Getting it out
I used to use this space to hurl up and out all the crap that was eating me alive from the inside out. I used to use it to purge an unshakeable thought, like a funky 80′s hook song that just wont get out of your head. I used to use this place to share my fear and my frustration, for some reason thinking it made a difference to get it out rather than keep it in. I believed that once a thought or an idea was exposed to the light, taken from the dark corners of my mind and illuminated by the monitor, spread out across the ether and viewed by the masses that it would lose its strength. Like cutting off its hair or something.
I also used this place to comment, although vaguely, on some certain experiences. Not so much a journal or diary like comment, more of a ‘this is what I’m thinkin’….. and only those closely involved would know what I was talking about. I liked that for a while. Now I just don’t know.
I forget more often than not that there are people out in the world that actually do read my blog! No one has ever been more surprise by this than I am. I forget that what I am writing about, no matter how vague may make someone think, “Oh, he’s talking about XYZ”! I am amused how some people think, no matter how vague, that I am writing about them. I am disappointed when the person I am writing about, to, misses it completely.
I suppose I could stop being vague but that opens up a whole ‘nother squishy, squiggly can of worms. Slander, defamation, liable, blah, blah, blah. Not worth it.
So, what the hell am I writing about? Oh, yea! I was thinking that I need to stop being so open about stuff even when vague as hell about it. After all, there are people reading this. The decision is really this; do I care who sees this or not? Does it make any difference? More importantly, will I alter the way I write and what I write about because of it? “it ” being those readers that I may or may not know are taking it in.
At the moment, I don’t care. I don’t care who reads what I think or feel. I don’t care if someone is hurt by my words because they think it is about, or to them personally. I don’t care if they miss the point even when it is pointed right at them.
I write for me. To excise my dark parts. To get them out. To continue to move forward in my program. I got lost along the way last time. And when I did, I stopped writing. I held everything inside and eventually, it came to life and began to devour me from the inside.
I’m back to fight back.
Excuses
I heard an interesting comment recently that has rustled around in my head like a few fallen leaves, caught up in a corner, the wind spinning them ’round-n-round in a seemingly endless yet, pointless dance. Eventually the continued abrading will break them down to dust. I wanted to get this out, written, committed too before that happened. The comment is of importance and I do not want that lost to me. I am sure there is something of value in this.
I am sure it is value to others as well. As sure as I am of that, I am sure they will not see it.
“Excuses are just another form of lying”. There it is. Simple. The rest of the conversation, presentation on this thought was pretty long. I am going to paraphrase and hope I keep the parts that made me want to remember it.
In the long run, whatever we do, we do by choice. Because we chose to do it. Period. When someone asks you, “Why did you do ‘that’”? The proper answer is, “Because I chose to”.
Most people will instead launch into some form of an explanation. They will give an answer that is full of reasons for it. Some things are truly valid, believable, honest reasons. These are usually the kind of things that no one needs, seeks an explanation for. Exp: “Why did you pull the rip cord on your parachute”? “So I would not bounce on off the ground”.
It is the other things, the lessor obvious things that we turn to excuses for. The difference between a reason and an excuse is sometime very slight and difficult to see. There is however, a difference. Usually the one, the person giving it is the only one that does not see or hear it.
Why are you an addict? Why do drink so much? Why are you a liar? Why are you a cheater? Why do you behave like a slut? Why are you thief? These are the kind of questions that have few reason but lots of excuses. Lots.
Taking the available information at hand, using it, abbreviating, twisting, embellishing or deleting, whatever it takes to rationalize your behavior. That is what makes an excuse a lie. Takes if down, degrades it from a reason to an excuse. When the true information is manipulated in anyway to make the rationalization work, it becomes false information and the excuse therefore, a lie.
I never thought much about it before, certainly not in this way. Why am I, do I, did I? Because I chose to. There are few reasons for much of it. There are many, many, many excuses. So much information presented in a way to rationalize my behavior. Maybe I am trying as hard to make it make sense to me as I am trying to make it makes sense to anyone else.
I like to look at it like this. Not only because it makes me look at my actions in a different light, it makes me look at ‘yours’ differently as well. Mostly because of all the excuses I have heard over the years, all the times I was to blame, I was the excuse for someone else’s actions make more sense to me. I chose to do what I did. You chose to do what you did.
Period.
Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself. I’ill do the same.
Looking at the excuses also makes it easier to look at the habits, the things that are re-occurring. Looking at those I hope will make the habits more clear, the basis of those habits more accessible. In turn, I hope to use that information to break some of the less healthy, unproductive habits. Change, get rid of those and I will not need excuses for my behavior, actions. I will either have reasons or simply say, “because I chose to”.
Give it a try.
Love to be hated
I once again find myself the object of hatred. Hated by people that have not met me. Not talked to me. Have no idea of who I am. They simply know what I am not.
I am not the right age. I am not monied. I am not educated. I am not succesful.
I am just who I am, what I have become by waking up each day since my birth. Too many times for some people.
If I was wealthy, I mean, really wealthy, none of the other things would matter.
If I was younger, they would matter only half or possibly even only third as much.
Oh well. I am not.
Even you, who say it doesn’t matter, have already made up your mind. For all the same reasons.
There is a part of me that feels the same as they do. Probably even more so. You see, I know me. I have something to base my hatred of self on. I have seen what I have and have not done in this life. I know what I am deserving of.
I try to be angry with them for judging. All I can really do is laugh at how feeble and weak their hatred is compared to mine.
Why am I here? Why do I put myself in this situation?
Perhaps I just love to be hated.
naughty
adjective, -ti·er, -ti·est.
2.improper, tasteless, indecorous, or indecent: a naughty word
3. Obsolete . wicked; evil.
Related forms: naugh·ti·ly, adverb, naugh·ti·ness, noun
Synonyms : 1. willful, wayward, misbehaving.
First, let me apologize to all of you who were expecting (looking for?) something “naughty”. This is not it. Well, I say that in only the first sentence. It may well be very naughty before I consider it complete. You see, this isn’t about ‘something’ naughty, or ‘someone’ naughty it is about ‘NAUGHTY’!
All languages are made up of words, the English one being just choke full of the damn things with more being introduced every year. There are multiple words for just about everything thing you can think of. There are words that do nothing but describe other words. Words that alone would be useless, relying on more words to be more than just a stain on a page. There are many really great words that make even the most basic, inane thing seem glorious. Words that can cut and words that can heal, inspire and destroy, build up or tear down.
There are just a bunch of freaking words.
However, I have come to the conclusion that topping my top ten favorite words must be the word Naughty.
The dictionary form up above may give some little bit of information on this magnificent word but not anywhere near enough to truly capture the potential and grandeur of the word.
Say it with me now – Naughty.
How did that make you feel? What did you think? Did you smile or smirk, chuckle or giggle? Did you wonder why you said it aloud when you know damn well I was not saying it with you?
The thing is, this word conjures up all kinds of feelings, emotions in every person that hears or says it. Sure it has a definition and a proper place to be used. BUT – this is a truly gifted word my friends. A chameleon of words if you will allow me to go so far. A true gift to the mouth and mind.
What other word could be used to describe not eating a vegetable OR having sex with a vegetable? Naughty does not have to be sexual but, it tends to make it there sooner than later. I didn’t see any reason to sugar coat it. You can give some one a naughty wink or whisper a naughty suggestion. Done with smile it means one thing. A smirk something else and a Nick Nolte DUI Mug shot look/expression takes it to another level entirely.
Naughty can be good, fun, exciting, exhausting or criminal. It can begin as any of these and become another or run through them all like an obstacle course. Naughty can be whatever the ‘user’ wants it to be!
That is what makes this my favorite word. I can have a naughty good desert or a naughty walk. I can give you a naughty wink or naughty glare. A naughty caress or naughty spanking. I can love the naughty nature of something or hate the naughty attitude of someone.
Yea, I know some of you that actually know this language will say it all means the same thing but I gotta tell ya, yer wrong! Naughty is a word that changes with every utterance – wholly dependent on tone, inflection, gesture, body language.
I love my love of this word as much as I love my naughty thoughts about it!
Thank you for listening.
Ah CRAP!
Back to 1 tomorrow.
All I fucking wanted was dinner!
