Back from the brink

clffShutting down your life is more difficult than you might think.  Maybe just for me.  It takes a great effort to not think about the things that you most desire.

For the last week, I have disabled my Facebook account, turned off all notifications from this blog and unsubscribed to various lists I have been on showing me places to hike or go on vacation.  I did my best to cut myself off from the outside world in hopes of learning something about myself.

I boarded up my windows against the unrelenting Texas summer sun, cranked down the air conditioner and began a marathon of Northern Exposure.  I had recorded it off of TV and made myself DVDs a few years ago.  My plan was to watch it all once I moved to Colorado.  Since that is currently out of the question, I decided to do it anyway.  I enjoy Northern Exposure because it depicts life in a tiny Alaskan town where people are friendly and life is simple.  I enjoy the Indian culture as well.  It means something in a world where culture is lacking.  Watching it helps take my mind off my own world.

I had not planned on doing any more blogging for a while but found that I missed the therapeutic value I get from sharing my thoughts and getting them out of my head so they won’t just swirl around up there.  You don’t want to have too much pressure in your head. It’s bad for you.  I would hate to have to drill a hole to let it out.  Too much blood might get out as well.

I am not done with my removal from life.  Just letting it out a little.  There is much left to learn.  I am leaving Facebook disabled as well as the comments on this blog.  I’m doing my best to control my thoughts about making my life better.  It just causes too much frustration.  It is very difficult to do because it is human nature to want a better life.  You can’t fight human nature but I must try.  I will be making a list of things that I should not think about.

Overall, I am feeling a little better.  Time heals all wounds.  Even those that are self-inflicted.

Dreamblog – The Binary Compound

shoinsrtsI was working in a chemistry lab. A female co-worker was showing me a new product. It was two seperate pieces of rubber looking material shaped like Dr. Scholl’s shoe inserts. She put them together and you could hear sizzling as a chemical reaction was starting to occur. She quickly threw it into a fume hood as it burst into a cloud of toxic gas.
Suddenly there was a hug banging sound at the rear of the lab as the wall started to give way. Someone was trying to break in. My co-worker grabbed the remaining prototypes as we headed for the door. In the outer office, I opened a desk drawer thinking we might easily hide something shaped like shoe inserts in a drawer between papers. She threw them in and I shut the drawer. I listened at the front door and heard voices on the other side. We were surrounded.
Eventually the bad guys broke in through the lab wall. They tossed in some grenades that released sleeping gas. I didn’t seem to be affected but I pretended to fall asleep hoping they wouldn’t kill me. After searching the lab they must have found what they wanted because they were leaving. I got up and found a rocket launcher which I aimed out the door. One of the bad guys also had a rocket launcher and was aiming it at me. We both pulled our triggers but they just clicked. Each of us went for additional ammo.
My old friend, Vincent was out on the porch trying to hold them off with a gun. I heard him yell as he was hit. I called out his name but there was no response. I reloaded my rocket launcher and once again aimed at the guy outside. The rocket fired but bounced off him like a dud firecracker. His next shot was also a dud.
I fell back to reload again. Another old friend, Gregory, was just standing there. I begged him to get a gun and take the guy out while he was reloading. He did not move.
I woke up with the song, “The Stripper” playing in my head.

Dreamblog – Watching myself as a child

I was watching some old videos that I had digitized on my iPad. They were videos of myself as a child at various ages that became real. I saw my father taking me to ride a small train. I was having a great time as if it was the best thing in the world.
We were then at some kind of camp. There was a large spoon and little-me picked it up and pretended to launch a large spoonful of mashed potatoes at a crowd who screamed in anticipation of being hit by a huge wad of mush white goo.
I was sitting at a picnic table when toddler-me walked by. I said to him, “Hi Me.. Hi Me”. Toddler-me acknowledged my presence with a smile. I got up from the table and turned a corner into a building where my feeling of youthful playfulness melted away into real life. I woke from my dream with the call of work. I spoke aloud in the empty bedroom, “That was an awesome dream! Best dream ever!”
This dream made me think about my life. That boy in the dream was not me. Even as a boy my playfulness was stilted. I was always thought too much and was far too serious. I can attribute it mostly to my father’s death when I was 9. He was a playful man but I did not get a chance to learn it from him.
My attempts at humor became dark. Eventually I lost the ability to show playfulness on the outside. It only existed on the inside with no way of expressing itself. I didn’t learn the skills required for social life placing me deeper in exile.
Now I am a robot. I do what I am supposed to do while a little boy inside me cries. I wonder if there is any way to reverse the damage that is my existence. Can I ever learn to play again? I don’t even know how to begin. I will probably do some web searching and look for some books but I don’t expect I will find anything more than platitudes and shallow advice.
I feel that I need to address this issue because it may be the most important thing in the world. As I sit here remembering my wasted past, experiencing my pointless present, and dreading my empty future, I know what needs to be done. I just don’ t know how to do it and there is nobody out there who can help me. I am on my own and it is completely up to me to drag myself out of the hole I have dug for myself. I have great hope that I can do it but not a lot of expectation. Where is my angel?

The Death of my Soul

dp2.You know…  I think I give up.  I don’t have the energy to fight it anymore. It’s the last straw in the haystack of frustration.

Readers will know that I have been wanting to get a used RV in an attempt to make my life worthwhile for at least a little while.  I emailed my Homeowners Association asking if I can apply for a pass to park an RV in my driveway for just a few months while I repair it.  I got a standard Nazi response saying, “NEIN!  No RV for you!”  If they find out I put solar panels on my house they will make me take them down.  I guess I have no choice but to give up.

Frustrated with HOAs I revived my search for a house outside San Antonio.  I found one in a nearby town that was the price I wanted to spend so I drove the 30 miles to check it out.  It was in very rough shape with a tiny yard in a horrible looking manufactured house neighborhood.  I’ve lowered my expectations over the years and my options aren’t getting any better.  I’ve been looking for so many years now and five acres in the country at a fair price is just not possible.  I guess I have no choice but to give up.

If I step back and look at the few things that bring me happiness, it turns out they are all illegal or not allowable in some way.

1.  Collect Movies and TV shows on my hard drive.  Illegal.
2. Own a nice house in the country.  Not allowable.
3. Own a used RV. Not allowable.
4. Go outside naked.  Illegal.
5. Quit my job and live in a small house in Colorado.  Not allowable.
6. Go have a good time at a waterpark.  Not allowable.
7. Wear a speedo in public. Not allowable.
8. Have a friend who is like me.  Not allowable.
9. Have Sex.  Not allowable.

I guess I have no choice but to give up.

If I can’t do the things that make me happy then I must accept the fact that my life is completely pointless and beyond repair.  Nothing short of a frontal lobotomy will make my life better.  Living in this world of increasing Fascism sucks and it is NOT the world I want to live in.

I am just going to crawl into the deep dark hole of mediocrity and let my soul leak out into the dirt.  I can’t fight it anymore.  How do the regular people do it?  Have they no ambition?  I guess I am about to find out.

Motorhome Strike One

itskarvI just got back from taking a look at a 1990 Winnebago Itasca Sunflyer Motorhome.  I really like the design of this machine but this particular one was a little more rough than I am looking for.  I don’t mind the challenge for doing a major fix & renovation but I’m sure my Home Owners Association will not allow me to keep it in the driveway that long.

I am both disappointed and relieved.  I would have liked to buy it but it is nice to have looked at it and not be obsessing over it for a while.  I guess I’ll keep looking.  There are many posted on Craigslist every week.  I might also consider paying a little more for a newer model.

The strange thing is that I remember 1990 as if it was just a couple of years ago.  The plastics in this RV had discolored and the fabrics faded with age.  Seems that time passes way faster than you might think.  What do you mean 1990 was 23 years go????

 

Memory – Pay-Per-View

pprvw

Back in the 80’s, San Antonio was just beginning to get a new service called, “Cable TV”.  Before then we had an antenna on the roof that got ABC, NBC, CBS, PBS and a spanish station.  I grew up on PBS with Sesame Street and the Electric Company.  It wasn’t until I got cable that I realized that PBS was in color.  The signal was good enough for video but the color didn’t come through on that channel.

When they installed the cable we got an additional box that gave us the ability to get “Pay-Per-View”.  My first understanding was that it was “Paper View”.  My mom was a big fan of reading the daily newspaper so I thought it was pretty cool that we would now be able to read the newspaper on the TV screen.   That was long before the internet and we can still BARELY read the newspaper on the computer screen 31 years later.   No wonder it is a dying media.