. It WAS. Time changes people, circumstances changes people. It’s like missing a ghost…. you are missing something that is no longer there, and hasn’t been in a long time. It does nobody any good sitting around digging up old bones.

You can miss your “what could have been”, but even that is not real. All of that is past tense. Good to have memories…. but don’t live in the past. There can be no future if you are stuck in the past. I believe it is better off left to the archaeologist, the anthropologists, and the dogs.

So then in moving on, oddly, I thought moving on would be the hardest thing I could possibly imagine.

But in that moment of final goodbye, cutting all ties… only a sigh of relief. No more mind fucks. No more saying just enough to keep me dangling by a thread of hope. No more attempts to reel me back in. No more wishing I could go back. I let her feel like it was her decision. I was over it. But I needed her to stop. I had long stopped trying to talk with her. I in fact had been over it for a good long while.

Total relief.

She was the biggest anchor I ever had tied to me. Bigger than meth. Bigger than anything I could have battled on my own. She was my disease, my sickness. My curse.

She wasn’t always that way. She was once amazing. And that is what I had held onto for two years following the divorce. The amazing left in the final years of our marriage. I suppose it was a mixture of reality meeting her ideology. Perhaps a dash of her spiteful moms influence, a huge helping of a dysfunctional me, and a splash of resentful kids that she forced herself on (with my ignorant assistance).

TAKEN TWO YEARS POST DIVORCE

We all do what we feel is best, the difference is if we operate off of what we feel is best for ourselves, or others. The narcissists meets the philanthropist. Do we chose to care more for ourselves or those around us. And that my friends, is not always black and white. No one amongst us is perfect. Some are less so than others.

And it’s not for us to judge, I’ll let God separate the wheat from the chaff. I’ll just continue to try to be better than I was the day before….

And cut anchors…..

The Big….Meh

We require human interaction.

Or do we? Could isolation be a cure? Can we completely shut ourselves off from the constant dredge of having to validate one another? Incessant desire for emotional fulfillment? Being open to hurt, pain, heartbreak.

What if it were just me, and a canine companion? Nothing to rely on, or to have to measure up to?

Just cut the rope.

Isolate.

Recoil.

Society is draining, as are relationships. Cumbersome. Burdensome. Exhausting. Hopeless, full of demands without yielding. How, then, would one achieve self-fulfillment? How did the mountain men survive without companionship? What about the physical aspects? Touch, embraces, affection… SEX?ķ

Are we merely being told we need those things to survive, in efforts to create another dependance?

Having once been a lover of people, a self described poet, philosopher, comedian, and gregarious humanitarian, I find myself growing tired of the effort to maintain interpersonal relationships. Tired of lies, let-downs, and questioning my worth to others… I find I don’t really like people. Wasting time and energy to sustain bonds and allegiance to others to have them eventually dissipated to a disappointing nothing is just that. A waste.

I’ve realized for years I have this overwhelming capacity for empathy. I see someone get physically hurt, from a small paper cut to breaking bones, every last nerve ending in my body sends out wave after wave of electric signals. Almost like walking directly into a wall, in pitch darkness. Emotional pain in others causes sadness, in such an overwhelming manner, that I feel it as well. When people say “You can’t possibly understand”, I actually do.

I can’t tune it out either. I see someone that is in emotional duress, I instantly sink down to their level emotionally. My average day is a constant rollercoaster on this Carnival of Feelers.

And my pain, my pain is overwhelmingly debilitating. It is soul crushing. And each cut seems deeper. So to cut all ties seems like the ideal remedy. Hurt, pain and the like all are imminent. It is lurking around every corner.

Can one survive without interpersonal relationships?

I shall see.

However.. I know this is impossible.

Greet another day. Fake another smile.

How’s that for “Getting Real With Myself”?FUCK YOU AND YOUR DR. PHIL WANNA BE TEXT MESSAGE! Best of luck in your new marriage.

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