Deon Who?

Gone but not forgotten… I mean forgotten but not gone, I am the always late, never great, Deon Mumple.  Since I’ve last written, there have been lows and lowers, I don’t get high, OR highs. Sure it’s depressing, but I’m on medication for that, which doesn’t do shit except cause insomnia during which I should be writing,  but instead I’m busy accomplishing nothing of any lasting value or actual worth.

So, I’m late again, by which I mean still.  Sorry for causing any alarm for anyone who followed this blog.  Oh. Nevermind.  Unless you’re the one who read with more than clinical disinterest.

Since I have last written, cars have broken down and been minimally repaired, and my own lovely money pit is only $2K behind, but runs without the things that would make it actually be safe to drive.  Other things have broken down and also have been minimally repaired, and we’re still alive but still in a general state of irreparable or unaffordable decay.

For unknown reasons and/or medication side effects, I have almost no energy and almost no manic days during which to catch the chaos.  I’m still doing mostly the same things I was doing including forcing myself to go to work every day and putting up with the bullshit.  Home isn’t exactly the same, I’m putting up with  significantly less bullshit at home, for which my family has well-overcompensated.  The less bullshit I accept as something I can tolerate, or shovel away for my own sanity, the more bullshit there is.  Too much to write about or shovel.

The boss has me back on a stupid mid-day shift start, which puts shift end at a stupid late time.  Still sucks just as bad as the last time.  I finally got a day off and washed a shit-load of laundry, my own for a change, in between hot flashes and sleeping and washing all the fucking dishes.  After which Mrs M got home and bitched about what wasn’t done and how what was done was inadequate, so no changes there, either.

The point of the article though, was to be that I had a paradigm shift.  All this time I’ve kept visualizing myself as a tool on a shelf collecting dust, but I was wrong.   I’m not a tool, except for not realizing it.  I’m dead and buried like a seed trapped underground.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  I know I’m supposed to leverage whatever good I can, except I’m still not sure how to properly leverage whatever good this is, in this position.

All this said to say, I’m alive, still facing the stupidity and my specific brand of insanity.  Good luck with yours.