Holy Shit! What a Day!

It all started when Mrs. M. woke me from a deep sleep, wearing only the best grin and the most mischievous eyes.  For a solid hour, she did everything I already knew she could, and everything I always dreamed but never thought would ever be in her love vocabulary.  And then, she promised there would be a lot more days like this because she wanted to make up for lost time.  Then there was a quick shower and we ran out before the kids woke up, to grab breakfast at that place I really like.

We got home and the kids were already up and dressed for school.  My daughter had walked and fed the dog, and was getting herself ready to commute to college.  My son went out early to catch the bus, and had turned in all of his homework last night, including getting caught up on all of his late assignments.

I clocked in to work and the boss had sent me an email saying she was giving me a raise, both to adjust to cost of living, and, because so many of my customers have sent in rave reviews of my service already this year.  My callers were all really polite and pleasant, and I even had time to clear my queue of things i needed to catch up on, and follow up on.

I mean, everyone usually is upset about the weekend being over, and having to get back to the first day of the daily grind.  Today was a Monday, but for me it was a Monday like none other.

It was April 1st.

“Fuck You” Songs

Today I found a jackpot.  No, not the lottery, not yet at least.  I know many of you know these songs are out there.  So why didn’t you tell ME?  I had to find them on my own!!

As if this list wasn’t enough, it wasn’t complete or exhaustive, and I have to say that because several of the songs weren’t a match to my specific angers tonight.  Call it a mood swing, call it temporary, call it whatever you want, I don’t give a shit.  But wait, there’s more:

Well, to be completely honest, I knew SOME of them were out there, I just didn’t know they were all so neatly cataloged in play lists so I could listen back to back and vent the frustration and rage and everything petty about myself over an extended period of time.  And I didn’t know there were this many awesome “fuck you” songs.

When I got done “crying like a bitch,” over “One of My Turns,” I reached the point of “fuck you.”  I confess, it wasn’t when my wife ignored my polite and pleasant request to please read the email I sent (with the link to the prior blog entry).  That just made me mad.  What tipped the scale to real angry was when my 18 year old “adult” daughter was upset about something she wanted to buy but didn’t know what she really NEEDED, I made a suggestion of someone she should ask for help, and in her stress, she yelled at me. “SHUT UP, DAD!!”  So I shut up.  Didn’t talk before they went to bed,  because it’s better to shut the hell up and not say something I’d regret later.  The Bible says it’s a bad idea to let the sun set while one is raging.

Instead I poured a triple-shot and drank it a little faster than I think I should have, over a piece of leftover cold chicken.  And listened to great music.  I did hear an apology for the fucking “shut up” comment, but it still  kind of pisses me off.  And I was still mad about Mrs. M. not reading my fucking blog that explained my feelings and why I’ve been acting all stand-off-ish for a while, not to mention the event that precipitated me having those feelings, not to mention the events that happened before Mrs. M. was Mrs. M., when she proved she loved some other guy in ways she doesn’t want to prove herself to me.

I have a problem with trust.  I trust people too easily.  I take people’s word for their bond, which proves to be my insanity, because I expect, when I’m promised raises, and a career path, and help finding a well-fitting job in my field of training, and the bullshit that has gone on and on in my life, until with this last job, the last one to be infested with liars and cheaters, I realized it, and now want everything in writing so no one will fucking hire me, so I can’t quit the shitty one to even try to find a better one.  Well, to go back to the present rage and my stupid habit of trusting, she said she loved me, so I believed her.  Well, shit happens, I shouldn’t have expected anything else.  She hasn’t read the email I sent to explain it, but I shouldn’t have expected that either, from my wife who doesn’t read.  How the fuck does a writer hook up with a woman who doesn’t fucking READ?

But wait, there’s more, just not on a playlist yet:
Through with You, Maroon 5
Misery, Maroon 5
Wake Up Call, Maroon 5
Maps, Maroon 5
This Love, Maroon 5
Makes Me Wonder, Maroon 5
Payphone, Maroon 5

I think there are several more creepy sounding songs by the group.  There’s one in particular I can’t remember right now.  I wish I could, it was brilliant and very dark.

I think Adam Levine’s voice is great, and his music is soothing, and his lyrics are creepy as fuck.  If I were writing a collection of “Fuck You” songs I would want someone like him to sing them.  He sings stuff about how much he hates the person he’s singing about and wants to do them bodily harm, or murder them, and it sounds loving and sweet.  He’s one of few singers who could sing them like “I’m singing a love song to you, baby,” set to a light, fun-sounding tune, and the lyrics would be …

I— just want to say— I love you today–
But I— know that it’s true— you’ve got work to do–
To earn my trust, to win my love, to hold my heart, baby.
I want to say that I love you, but I doubt the reverse is true

You— inspire me— Your beauty’s all I can see
But you— always act dissatisfied—I know that you’ve lied
And all that I want is to be loved like I loved you, see?
I found out you’ve loved me less than you used to love somebody else.

I—always wanted you to be—the happiest that you could be
But I— can’t compete with the past—If you love me prove it fast
I’m done with working my ass off trying, just to end up crying
You don’t give a shit what I do, it’s never quite enough for you.

You–you think I’m being a bitch—and how come we aren’t very rich?
You–act like you don’t have a clue–pretend you don’t know what to do
I’m sick just thinking of how long I’ve been wasting my time, baby
Doing anything you wanted, insane, when you won’t do the same.

We—can’t dream we will be— forever after happy
We—don’t talk much any more— not to mention you snore
And pushed me away so often, I wonder if you ever loved me.

I– I don’t even want to know why.   Sometimes I wish one of us would die.
Who—who even cares any more? I’m hurt so much more than sore.
30 years wouldn’t even the score, fix my heart, if you could be bothered to start.
I need someone who loves me a whole lot more than you do.

Fuck!!!!!!!!!

DM (Dead Man) 8/9/18

To Give, or Not to Give (a Fuck)

There are days when I care, days when I’d like to think I don’t care, and days, like today, when I wish I could stop caring.  I don’t want to give a fuck about anyone or anything, but instead,

I care too much about stupid politicians and politics.  I care too much that idiots are the faces of the politics of the World, of the United States, and of the individual states of the United States.  If idiots weren’t in charge, I firmly believe that basic, needed things would be affordable to anyone who works a full time job, or anyone who is retired and has paid into Social Security, or anyone retired or disabled from our military service, or anyone legitimately disabled and unable to work.  We, and our children, need basic things:  food, clothing, shelter.  We need medical, dental, and optical care, and medicine.  If selfish idiots weren’t in charge, taxes would pay for services the government is needed for, and infrastructure maintenance, and we wouldn’t need special extra gas taxes, cigarette taxes, liquor taxes, and toll roads.  A flat tax paid for consumption or use would be fine, but that should eliminate income tax.  Instead, we pay twice for what we should pay once, and someone or some ones in the middle of it are raking in the bucks.

I mentioned yesterday that I’m paying about five times what I borrowed for the house, instead of just paying it back with a reasonable interest rate.  And thank God I know about loan types, or we might have gone with an adjustable rate mortgage (A.R.M.- that’s what it costs when the rates are “adjusted.”), or worse, a loan with a balloon payment at the end.  It’s bad enough the part of the monthly payment that goes toward reducing the principle is less than 20% of the total payment demanded.  My trouble (first world fucking problems!) is that an assessor went through our crap neighborhood last year and decided my house is worth more than I’m paying (translation, tax assessors and other middle-men can get more money out of me), so they raised the taxes on my house to match the value they say it’s now worth.  Except I signed an agreement to pay a specified amount for 30 years and now the government and the bank and the tax assessors are in collusion with one another, dicking around with it and saying now I have to pay more than I agreed to pay when we signed the papers, FUCKERS!

If I get a raise, the damned government figures out a way to suck that away before I get to touch it.  Raise taxes, reduce benefits, arbitrarily design a “fuck-you, taxpayer” fee I didn’t know I had to pay.  Meanwhile certain people who know how to work the system eat better food than I can afford from my job’s wages, and if I make literally a single $1 too much over a six month period, they are going to pull what benefits I DO benefit from out from under me and make me pay full market price for them (insurance), even though that $1 more doesn’t do shit to relieve the burdens that make me grovel and beg for that assistance, because now my house is allegedly worth more.  It’s only worth more if I try to sell it, but since I’m still paying for it, it seems to me that it’s worth the same as what it was worth when I started paying for it.  The insurance company and the bank and the government want me homeless and helpless and bankrupt, or (actually, “and,”) they don’t want to help.  Why the fuck is that?

Buy a tire and you pay for tires, then mounting and balancing, then valve stems, then tire disposal, then alignment, and then, if you’re wise, for a protection plan because roads have potholes and nails and screws and abandoned disintegrated tire “gators,” and other shit left by litterers and road construction crews and whoever else, not to mention the local fauna.  Valve stems, really?  Like, if you bought a tire it wouldn’t come with fucking valve stems from how they’re manufactured.  Disposal, really?  Like if I don’t want to take the old tire home with me and throw it in my own trash, I have to pay an extra fee for the tire shop to have a guy throw it in the dumpster out back.  I get the other fees, someone has to do mounting, balancing and alignment so the tires will work, and so they’ll last.  But there should be a better way to structure that or to bill for that.

A home loan payment shouldn’t be five-plus times the amount of the principle of the loan.  That tells me several ass holes are lining their pockets with way too damn much (go ahead, insert meme) of my money and probably a few million other wishful would-be homeowners’ money.  Buying feels right though, to finally own something rather than being a renter forever and never having any kind of personal security, or building equity.  If you rent, I’m fine with it and I don’t think any less of you.  I know good reasons to rent, not the least of which is if you don’t own it you shouldn’t have to shell out cash to fix it under conditions of normal use.  Like renting a car, if you just drive it a few days you should only have to put gas in it, not pay to change the oil and pay to rotate and balance new tires for it.

I want a King Solomon for President.  Someone who is wise enough to design systems that actually work, that help people, and who is politically savvy enough to not put us on the brink of World War III every time he opens his mouth, and to not try to just hand over the keys of the country to other countries every time she opens her mouth.  I want a King Solomon for state governor, who will help people beyond basic needs.  We need employment from employers who will pay a fair and decent living wage, and reward loyalty by paying higher-than-entry-fucking-level wages to people who stay with a company.  The governor should hire reputable companies to build and maintain the infrastructure of his state, and oversee the other important concerns of his or her constituency.  The governor, or his trusted appointees, should be able to step in when a constituent is being treated unfairly.

I want a King Solomon for an employer, who trains and promotes and pays higher wages to those from within, rather than hiring from the outside and paying them the same as what I earn after 10 years and calling that an entry level wage.  When I found out that basically unless I made a lot of noise about it they were happy to keep me under  everyone’s thumbs, if I were prone to uncontrollable rage, instead of festering, I’d have driven down to corporate with guns, killed a few select people and gotten myself either killed, or earned 3 square meals and a bed, workout facilities, a legal library to study and earn a law degree, and total dependence on the government and my cellmates.

I care too much about my family.  If I were a selfish ass hole of a man, I could have earned a divorce years ago, instead of 25 years of marriage.  I could tell the courts I’m helpless, find a “sugar momma” to bed, and live off of her excesses and indulgences and leave my ex wife and kids to sink or swim on their own and not pay any child support.  Instead I’m home helping with housework and home repair and improvements if I can afford them and school homework and gas money and car maintenance if I know how to do it myself (MUCH cheaper) and working my ass off and praying for college scholarships because I don’t want to work until I’m 150 years old to pay off the debt and usury, adding the extra penalties and fees for not dying soon enough.  Because the working poor are supposed to work two and three and more jobs just to survive, and die of heart attacks when they turn 42.  I’ve outlived that shit, thankfully, at least so far.  But caring is stressful.

I care too much about my neighborhood and local things.  Instead of hearing about the latest murder victims, kidnapping victims, rape victims, robbery victims, I want the news to lead with the story they try to close with on a slow day.  And I want more news stories like that every day.  I want my neighborhood and my city to be shown what can happen when visionary people who aren’t completely heartless ass holes decide to keep trying.  But instead I get the other shit, for 28 minutes every morning if I only watch for 30, and then 2 minutes of a veteran who gets to be in a parade and go for a short ride in a nice fancy car because he’s 90-something and someone wanted to do something nice for him before he died.

I want people to be celebrated and be on the news for doing the nice things.  Why the fuck do we have 28 out of 30 minutes on the weather, the traffic, the mayhem, and only 2 for the people doing something nice?  I can understand 13 on weather and traffic.  But do the other 15 have to be wasted on how horrible some people are?  Flip that shit and do the opposite.  If it’s in the interest of public safety, fine, tell us to lock up our daughters and wives, or tell us the infrastructure is crumbling and we need a new bridge built over the overpass so there will be diverted traffic, fine, report that.  But otherwise,

Why can’t we hear about Girl Scout Gold Award winners, Boy Scout Eagle Scout Award Winners, and their service projects?  Why don’t we hear about foundations making grants and setting up programs to help retirees make it on their fixed social security and medicare, or churches feeding the hungry and sheltering the homeless, and sending out a small army of people to help seniors and disabled citizens with their house- and yard- work and gutters, washed dishes and laundry, vacuuming, companionship, trips to the local community center or to a nice restaurant for a meal?

Why can’t we hear about the people who got the full-ride scholarship to a local college (, and can those recipient be my daughter and son when they graduate)? Why can’t we hear about how Mrs Mumple has managed to not murder or kick Mr. M to the curb, through 25 years and two children?  Why can’t we hear about the mystery generous guy (or lady, I’m not going to give it back because of a gender issue) who just out of the blue decided to hand Deon Mumple a check for a few million dollars with enough extra to pay the tax on that?  That hasn’t happened yet, I’m just putting it out there for that person, whomever they are, so they know there’s room over here for their anonymous donation.
I’m quite certain there’s at least 13 minutes of those kinds of stories that could be told, every day, instead of all the guns and evil.  Maybe if we celebrated the good, instead, there would be more of that, and less of the shit we glorify on TV EVERY fucking day.  Kids looking for role models won’t find them on TV or in the news or media.  All they’ll find are idiots, idiot politicians, cheap-ass business tycoons, and criminals, including murderers and robbers and rapists and vandals and other thugs, not that those genres are never cross-populated.  And the worst thing about putting those role-models on the television and media is, that THE AIMLESS KIDS ARE FOLLOWING THEIR LEAD.

The way it’s run right now I wish I could just not give a fuck.  But alas, I do in fact care, and try to do small things to make it better.  I volunteer a little time out of my life whenever I can, or whenever I can figure out how to schedule it even though I don’t think I can, because I can make a tiny difference by showing up to sweat for someone who needs help.  Because I care, I wish other people gave a fuck too, instead of the standard issue what’s-in-it-for-me and how-can-I-profit-and-screw-the-other-person’s-welfare that I see in the world, in American politics, and in modern corporate America.  I either need enough money so I don’t have to care and then I need to learn the lessons from the above assholes, OR, I need a LOT more people to start giving a fuck about someone other than themselves.

I understand.  We’re all under the same shitty management.  The old managerial ass holes were all taught the same thing, doesn’t matter which hoity-toity school their dads bought their business or law degrees from.  Which means, nobody reading this has shit, unless a bored billionaire is looking for people to condescend to.  I’m willing, in exchange for a few million dollars, to be treated with condescension.  Go ahead.  But if you’re not a bored billionaire looking for a charity case you might only have a few bucks extra here and there.  That’s most of the readers out there that I know about.  I know you need your not-coffee, but how about buying one less cup of not-coffee from Starbucks, and giving that money to a cause I care way too much about.  Click here:

https://www.gofundme.com/single-mom-being-bugged

Please.  Really.  She and her daughter ARE a worthy cause.  I may care too much, but until her tiny goal is far surpassed, I feel that not enough support is being shown to these two deserving young ladies.  What the hell, if you ARE a bored billionaire, how about giving a few million to Ms. N., instead of me.  I’ll be fine, probably.  Or, we’re both willing to accept donations if you’ve got it like that.  But we both need enough for it to be an actual blessing, not just enough to cut their benefits off, or cut my kids’ health insurance benefits off at the knees and make me work 3 jobs to pay the extra costs.  If you’re gonna give and you can give big, give big, and may God bless you back for being a blessing from your abundance.  If you’re gonna give and you can only afford little, give and may my God bless you back for being a blessing out of your own need.

From Hyper-critical to I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit in 3 seconds

I don’t know if that’s the accelerator or the brake.  But I know that the right words, or preferably,  silence with the right actions, can motivate me to work my ass off.  And I know that the wrong words, because nobody ever just shuts the hell up, can put me into escape mode.  I’m already gone.  I’m already done helping with whatever concerned you.  The silent, unseen “fuck you” has already left my soul.  It doesn’t need to be said, in language, sign, sigh, or any other physical reaction.  I’d like to think it’s a private, psychic rocket ship, one that, most of the time, is far more efficient than any known technology.

Because of this, I think it’s an accelerator.  Sometimes I wish it weren’t psychic, I wish it were real.  It’s a rage rocket.  Instead of flames, it would release sonic energy.  “Impulse” power just goes, “Buhbye! Bye now!  Bub-bye! Buhbye!”   It ramps up through other rage-induced profane and/or snarky expressions, and if you really piss me off, full throttle goes “FUCK YOU!  FUCK YOU! FUCKYOU!!  FUCKYOU!!!FUCKYOU!!!FUCKYOU!!!FUCKYOU!!!

Say it.  Push my buttons.  And see what happens.  Except you presume you’ve done or said nothing wrong, and it’s me being batshit that causes me to be angry.  You’re not paying attention to yourself.  You’re not paying attention to me.  And when I told you what the issue was, you didn’t want to do anything about it, and my way of handling that rejection was to shut off that part of your part of my life.  You can still come back.  You don’t have to verbally apologize.  A non-verbal apology and promise will suffice.  But I don’t think you know how to not say it.

My problem  is I want to stay.  I want to come back.  I want you to come back.  I want my kids to know I genuinely care about them and I want them to return my care appropriately, but I can’t afford to buy that affection.  Thank God most of the time the kids have learned to read me, and know when I can laugh with them versus when what they say or do, or don’t do, will just piss me off .  I want my wife to know the same, but I can only offer so much, and there’s that trigger, more sensitive after almost 25 years of being married.  I’d think she’d know not to do or say those things in that way, and I’d think she’d know it’d be nice if she did something I liked once in a while.

It’s the same at work.  I want to work.  I want to work my ass off and make you a ton of money, but I need the favor returned here too.  Entry level wages and being ignored unless I’m being disciplined does not earn my respect NOR my extra hard work.  You pay me shit, expect my work to be shit.  And it would be if I had no pride in something I have to put my name on.  But my name is on what I do, so I want to do it right. You should want to do right by me in return.  After 10 years I’ve proven I’m worth it, and you should prove you want me to stay.

And it’s the same at church. You’d think with my training and volunteer experience, they’d maybe want me to work at the church, as more than a volunteer.  But no, I can volunteer or I can decide to do nothing.  So I’ve decided to do nothing and see if the doors open somewhere else.  Corporate America does not as a rule promote people who know what the fuck they’re doing from the inside.  They make them stay where they are and work them until they’re worn out.  Similarly, “modern day” “normal” churches do not recruit from within.   They find some superman who looks great on paper and has a more forceful presentation, and all the hidden agendas that go along with that kind of force.  Well fuck that.  If God wants to use me, He’ll set that up, and if not, well, here I remain and I think I have to be ok with that.

And it’s the same with God.  I want to have the best relationship with God, but I often fail.  Being the Creator He should know this and deal with me with a little patient and divine encouragement.  And you’d think my struggle with faith and doubt might be answered like it is with my earthly father- sometimes he’ll slip me a $10 or $20 for just being his son, which is really cool.  And lately, this whole relationship with God has actually improved.  I wonder if it’s because I quit trying to do anything.

People ask how you know when you’re in love, and they ask how to find a significant other/partner/spouse, and I think the answer is the same for some people.  If  you’re aggressive, you run after what you want and you take it whether it was offered willingly out of love, or whether it was just you being a pushy ass hole.  And you think you’re getting what you want, but really you’re just taking it.  I want to be given what I want, willingly and out of love.  And I want people to realize, without me having to tell them, that they’re selfish, grabby, pushy ass holes and they’ve been taking everything at my expense.  But I think you find love when you least expect it, and you wake up and realize you’re in love because you were falling long before you ever realized you had fallen.   I still haven’t figured out how to just get what I want at work, but with marriage it’s been a conscious decision, my choice.  Fuck, I still love her and she treats me like shit quite a bit of the time.  It’s because after I realized I loved her I decided I wanted to be in love and stay that way.

It’s naive and stupid and setting me up for heartbreak, people tell me.  And they say the same thing about believing in God.  But lately,

I quit trying to do anything, and God did some pretty cool things in answer to a pretty snarky prayer “request.”  Actually I was flippant and nearly in denial and He did answer, giving me something I really needed when it was needed.

So maybe this quitting doing anything would work for work, and for wife, and for family.  Except I like a clean house, a dog that’s been walked, a yard that’s been mowed.  I’m not sure which “anything” I need to quit and which I can keep doing, that’ll ultimately and miraculously result in me getting what I need from family and wife.

As it stands, I’ve got a dead cell phone because I didn’t demand we get more time/data yesterday when I thought I had a month left.  Kids don’t clean the house or walk the dog because they know I’ll reach a point of desperation where it’s too gross and needs to be done, or I know the dog is about to create a disaster if I don’t take care of him.  I’ve got nothing happening in other areas because I haven’t demanded that.  I don’t want to demand anything to get what I need.  I want to be treated with love and care and respect just because I’m worth it, but because I’m not demanding and pushy people take me for granted and treat me like shit.

So where’s the road sign from rage and depression and lack, bypassing forceful taking, and driving straight through to people just giving me what I need because I’m worth it?

If you know, let me know.  But right now I have to go buy a fucking phone card because mine is dead and Mrs M and the kids want to text me their list of demands.

A day without all this cloudy, grey, dam(n)p rain so I can mow at mum and dads would be great too, but that’s an appeal to a Higher Power,  Fuck it, if He wants clouds and rain, and rivers in my back yard, bring that shit on until He’s bored with that and moves on to sunshine and rainbows and unicorns and lollipops and neapolitan ice cream and remembering Buttercup, and other shit I might actually enjoy.  Same with the fucking job, and the family, and the church.   Maybe the rain has to fall and I have to be broke, and the job has to be shit and the house has to be filthy and my legs have to cramp until I can barely walk before I take the dog out, and the wife has to be off-putting and insulting and demanding, so I really appreciate when it’s finally sunny, and I finally win the Lottery AND the Publisher’s Clearinghouse, and I finally get a job I really enjoy, and my kids finally help clean the house, and finally make a habit of walking the dog and my wife greets me naked at the door and attacks me with all those soft, beautiful weapons.

For now it’s clouds and rain and cramps and abstinence and alcohol.  Bring it on.  I think I can still weather it a while.

It’s been a while since I thought of Buttercup.  I figure, if I just wait, and refuse to do shit, the rest of the clouds are sure to break soon.  (I know, but shut up and let me have my delusion!)

Thirty Seconds

Thirty minutes becomes thirty seconds in just a few blinks of the eye,
Thirty seconds, a shadow beckons; we can’t hide from time, but we lie,
Makeup, plastic surgery, thirty thrice wrinkles, all covered, and we still die

Thirtyseconds, a fraction of fractions, a miniscule piece of a pie,
Thirtyseconds, blurred musical motion, I can hear it, but not count that high,
A bite, a taste, a tiny tease. I want much more of both, please!  Can I try?

Thirty seconds and only one winner; after first place all others are not,
Thirtyseconds, three and one eighth percents.  Math in a poem?  Why not?
How much of a fifth is a thirtysecond? I’d give that problem …a shot.

Crush

I met a girl with dreams in her eyes, sparkling like fiery stars above,
I met a girl with an imperfect past, how could I not fall in love?
We finally learned to trust enough I shared my dreams and desires,
I wanted her like a hanged man’s breath, like a shivering man wants fire.

And I wanted to be the dream-come-true she believed

When love is untested it always feels so strong,
When you really love each other, you can do no wrong,
When you’re trying hard to try hard, her eyes promise…
But you can’t relax, and every day does not end in a perfect kiss.

I only wish I could be enough, being the real me

We tried for a while to keep it right, but opposites sometimes attack,
Love’s train derails in mud and betrayals, we can’t take it all back,
She asked me why we’re separated by a widening undertow
I could only say “it’s complicated,” but we both know

There’s days it’s easy and days it’s hard, but as soon as love’s conditional
More days are hard than in the glow, the euphoria, of the original
Despite the test, and the conscious knowledge of mutual denial
If we could be honest, trust, and rest, we might survive this fiery trial

Time won’t wait, when love feels like hate, to me

When love is tested and we fail, the chance to trust is gone,
Though you want to love each other, something just feels wrong,
When you’re trying hard but know her promise was a lie
And you still wish she still loved you, and you want to die.

Not Writing About What I’m Writing About?

I got up early today and have taken my daughter to school.  It’s not something I want to be in the habit of doing, but then, she’s already 17 so it’s a way to bond I guess.  It’s bad inasmuch as it fosters her laziness and encourages a lax attitude about time management, because she has a safety net to fall on.  It’s there, but I don’t want her to take advantage of it and just think it’ll be there her whole life.  My slightly more responsible son caught his bus.  Today she had gifts for her friends and wanted a ride so she could easily carry everything and not have the jostling and space issues of the bus ride.

I’ve had a cup or two of coffee, I’m back home and feeling nicely focused, but maybe easily distractible, it remains to be seen.  The squirrel joke is no joke.  I’m hoping I can have a little “me” time (writing here) and still enough time to walk the dog before the rain comes and get some chores and maybe a little extra catch up work done before I have to get to work today.  That upstairs…  I want my floors,  I want my desk.  It’s just that I’ve been like a pack rat for a while with no place to put “everything in its’ place,” and my wife is worse because she’s better at packing big things into small spaces.  No, NO, stop.  I mean like getting more stuff in the suitcase, or in the car, like that old game TETRIS, not THAT.  Although…  Nah, only if she wants that.  I surrender.

I started out wanting to write about a specific writer who has recently moved to the US after running into some difficulty because his government took issue with his writing.  But I tried to research and didn’t find anything accessible.  “This content is restricted.”  If his native government wants to restrict his thoughts and he restricts his audience, who knows what he’s talking about?  I’ve read a few comments and a few things in news articles I presume were quotes, and two year old or older blog things I found, and all I can think is, who the fuck cares?

It’s a fucking blog, like my own.  I guess, if he tells people to riot in the streets or kill someone or commit crimes, there’s a problem inasmuch as his words might actually have a direct impact on my life or the life of someone I know.  So yes, if he advocated violence or actual crime, I’d stand against that, but I can’t find anything to know if he did that.  And I consider myself a pretty damned good online stalker.  All I could find is stuff where he said, essentially, that both Christians and Muslims are idiots.  He’s an athiest, I get that, and again, my reaction is, who the fuck cares?

Well, radicals who profess either religion might, but I don’t.  He posted a picture online that was deemed “obscene.”  That’s stupid.   I’ve seen “sacrilegious” “art” before, and I don’t care.  Express your lack of faith in Jesus, who came back from the dead, or that “prophet” guy, who didn’t.  I don’t care.  Express your lack of faith in the government, I don’t care about that either.  America has elected a lot of presidents that people called names.

What concerns me is that people take the words of a fifteen or sixteen year old that seriously.

You want people to treat your religion with respect?  Get a religion that’s respectable, and be respectable with your faith.  You want people to treat your government with respect?  Get a government that’s respectable, and exercise your authority in ways that respect your constituency.  The people at quotesgram.com and quoteimg.com sum it up in short and then in long:

Image result for respect is earned not given

I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to earn my kids’ and wife’s respect.  Been working on that for more than 25 years for the latter.  Taking my daughter to school when she’s overburdened, giving a hug or a supportive remark when she’s sad or feeling insecure, helping my wife with chores and being as romantic as she’ll allow, helping my son in scouting and in becoming a young respectable man, helping the kids develop life skills and independence, it’ll eventually add up to respect.  Maybe.  I hope.  Work is a lost cause.  They want to demand my respect just from having authority to fire me, not realizing that at work, my respect can be bought, to start.  After starting with buying it with a decent wage commensurate with my experience and training and tenure, THEN it can be earned by helping me succeed in my career and developing me to the point where I can actually retire before I die, and hopefully have enough years to catch up with all the things I don’t have time to do between work and family and church and other activities.

As a blogger, if you don’t like me, you won’t read it.  You won’t follow it.  I’ll either get the message or not, but what do you care if you quit following me.  Just like the TV, or radio, if I hate the show or the commercial, I endure it or shut it off.  It has zero impact on the producers or the advertisers, but they are free to express whatever shit they want to broadcast and sell whatever shit they want.  Who the fuck cares?  And why?

There’s plenty of things I’d call “obscene” on the internet.  Why are people so afraid of someone offending someone else?  I think if a person has talent and respect, they ought to rise to the top.  But in the modern era what seems to rise to the top is infamy.  For some reason, the tacky, the cheap, the lowest common denominator, is what people want to see more of.  It makes them feel good about themselves and doesn’t challenge them to strive for better and more.  For some reason, the crafty, the villain, the ill-mannered, get the vote for fear that the one who seems honest and trustworthy might have some kind of hidden agenda the talentless, seem to get the sympathy vote because here in America we don’t want anyone to feel like they should keep on looking for their specialty, and try something new until they find something they’re really good at.  Our little baseball playing toddlers don’t keep score (but the adults do).  Art that people don’t think is art might sell to someone.  And someone might pay you to blog.  I wish they’d pay me, but I’m not holding my breath.  Plus, I need something either huge and inexhaustible, or huge and reliable over time.  I’m settling for reliable over time, but with that plan I’ll be working until I’m dead.  How disappointingly depressing is that?

I’ve vented enough, and I’ve thoroughly disappointed both of the people who strive to encourage my writing to be better.  So now I’m going to get myself ready to disappoint my boss, by working my ass off as hard as I can with my motivation high and my expectations low.  I think the boss pretends to be disappointed, and secretly they’re impressed trying to figure out how I’ve stayed so long for so little reward, and keep trying every day.  Maybe that’s why Mrs M is keeping me.  She’s secretly impressed, but also my worst critic, trying to encourage me to do better.  At doing what she wants me to do, mostly because she doesn’t want to do it herself.

I hope you find your inner motivation today.  I hope I do do.  I need to accomplish things when I take my breaks, because I didn’t accomplish anything great yesterday or today.  Except maybe I offended someone because I don’t take offense at sacrilegious, satirical, or political art or language.  If you’re offended that I’m not offended, you know what to do.  That’s right, have me arrested.  No, learn to park big things in small places.  No.

I hope you can do something good, that makes you feel good, or makes you happy because of either the sense of accomplishment or the gratitude of a friend or stranger.  Or, for a little while, do nothing, or something just for you and feel good and eventually harness the energy you have from taking a little “me” time to rest a little.  I hope I can too, but it’ll have to be snuck in between and after work, since I haven’t invested the morning in tasks.

Have a good day.  Both of you.

Running out of Natural Resources

We now pause for a wild eyed, tin-foil wearing conspiracy theory, brought to you by Mumple Enterprises:  Back 40 or 50 years ago the geologists and other key scientists were paid off by rich investors and oil executives to predict “the end is near.”  Because it came from scientists and not wild-eyed prophet-looking people wearing sandwich-board signs, the masses put their faith in the scientists because obviously they knew what they were talking about.

Back in 1972 the price of a gallon of gas was something like $0.36.  Obviously, 45 years later, since demand has only gone up with the population, we’re totally out of gas and oil, aren’t we?  That explains why we’ve all started riding solar busses, driving bicycles and solar-electric cars, right?  All the people who could afford to do it built moonshine burners…oh, sorry, “Ethanol” burners, and then considered driving them to the junkyard when their fuel efficiency went down and they realized they were paying more for that than gas, and then had them towed there when the ethanol dissolved their fuel system seals and then ate the aluminum from exposed car parts, and left ethanol-absorbed water deposits in the engines so they rusted.  Our heaters are all obviously fueled by the solar panels the local government building codes require on all our rooftops, and we get our electricity to run our computers and ovens and refrigerators and freezers from the wind fields and our own turbines that we’ve all got installed on the our corners of our houses…  Wait, someone forgot to put those on my house, and where can I get a cheap but reliable solar/electric car?

The latest investor-driven things include greenhouse gas reduction drives.  Hey, You!! Reduce your carbon footprint today!  Climate change will definitely kill all humans within the next 40 years!  Those scientists were right about us not conserving oil, now, weren’t they?  Oh wait.  That’s still a rumor we pay more for gas for.  Food scientists have been telling us that safety studies paid for by food manufacturing companies showed conclusively that chemical additives, growth hormones and preservatives are completely safe and make our food better, and now they’re telling us genetic engineering is the future of food.  It is, if you like your green beans to taste like anchovies and glow in the dark, and your cheeseburgers to taste like burned plastic and scaly refried beans.  Mmmmm.

We now pause for another wild eyed, tin-foil wearing conspiracy theory, brought to you by Mumple Enterprises:  If they don’t get enough money through fear-mongering and rumors, they’ll start a war and demand our kids to fight against some other countries’ kids because the rich people don’t feel rich enough.  Whichever countries win or lose doesn’t matter, the rich people who are really in charge will still be richer, and we ordinary peasants will bury fields full of dead kids or body parts, or we’ll end up under radioactive dust too dangerous to bury the bodies.  Mumple Enterprises invites crazy speculation into who’s behind the terrorist attacks.  If eternal glory and a paradise full of naked virgins to abuse isn’t quite enough, how much money does a suicide bomber cost?  (it begs the question what happens when you run out of virgins and the angels you thought it was ok to mistreat, now all hate you and decide not to put up with any more bullshit?

One dreads to think what certain political leaders, who have either become or started in as millionaires or billionaires, have stirring in their Kool-Aid.  Oh, I can mention that one by name, it’s just plain good to drink.  I made some black cherry Kool-Aid yesterday and it was good.  Whatever your flavor, don’t drink the politicians’, or wonky religious leaders’, Kool-Aid.  If you come out to the bunker, I’ll serve you up a nice cold glass with some ice, hold the cyanide, castration, and hidden agenda.  If you need something stronger to relax, I’ll let you pick your own poison, and it won’t be a lethal dose.

I didn’t start out wanting to rant about conspiracy theories or extremists, but it’s been a fun little distraction, hasn’t it?

I’m already out of enough cash flow, so sometimes I figure, why not use a little to help someone else?  It’s paradoxical, but then I read the story in the Bible about how Jesus said God was going to take care of a widow lady who gave everything she had to support the ministry.  The link is to show what the coins looked like, and on the website you can buy those coins.  She trusted in God and gave the two coins she had to whatever purpose God wanted them for.  Hint:  God wanted them to show the disciples what real faith looked like, and it meant more to God that she trusted him than that the rich guy who paid people to blow trumpets who gave a lot of money because he had a lot of money.  That story is in Mark 12 and Luke 21.  I’m hopeful that I can bless others any time I do something like that, and that they will find a way to bless someone they know.  Or someone they don’t know.  So there’s that “natural resource.”

There’s plenty of clutter.  When Mrs M goes on a “cleaning” rampage, it doesn’t mean it’s clean.  It means it was urgent and whatever didn’t get processed, thrown away, or put in its’ proper place, got thrown in a box and put into the garage, or put in the open area upstairs…where I work.  My garage is supposed to be a two car garage, but really it starts as a one-and-a-half car garage and then gets full of things to process later, or things we’re storing and forgetting about.  My work area is supposed to be open and encourage my home work experience but it’s got a thin layer of important but not urgent crap on the floor– records to file,  probably some of the kids’ clothes they haven’t bothered to put away.

My plumbing adventure isn’t over yet.  I have to try to get this damned shower hose to not leak so I can take a nice, adequately pressurized shower, and so I can wash the dog, who, by the way, needs a bath again.  Our dog yells at me when I try to brush out his lovely fur, so I have to either cut it (that’d be a great adventure) wash it to get rid of the dander and to condition the fur so it doesn’t get matted or hold the vermin.  I get why he doesn’t want to be brushed.  It pulls, and it’s uncomfortable when you pull your hair.  But it has to be done.  Sometime.

Speaking of which, the natural resource I’m most stress-filled about is time.  There is not enough, EVER.  I fed and walked the dog today, the dishes need to be washed (lunch is an hour, so maybe…)  But really, I want a day or two off after a weekend, just to relax from the stress of a weekend.  But if I did take a day off, I’d need another day off because if I had a day off I would want to have energy to do things I don’t have time for.  If I take a day off, I feel stress because of the level of expectation placed on me, and if the family is off together, there’s stress because family time involves doing things that aren’t on the ever present list, which means I don’t get to process the list, so family time off represents future pressure to catch up with whatever didn’t get done that absolutely needed to get done before we did whatever family thing we did.  I don’t know how much time off I would need, to rest enough and to invest enough time to actually feel like 1) I was rested and 2) I was actually caught up with life.  Now that is a daydream “devoutly to be wished.”  But it would probably take 50 years of paid time off with triple my current “widow’s mite[s].”  My situation isn’t a scientific-sounding rumor, it’s all absolutely true.

It would be nice if I did, but instead, I have to get things together so I’m ready to go to work on time.  Working from home and I still feel like I need to start early to keep my head above water with the tasks my employer underpays me for, how sad is that?

I know I don’t, but I hope you have enough time for yourself today, and enough time and energy for what you need to get done.

Clarified Astigmatism

Clarified Astigmatism, 3/21/2017, Deon Mumple

I thought I saw you clearly,
Though we both tried to hide,
We talked and we were friendly,
Shared dreams we held inside,

What we saw was a patchwork
Of what each chose to show
I hid that I was a jerk
You hid the fears you know

Pretending I was better
Than I know me to be
The lies behind the letters
I hoped you wouldn’t see

Pretending we weren’t sore
Faked fearless, hid cage bars,
But joking showed a bit more
We both revealed our scars

I loved you and I love you
As you have shared your pains
While fearing what you would do
If I showed my soul’s stains

You tell me that you love me
We still hurt, life still stings
I see just what you show me
The safer side of things

I tell you that I love you,
My arms, the safest place,
Wishing I’d never hurt you,
Wiping tears from your face,

Is it inevitable
That I will let you down?
The looks of disapproval,
The not-so-subtle frown?

I want to be your safety,
To let you be at rest
But can I do so safely
Since this lacking’s my best?

I’ve just become your nightmare
Wanting to be your dream,
You’ve been my biggest scare,
I’m caged, long to be free

You deserve everything good
But I want to be yours
Despite ways I could or should
Strive to serve you more

You still wear let-downs with style,
I’m trapped, crestfallen, lean,
I’ve dimmed down your loving smile,
I don’t know how to dream.