"I'm a man with special needs and she's a woman who understands them."
Anonymous
Friday, February 15, 2008
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Fear and Apathy
I guess I fake apathy, and I'm too stupid to be fearful of anything (or at least I used to be too stupid). Since I officially declared I was a writer, I haven't written anything. Is it fear? Apathy, perhaps? I don't know. Maybe it's just I haven't a thing to say. Have their been events in my life noteworthy of my acerbic prose? Possibly, but I'm not talking...at least not today.
How's my love life you ask? Thank you for your concern. There isn't a love life. I've been left with just life. Wait a minute, did I just reduce life to a consolation prize? See, I told you I was acerbic. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm bored here. I'll never pilot a commercial airliner, bang Meagan Good, or become the first black president of the U.S.A. (thanks Barack). So what's left? Wasting my life away selling crystal promotional products to mega-corporations who have more money to burn than the, say, Burundi? And do you ever wonder why they have money to burn? Because the taxes they should be paying are paid by John and Jane Q. Public. They are allowed to make these obscene profits and pay no taxes-how fucked up is that? While the little man, like myself, can't even write off the child support he pays. How did we allow it to come to this? I guess it's like anything else, those who are willing to risk it all and go for broke sometimes fall short, but when they hit, boy do they hit big. How could one have the audacity to, in a country that was founded on the principles of shaking the shackles of tyranny, create tyranny under the very noses of those who would swear on a stack of bibles as tall as the former World Trade Center buildings that tyranny doesn't exist in this country? I mean, come on, our elected officials no longer represent us, the executive branch of the government has morphed into a monarchy, and the judicial branch seems to be at war with itself. In the immortal words of Marvin Gaye, What's Goin' On?
Do I give a shit about my job? Good question. No. I do give a shit about eating, sleeping in a warm bed-inside a sound structure insulated from the elements. So by proxy, I guess I do give a shit about my job, but I'd never come out and admit it. Working for someone can kill your spirit if you allow it. I guess I just believe that my talents should take me somewhere. But I can hear that clock ticking. Too old to be a world renowned rock star. Don't want to grovel to become an actor. I'd love to get my PhD. but I'm a minimum 5 years away from that...so I guess I'll blog and write songs to ease the pain of my fear-ladened, apathetic past.
At first this entry was going to be a litany of excuses as to why I'm where I am in life. I was going to start with the failure to commit because Mr. Charlie always spoils the party excuse, but as I poured my morning bowl of cereal, my argument began to sound extremely weak. I kept seeing the faces of those who'd found success and thinking, "Why didn't Charlie rain on their parade?" Because they didn't allow him to. And if you let someone rain on your parade and you fail to commandeer an umbrella, whose fault is that? With that said, my limitations are not all self-imposed. Could I have become a commercial airline pilot? No, eyesight's too bad. Could I bang Meagan Good? This questions requires our attention. If you do the math, Meagan will probably have 10-20 sex partners in her life. That's less than .00000002% of the world's population, so, statistically, I'd have a better chance becoming president of the United States than banging Ms. Good. There are only 300 million people in this country and a decent percentage of those are ineligible because they are either felons, illegal, or naturalized citizens. But quite frankly, I wouldn't want to be the presiding puppet of the U.S.A. I'd be too tempted to dismantle the Federal Reserve Board, and we know what happens to those who attempt that feat (JFK anyone?).
So here I sit, wondering if this is what life's all about. You spend all of your time trying to stay afloat in an ocean with a constant undertow. Eventually, the ocean wins. Yet we still fight-dream-believe that we can beat the odds. All of the people I know are just treading water, and some of them not so well. So many of us are focused on the trappings of largess, because there is where we find our identity. I want to go back to the day when we lived in huts and life was simple. Sure, I'd miss my iPod, my laptop, and microwave popcorn, but I know I'd find something equally as entertaining to occupy my time. And maybe even that wish is an illusion. Maybe there isn't a time where we didn't struggle against something or someone from somewhere. Maybe to live is to struggle and our only respite in the midst of attempting to survive is the occasional bout of fear and apathy. So no longer will I beat myself up for being too fearful to take a step. After all, this world is a dangerous place. And perhaps a little apathy is just what the doctor ordered because constantly swimming against the tide can be exhausting. I guess I'll just continue to swim upstream until my fins grow weary, or until it's time to float downstream, upside down, with my eyes open and my life complete.
How's my love life you ask? Thank you for your concern. There isn't a love life. I've been left with just life. Wait a minute, did I just reduce life to a consolation prize? See, I told you I was acerbic. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm bored here. I'll never pilot a commercial airliner, bang Meagan Good, or become the first black president of the U.S.A. (thanks Barack). So what's left? Wasting my life away selling crystal promotional products to mega-corporations who have more money to burn than the, say, Burundi? And do you ever wonder why they have money to burn? Because the taxes they should be paying are paid by John and Jane Q. Public. They are allowed to make these obscene profits and pay no taxes-how fucked up is that? While the little man, like myself, can't even write off the child support he pays. How did we allow it to come to this? I guess it's like anything else, those who are willing to risk it all and go for broke sometimes fall short, but when they hit, boy do they hit big. How could one have the audacity to, in a country that was founded on the principles of shaking the shackles of tyranny, create tyranny under the very noses of those who would swear on a stack of bibles as tall as the former World Trade Center buildings that tyranny doesn't exist in this country? I mean, come on, our elected officials no longer represent us, the executive branch of the government has morphed into a monarchy, and the judicial branch seems to be at war with itself. In the immortal words of Marvin Gaye, What's Goin' On?
Do I give a shit about my job? Good question. No. I do give a shit about eating, sleeping in a warm bed-inside a sound structure insulated from the elements. So by proxy, I guess I do give a shit about my job, but I'd never come out and admit it. Working for someone can kill your spirit if you allow it. I guess I just believe that my talents should take me somewhere. But I can hear that clock ticking. Too old to be a world renowned rock star. Don't want to grovel to become an actor. I'd love to get my PhD. but I'm a minimum 5 years away from that...so I guess I'll blog and write songs to ease the pain of my fear-ladened, apathetic past.
At first this entry was going to be a litany of excuses as to why I'm where I am in life. I was going to start with the failure to commit because Mr. Charlie always spoils the party excuse, but as I poured my morning bowl of cereal, my argument began to sound extremely weak. I kept seeing the faces of those who'd found success and thinking, "Why didn't Charlie rain on their parade?" Because they didn't allow him to. And if you let someone rain on your parade and you fail to commandeer an umbrella, whose fault is that? With that said, my limitations are not all self-imposed. Could I have become a commercial airline pilot? No, eyesight's too bad. Could I bang Meagan Good? This questions requires our attention. If you do the math, Meagan will probably have 10-20 sex partners in her life. That's less than .00000002% of the world's population, so, statistically, I'd have a better chance becoming president of the United States than banging Ms. Good. There are only 300 million people in this country and a decent percentage of those are ineligible because they are either felons, illegal, or naturalized citizens. But quite frankly, I wouldn't want to be the presiding puppet of the U.S.A. I'd be too tempted to dismantle the Federal Reserve Board, and we know what happens to those who attempt that feat (JFK anyone?).
So here I sit, wondering if this is what life's all about. You spend all of your time trying to stay afloat in an ocean with a constant undertow. Eventually, the ocean wins. Yet we still fight-dream-believe that we can beat the odds. All of the people I know are just treading water, and some of them not so well. So many of us are focused on the trappings of largess, because there is where we find our identity. I want to go back to the day when we lived in huts and life was simple. Sure, I'd miss my iPod, my laptop, and microwave popcorn, but I know I'd find something equally as entertaining to occupy my time. And maybe even that wish is an illusion. Maybe there isn't a time where we didn't struggle against something or someone from somewhere. Maybe to live is to struggle and our only respite in the midst of attempting to survive is the occasional bout of fear and apathy. So no longer will I beat myself up for being too fearful to take a step. After all, this world is a dangerous place. And perhaps a little apathy is just what the doctor ordered because constantly swimming against the tide can be exhausting. I guess I'll just continue to swim upstream until my fins grow weary, or until it's time to float downstream, upside down, with my eyes open and my life complete.
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