In this day of post 9/11 world going to hell in the quite large spiffily advertised, cheaply manufactured, crappily assembled, quite possibly sabotaged, pre-ordered and awaiting hand carved by monks wicker basket - yes I am a irrevocably jaded individual - are well aware as a whole are cracked. To say: Broken, Fractured, Bent, .. yadayada. Publicly we watch schools have kinder gardeners arrested for assault and or charged with sexual harassment. Have teetotal BF's (bitch fits) when our specially crafted ubber swank latte's have one too less cinnamon flakes or quite possibly the pimply freak supporting a family of four before he or she is even twenty-one put one less sugar squirts or chocolate swirls in the friggin six buck a pop medium swag crafted cup. No longer do we blink and oogle when tits and brains hit the tv screen, but instead have loud lengthy blogs denouncing said show for NOT spreading boobs, beaver, and gun toting graphic gore within their appointed hour of brain leaching. - I know, I know, I'm just as addicted as you *stirring my own monk crafted sugar and crack laced Dr Pepper chocolate induced slurpee* - We are so screwball insane that when reality, LIFE, comes knocking its a true slap in the face... and what was day to day normality of our insane lives becomes absurdly surreal.
Case in Point.
I sit, after an insurmountable bout of Murphys Law kicking my ass into forced medical leave. Its not the first time, after all I am a confused convoluted mutt of such a blend Murphy seems to be quite possibly directly bio descended... that or the gods just love getting massive gigs off my stubborn butt. Right, so, usually on leave its short term or I defy and continue on my merry obstinate way... however, since last summer and more frequently to point the last 4 months, my butt has unhappily landed in such straights that I am eternally in WTF mode.
Oh yes, WHAT THE FUCK?? mode.
The fates full frontal slap around.
My career is the type that absurdity and adrenalin is bread and butter, rarely have I endured the Lucy Public life of worrying over shopping lists and kiddie drama or nightly feast orders while pulling on a rather unflattering maid uniform to polish the house before sludging my under appreciated Pollyanna self in for Burt's cock insertion and over inflamed oral demands.... - shivers horrifically -
Don't get me wrong, I think those chicks are heros!
BUT I am not one.
So, here I sit in a strange foreign land wondering HOW the FUCK did I land here. What the hell do I do next... and Where the hell did my life go??
More importantly.... WHERE THE HELL DID I GO??
It seems that I have gone from "no time due to work and insane schedule" to "dude, what fucking day is it??" while juggling mouses, lizard kings, and trying to manage wash/house/peeps/pricks/med demands.. and the nefarious caveman who is on his own adventure. This week I got the slap of reality when a call came in informing me of more serious med shit and then my uplink for work asking why the hell haven't I reported in and when the hell am I getting back in..... or out completely. I didn't even realize it was turning May!!
Suddenly I fell into a chair as wall met my head with the slap.
Mind flooding with everything. Every-fucking-thing that's gone down and personally coming apart. Finding it impossible to face that my brain is melting, literally, and my future is what? Waking to automotron life of Lucy Public and skulking around a house with the only choice of the day being which chair to destroy with my widening lard butt... well its not lard, but give it time it will be...
Normal life is... scary. Horrifyingly so.
I am not used to fighting a fight I can't win. Which is a fight I am in. A fight against a nameless disease that so far doctors can't name and just throw drugs at... drugs that barely take the edge off. While I drown in that I realized that I am unsuccessfully burying myself in everything but what I need, love, and want to do... like say writing...
I sit in a yelling screaming crowd completely alone. Not talking or dealing, just drifting in this plastic horrifying existence with no thought other than the next thing that implodes or screams for attention. Understanding the deep vast hole my brother and people like him stare into. Time passing without acknowledging it, my head peeking up occasionally for a slap.
Noting, when I do, that I am nothing like myself. Seeing a nodding, uncaring, nice numb subservient meat bag running through motions... and exempting a very few select individuals, surrounded by people who patronize me with fake understanding or hard fuck offs so that in the end my spot in the crowd is more akin to the island of the forgotten. Our society so self absorbed and tuned that if your out of sight you are indeed out of mind... then we should have realized that from the movie Beach when the islanders drug the sick away and let them die forgotten by gangrene.
Why should I be surprised when those I depended on are gone and that I find myself in blackball hell where I sit contemplating if those I love are alive and which hand exactly do I handle Burt with while juggling mouses, lizard kings, and all the other crap that comes with a screaming house of day to fucking day LIFE... all the while looking... no dying in desperate claws... for that exit off the horrific merry-go-round that will somehow, someway, some-soon-fucking-day get me the hell back to being ME.
... hopefully before I lose more of my mind and function.
The song flat out says it all.... but I am not giving up, I plan to take a good friend's advice and force a hour or two in my day to myself.. to writing. The rest and feelings, coping... who knows.
- had to get this off my chest... its weighing heavy on my mind. I can't hide from the hard choices or bury my face in the slurpee equivalent of a wet blanket and let life fling by... anymore.