Pooping my Pants...Then and Now
I really screwed this blog thing up huh? Though I have to say, surveying the digital landscape, there isn't as much blogging going on as there used to be. Many that are exist to serve up top ten lists or slideshows featuring tantalizingly tasty teaser photos of boobies that oddly enough aren't in the actual presentation.
Or…so…I hear? I don't look at all that shit.
Main reason I started having big gaps in my blogging, back in the day, was because my wife never liked me doing it. Wasn't comfortable with it. She wasn't happy with a lot of the stuff I was doing and at times I wonder if she truly knows who I am, or ever did.
The gaps in the blog now are due to not being sure if I care anymore. About journaling online, about sharing what it's like to be a father to a son with severe Autism and Intellectual Disability, about where my ship is headed.
This apathy has spilled over into other Social Media. I used to update Facebook with Photo Albums and I was building a page for Creatus Maximus and even swinging back around to slapping some defibrillators on Mission: iPossible…then I just walked away from it.
Instagram, spotty participation certainly. Flickr I fired up because I think it's required in order to be a member of the LEGO community but I hardly do anything with it. Twitter? My sweet baby HeyZeus…I deserve an award for the worst Twatter of all time.
Maybe I'm the Ganglord of Anti-Social Media. Known by a somewhat clever but goofy name and the same photo on all the sites, yet I never market myself or advance creatively, spiritually or any other way of relative significance.
Withdrawal is not just what I went through a few months ago when I decided to kill my video game addiction for good. It's also something I've been doing from the entire natural world, and it began around the time I felt I was failing my good friend Jerry while working for his company.
I guess I shouldn't call it "working".
I've had ups and downs before that, but this was the start of a reckoning of sorts. The beginning of the end of too many parts of me. Too many parts of those things that define my life. And I haven't recovered. This was back when I was going bankrupt, losing the house I had lived in for longer than I had ever lived in a single dwelling…EVER, when Bennett was unable to be around typical kids because of his aggression.
This was when I started to understand that the issues in my marriage weren't getting better and a separation was imminent. My eyes were opened to the realization that my relationships with both of my sons were never going to be simple, rather I would find them opening wounds in my heart I'd ill-prepared for. I was watching a career I had worked so hard to build turn to shit.
Who knew I would have to look really, really fast for the Joy because, like glory…those moments were fleeting. There (thankfully so)...but fleeting. Had they not been there I wonder…where might I be? I wonder that today when my boots are stuck in the knee-high mud of an all too usual stormy, sludge-filled afternoon of emotion after Bennett's interior pressure reaches critical mass and he has to let it out on someone he loves when it is the last thing on the planet he wants to do.
I've been trying to find my way back to writing, expressing. To something that might help shake loose the cold. Something.
Depression is a sad, shitty way to stumble through life.
My first thought was I could use my Anti-Social tools, stuff like Facebook, Twitter…you know, get my thoughts out faster. Exercise a little brevity.
I've always talked about how bad I am at that. It's the whole deal with feeling like a jackass when I post something on Twitter or Facebook and people don't know what to say. Here I feel safer, like it's my house…my rules, I've said that before too. But on the HEYLOOKATME sites, if I write something I am exposing myself.
Weird? Captain of the Dick jokes, worried about feeling exposed.
True…a willingness to talk about uncomfortable subjects is in many ways a shield.
Something else that's true.
When I was in high school, I was (still am) a bit freakish about taking a crap in an entryway bathroom of a person's house because of the stench I would probably leave behind. I was dating a very sweet, cute girl, a person you might naturally assume I would feel comfortable enough around to count from number one to number two with. Maybe even using the Love Toilet from the old SNL bit with Kevin Neelon. Not exactly.
After dropping her off at home at the end of a long date, to my chagrin I discovered I needed to bomb the enemy. And soon. I had to go, so I ran the hell out of there just as soon as I kissed her goodnight since their bathroom, as George Costanza would put it, had no buffer zone.
I had to poo-poo REALLY bad.
So much so that while I was going 75 in a 40 on rural back roads and knowing there was no place to stop like a gas station or 7-11 (this girl lived WAY out in the middle of nowhere) I came to the realization that I had no choice but to relax and let my trousers fill up. NOT an easy way to drive home...holding your butt up off the seat. Trust me.
One could argue since I WAS in the middle of nowhere I could have pulled over. Could have gone anywhere. Really? Would YOU want to go doody out in the middle of the night in some field or woods and risk being THAT vulnerable? What if some moonshine-swilling corn farmer caught me and called the cops? I had way too many embarrassing situations in high school.
And...now too, I guess.
The point is that dropping a deuce in her house is what leaving any personally charged Facebook Status Update or an Instagram pic or a Tweet feels like to me. Because in case you hadn't noticed I like to be a bit...raw.
Some people do not WANT to hear about me crapping my rolled up jeans in the 80's. And I get that too. I feel completely comfortable writing about that here, but I'm not going to write about it on Facebook. Not that I would, I mean...unless it happened last week I guess, because a story about high school isn't necessarily a Facebook Status Update anyway. Christ…me and my klunky segues and ham-handed points.
Sometimes I try too hard.
But this is MY bathroom. My buffer-zone rich toilet. I feel comfortable here. I can write freely, minimal strain, few clinging thoughts, and I feel completely at ease because I have a standing philosophy (Um…?) and it is this.
You no likee what I have to express or the way in which I express it? Don't let the door hit you on the way out…and remember to wash your hands, please. I respect anyone who stands by their belief and moves on. Not because I've let down the readership I had by failing to provide content. But because of the content itself. That shows me ya got ze balls!
As I continue to attempt to figure out what's going to happen here, if you decide to read and want to join in please do. Dialogue beats monologue. It's not surprising to me that the most activity I have had online in the last two months? A MESSAGE BOARD. How's that for going back to my roots?
Up to you…what you read. Who you support. That's becoming clear to me tonight. I'm watching election coverage and am stunned at how it's going. But at the same time I'm not. That's how fucked up the whole year has been to me when it comes to this gigantic boner of a political process.
It has repulsed me. I read two books on Voting and Citizenship…and I NEVER read books. I wanted to know from an ethical standpoint what voting is, what it means. I also wanted to know the difference between rights and duty.
I did not vote. And I was so PROUD that I had started to vote.
This time around I couldn't. My conscience would not be settled to put a yes for either choiice. Both are poor representatives of what it means to be an American. And that's sad that out of all the people living here, that was the best we could do. As a nation I don't understand why we are not more ashamed of ourselves.
So, I'll watch, see what happens, and life will unfold. Chances are tomorrow in my world the same battles will go on being fought. The same exhaustion will be there. The same slivers of hope will be piercing through the veil, reminding me that things could always be worse.
Having said that, it has been nice talking to you again. Hope it lasts.