Back to Typing
The first time it happened the man felt pretty bad, but each time after got easier, as they tend to do. It's not the easiest, to go back and forth on every issue, to constantly go between fact or fiction or lies or truth, to wonder and wander, to pursue.
So much writing. Hours spent pining over this material, hoping it would get read, hoping an audience would follow suit, hear the words, feel the words, and come running. But then they're out there, and nobody bites. The fruit of my words, they go unpicked, unchosen.
But then it occurs that in order to get folks to read your words, your words have to mean something. Make them count. Make them matter. Make them mean a thing, anything.
Attached meaning to a saying. Have that saying mean what you've attached to it. Together, the two of them, they're intertwined, and all of the sudden, we have ourselves a meal.
Come dine with me, by the light, this light right here. Oh, it's not the brightest light, they never are, these ones you can get from the Halloween store. What a spot. It pops up for 3 weeks a year and then disappears. Like herpes.
That's probably not even true. It can't be. Is it? I'm not sure how most things work.
I don't. I see, I perceive, I can infer. I make common assumptions. I assume. We all do. And then I discredit. I judge, break down, condescend. It all happens so quickly.
Why are words still coming.
Last week I bought a few succulents from Whole Foods. Good prices. Decent amounts of money. They wanted seven dollars for a little nubby one in a blue pot. I gave it to them. I gave them the amount they wanted and I purchased that tiny cacti. It wasn't difficult. Just pay what people want and you'll never have to have a confrontation ever. EVER.
When things get hairy in life, from my experience, it's when people don't want to do what someone else wants them to do. Go there. No. I don't want to go there. Do that. No. I don't want to do that.
That's when tempers flare and flared tempers are scary things. Keep your temper, they say. Don't lose your temper, they say. You know what I say? Here's my temper, I just lost it, take it, I'm going out for a bit. Just a bit. I don't want my temper anymore because my temper is a drag. It's like the most high-maintenance Bonsai tree ever. Constantly needing pruning, watering, sunning, re-soiling. Jesus, just LIVE already. Why do I need to do so much to maintain you. You're a temper. If you leave now, you'll come back later, after I've had enough time to miss you, but for now, FUCK OFF.
And then I hear folks check themselves into Anger Management, to help maintain that calm, that temper, to keep the evenest of keels. I actually think the opposite needs a little attention, though. Happy Management. This is running rampant in certain parts of our country, I've seen it, it's weird.
Folks that are TOO HAPPY. They're amongst us, seemingly normal, but ultimately, this person, this one needs more help than the Anger Management guy. Because that guy is one good thing away from being fine. Just one decent thing happens and that guy's anger level plummets. But the Happy Management gal? They're one bad incident away from being MORE HAPPY. Exponentially MORE HAPPY.
'My cat got hit by a car? Oh well, it must be the universe telling me to get pregnant! Yippee!! THANKS UNIVERSE!'
WHAT? They don't even make rational connections. They. Just. Get. HAPPIER.
Why all the canoodling? Ever see those couples, The Canoodlers? I don't even know what I'm talking about. At first I thought I meant a couple that makes out at dinner or a movie or on a bench at sunset. But now I think I'm talking about something else entirely. Oh well, we'll leave that there for a bit, see if I come back to it later.
So, for instance, saying the phrase 'for instance' really doesn't make me pay anymore attention to you than I was before. If your explanation of something that I'm unsure of requires you to say 'for instance' we may as well part ways now. We're not similar souls. Don't lay out your explanation for me using similes and connections. Just tell me the thing. Say the thing. Don't give me another thing to explain the main thing. Describe the main fucking thing. Here, let me put in some other words, for instance, just describe the main fucking thing.
I feel now that I'm a bit rusty around the edges, trying to find my voice again, after focusing on other things, like art and commerce and making money and breathing air, and I've gotten some grime around the edges with this shit now. That's alright. I've gotten into pockets that I feel comfortable again. Little pockets, sure, but that was my nickname in high school so it makes sense.
Seems like there are stretches when I've got a lot to say and other times when there's nothing. Having opinions on things is tiresome. Always having an opinion? No thanks. I don't what I think about most things that happen, really. I know how I feel about the big stuff, sure, but the small stuff? No clue. Some people float around in their opinions, like they're in a pool full of 'em, just floating on their backs and gargling and spitting out their opinions. And they recycle their opinions, because when they spit 'em out, they never make it very far because nobody else wants 'em, so the opinions fall right back into the pool and the people, they continue to float and spout. Float and spout.
Wow, I remember what it is now. To write. I need privacy. I need some time.
I need some Justin Anger Management time. But just give me one decent thing and I'll be good for a month.