It Still Matters

Despite my belief that the end is near, I also believe our choices still matter. Some would say, “If it’s all going to be over soon, who cares what we do? Let the good times roll! Let’s run the clock out, and have as much pleasure as we can.”

Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of the following truth: There is a God, none of us are Him, and He sets the “best standards” for human behavior, without so much as a consultation with a single one of us. (I know! How inconsiderate, right?)

He also sets the standards for what happens after the clock runs out. Your choices matter, until then. Choose well. Search for the Truth. You may hate knowing I’m right; you may want to scream at me to shut up, but the Truth is still there even if I’m not.

Find the Truth.

No Change (Excepting/Accepting) No Change, Until It’s Over

“There is nothing new under the sun.” So it says in The Text.

I’ve realized I’m at an impasse in my marital relationship. I’m not sure how it’ll pan out. I’m not leaving; I promised I wouldn’t. But it is an ongoing lack, an issue I wish didn’t exist. And it is a primary source of depression for me.

I can’t fix what I want, and I can’t fix what she doesn’t want. It’s not like crossing an item off a list. Without being too explicit, I made the mistake of asking, she requested I meet a list of demands as conditions of her incomplete surrender, I couldn’t meet the list in a timely manner, I got frustrated, and the moment was gone.

Sorry for being vague, but not sorry. Long story short, it was due to a lack of readily available resources, which I was apparently supposed to have been stewarding, but which I hadn’t seen since giving them to her to surprise me with. I’ll try again under better circumstances, and she’ll say “no,” again, for whatever reasons seem relevant, if the trend continues. Which really sucks. Or doesn’t, if you know what I mean. You know what I mean? Well, now you probably do.

I should be more considerate, and never ask. But the heart, as with the flesh, wants what it wants. Is love supposed to be easy? Is love supposed to be reciprocal? Is love supposed to even exist? I’ve read “Love is a Choice,” and “Love is a Decision,” and I agree. Then there’s a song teaching, “Love is a Verb.” All this does is cause me further frustration.

In love, one chooses: to ignore faults & failures, to do what needs to be done, to not complain, to speak (as it were) a different language in order to communicate its existence, to jump at the opportunities without any expectations. But what if it doesn’t pan out that way? Unfortunately, I’m tired, and after years of trying to meet her expectations, I now have expectations I think are reasonable, more reasonable than hers.

I’ve read “Inter-Act,” co-written by a married couple, followed a few years later by “Communicate!” written by a single member of said (I presumed formerly-married) couple. First, that made me look twice. Then, it made me laugh.

So, what else is new? After more than 10 years, my employer recently informed me I needed to find a new employer. It was technically my own fault. Mix depression, new medication for depression, insomnia and near-blackout exhaustion from insomnia, unpredictable emergency bathroom runs because that’s not an event one can schedule, and the moving targets of metrics and micromanagement, and suddenly I became an “attendance problem.”

This is a second source of depression. The absolute kick? I was 3 minutes late, on my last day. Not a half hour, not an hour, but 3 minutes. And in the course of the 3 months they were tracking, after changing my schedule, I’d been less than 5 minutes late to start, a few times, but never more than that. And the rest of of those times, it was because the work systems had failed to let me start quickly enough to meet their micromanaged metrics. Password updates, system updates, cookie blocks, and system outages, apparently for 3 months, I was responsible for I.T., and on call 20-30 minutes before my shift started, and after it ended, but they never told me or changed my pay grade!

They sent me an email with their terms of kicking me to the curb, that started “Dear Name.” Nice, right? Yeah, and depressing. So, I’m back to looking for a job, hoping for better, and different, than what I had. The job market is, allegedly, a seller’s market. Sure, but who’s buying what I want to sell?

So, in short, it’s my fault. I can’t meet impossible expectations. But if that’s the metric, can anyone succeed? In work, the metrics kept moving and changing, so I was made to look like a bad employee.

In marriage, it’s also my fault. I’m supposed to self-sacrifice without any expectations, and I’ve failed: I’m not dead. But I made a vow, and so did she. You can’t just break a vow as easily as you can quit a job. I want what I want, I can’t have it, and I’m supposed to accept this without being frustrated in my marriage. If I truly love her, I’ll gladly do all the things she wants me to do, without a murmur or an expectation, and this should make me happy. For some reason, this doesn’t work both ways, and for some reason, it doesn’t have to. I know this, but I don’t understand it.

Do you know anybody who’s hiring, for a work-from-home writing and/or editing position? Let me know. Do you know a hypnotist who works cheaply? Let me know. If I can find both, and it works out, I will be happy. If I can find a really good hypnotist, and win the lottery, I will be deliriously happy.

I promise to come back to WordPress, for each and every one of my loyal follower. But I make no vows before God, to do anything, ever again. It feels like that one vow has caused all sorts of complications: feelings I can’t sort out, towering emotional highs and even lower lows, trying new things like plumbing and automotive repair and then having to hire mechanics and plumbers, and exciting adventures, meeting new people, and traveling, to recover from, etc.

Oh, and if you’re wondering where I’ve been wasting all of my time, I’ve been being ignored on Twitter (@deonmumple) and murmuring about life, the universe, and the small ants that have taken up residence in my house’s walls, the little bastards. The kids are adult loafers who’ll be more successful than I’ve been, so I’ve been watching them achieve goals. I almost hate to admit, I’m proud of them.

I’ve also become nearly convinced the whole shit-show will be over soon. That’s right, I’m a sandwich board, a bullhorn, some paint, and more motivation away from becoming the guy on the street proclaiming “the end is near.” My guess has to be at least as good as all of the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ many guesses, or the late Reverend Camping’s, or anyone else’s.

When is the “blessed event,” that sets in motion the 7 year Tribulation promised by Daniel, Jesus, Paul, & John? (George & Ringo came along MUCH later, people! Come on!) All right, I’ll tell you, but you have to get right with God, and join me in heaven when I’m right.

When I’m right, Jesus is coming in the clouds to rescue us from this and what’ll be even worse that’s yet to be, on:

September 16, 2023, 11:45AM EDT.

You can bank on this as much as any other doomsday prophesy. Except I’m right. This is a well-informed, educated guess, after careful Bible readings and detailed calculations I won’t bore you with.

Having said all this, loyal reader, I hope you get everything you want, and I hope I figure out how I’ve somehow already got everything I need and find contentment with it. And then, or sooner, like, now would be good, I hope abundance surprises me with everything I want. I’ve said these things before, so again, nothing new except change.

Sorry! But at least the end is near! Do NOT be late, not even by a minute, for this one. Seriously, having calculated this out, even I’m feeling a bit spooked. Be ready. Maranatha. Amen.