Posted: September 12, 2016 in hidden admonishment

After wasting most of my paid vacation getting an updated diagnosis on my…genetic inferiority, I’ve been referred to a psychiatrist

to help me process the news.

Instead, I got into a really big fight about how I don’t need to be coddled that prompted me to drive 300 miles away to think.


I once had a psychotherapist who told me I was in a toxic relationship that would only get worse, because our intellectual inequality would grow into resentment.

I ended up stiffing him $300 after he signed a piece of paper stating I was mentally fit…even though he was right.

The first time something came up in the hard science that wasn’t normal, I was participating in a case study for treatment resistant mental illness, and I was given some novel diagnoses upon being dropped from the study.  When I turned down the monetary compensation for my participation, the head psychiatrist offered to continue working with me pro bono.

I declined.

Sometimes, I like to bitch about my life…just to bitch.  Just so I don’t have to hold onto it.



Posted: June 26, 2016 in hidden admonishment

I don’t see this time of day much anymore with a traditional 9-5, which is actually a 7-6, but for all intents and purposes is a traditional 9-5.  Living with another being also infuses a little more regularity to my sleeping habits, rough as they still might be.

Tonight, I can’t sleep.

My bath water has gone cold, I need to pee, and my skin has long since puckered with the oversoak, but I refuse to vacate my inferior, old, half sized tub.

Also, my battery life is rapidly dwindling from 7%.

When the sun comes up, I get to pick through the yard for shards of broken glass before they have a chance to catch dog paws, because I lost my fucking temper earlier in what has become a long night.

Maybe someday, I’ll get the majority of my shit together, but right now, I’m just trying not to lose it.

I’m a creature of habit.

I like things to stay the way I’ve had them established for quite some time.

This makes me old and close minded, so I struggle to adapt.

Fine.  I have begrudgingly accepted the automatic double spacing, but I don’t like this.

Fine.  I will work with the new layout.  Blogging is an antiquated medium anyway, especially considering I’m not touting any particular theme or gimmick.

I just like to have this little space set aside to…waste, mostly.  Now, it’s all fucked up, and I…well, I need time to adjust.

I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want
and you’re not going to successfully tell me any differently.

I eat a lot of shit
outside of my little domain
but even out there
I’m a boss

so fuck off.

I’m going to do what I want.

I’m going to fuck who I like.
I’m going to leave dirty dishes in the sink
and sleep during my time off.
I’m going to play fetch with the dog in the house
and I’m going to ignore when my family calls.

I’m going to eat ice cream for breakfast sometimes
and I may not work out at all this week.

I’m going to leave unfinished projects lying around
and I’m going to have plants growing under a light where
convention dictates a dining table should be.

I might not sweep up the dog hair each day
and maybe I won’t make the bed.

Cook your own dinner
and buy your own clothes
and shave your own hair
because I’m not shaving mine.

I don’t feel like doing the laundry right now
and I’m too tired to give you a massage.
I’ll read when I want.
I’ll eat when I want.
I’ll sleep when I want.
I’ll fuck when I want.

Surely this conversation was long overdue, but it’s done wonders for my overall mood.
Last time I checked, I’m not kept; and unless I am

fuck off.

Sadness Totem

Posted: April 23, 2016 in hidden admonishment

I’m a realist.

Scratch that.  I’m a nihilist, but I tend to keep it to myself.  I don’t look down on the people closest to me who believe in God, and I don’t have any interest in expressing or defending my differing views.

I wholeheartedly don’t care.

Straying from spiritual beliefs, I’m not even a strong advocate for the soft sciences, but admitting such a stance renders a heavily inked stamp on the forehead that I’m ignorant.

Probably.  I don’t recall claiming to be a humanist.  At least I’m not the shade of ignorant that denies history; the arithmetic of social science.

Regardless, I still think about you.  My mind still turns to memories of you while I sleep, and my waking mind clings.

After all this fucking time, I still miss you and wish that I had done things differently to keep you in my life in whatever small roll you were willing to take. I suppose it’s a harbored regret of mine…the time I wasted. I’ve come to view you as my sadness totem.

Not you.

Remembering how I felt about you, and acknowledging that it still hurts me to openly love my memories. To still mistake it for loving you. I want to proclaim that I still love you, but I know it’s not true. I have no idea who you are now. I had very little real idea then. I know that I still wish the best for you; that real you who exists entirely separate from the encapsulation of my warped perceptions of you.

I can still say I miss your presence in my life, even if I can’t say I love you.

It used to disorient me; this deep, hopeless desire to do things differently…to change what’s already done and gone…to keep what I can’t have. Never had.

Never had.

I would wake up in the past, but my mind is wired to be so fucking practical that it would never let me stay. No. I have real obligations that drag me back to the present and my own reality, but in the beginning when the past wasn’t so distant…I spent hours awake in a time and place that wasn’t real.

I was very, very sick…but only in retrospect.

I used to have to fight with myself to reestablish reality. I don’t really know how to explain it. I would go to sleep and wake up reset to the wrong place and time or something would set me off…a smell or a series of sounds…or a specific temperature on the breeze. It was kind of like that moment we’ve all had when we’re so used to going to sleep in our own bed and then happen to wake up somewhere else like a friend’s house or a hotel and it takes a second or two to remember and reorient ourselves…but I would sit in that moment much longer, and I knew where I was because I’d been there before and still desperately wanted to be there.

Over and over.

It wasn’t always the same moment where my mind would reset, but it was always related to you. Even when my rational thoughts would set to work and bring me back…I had access to where my mind had just been, and I wanted to stay, but instead of feeling like I was living it, it was stale and stagnant and separate again like standard memories are.

A huge part of me wanted to be sick

and stay sick

and the process of coming out of it was so fucking immensely crushing every time. There were days I couldn’t work. I remember one day I called out, and my boss asked me if everything was all right. He thought someone in my family had died. There were days I cried through work. There were days I’d drive three hundred miles away and snap back into the present moment freezing cold sitting in the dark at a gravel pullout staring at a river I’d never seen before…and I’d just…find my way back to where ever I happened to be living at the time.

What else was I going to do? I accepted the moments my mind offered as reality, but they oscillated and conflicted.

I kept you. I kept you in my life for a long time, and you let me. Not the way I wanted, but you were there.

I have no idea what you saw from the clear side of me losing my fucking mind. I know I shared it. I know I did, because I bound you up on both sides and blurred that line…and you seemed so frustrated with me. You cut our interactions down to nothing.

You hung up on me.

That’s when I knew, the night I couldn’t even talk, but I called…and you were really there, and then just as quickly registered as upset, angry and…gone.

Letting you go has been the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do. I don’t want to bother you. The real you. I don’t want to dwell in delusions that distort and replace you. I don’t want to forget the brief and simple memories I have from a long fucking time ago relating to a shared moment in the past with you.

I’m sorry.

When Dennis drunkenly said you seemed like a cool dude one night while we were all painting color fields in the painting studio, something sad and lost in me blipped from my mind and displaced onto you.

The Common Cold

Posted: February 24, 2016 in hidden admonishment

I sleep a lot and want to be left alone, but I’m an adult with legitimate obligations both at work and at home.
I neglect what I can, so the dishes and the laundry pile up, and I live in a house without heat.

I still feed the dog, and the dragon, and the bird, and sometimes the boy
but most of the time, I just want to be left alone.

Maybe part of it is that I dropped the job where I could just put my head down and work alone all day
but if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t had that job for years
because training others doesn’t allow for that level of solitude
and I’ve been fucking training others to do shit I really don’t care much about for…

five years.

At least I’m being paid better for my managerial tasks now, and I don’t have to deal with my former boss anymore.

It’s not really any singular thing that’s causing me problems.
It’s not even the conglomeration of all my problems that’s fucking me up.

It would help to have better support, but honestly…I don’t know what to ask for in that regard.
Distractions are nice
until they’re not.

I moved to be alone.
I like being alone.

Happy Birthday, Mom. Sorry your day always hits on the lowest point in my brain disease cycle.


Posted: January 30, 2016 in hidden admonishment

In below freezing conditions, I hauled an old 50 gallon aquarium out onto my front stoop and started to apply a thick coat of paint stripper to the outside of the glass.  The dog stayed in my periphery, and when she wandered off a little too far, I gave a whistle.

I eavesdropped on the neighbors talking about the Carolina Panthers, and I couldn’t have cared less.  At least it wasn’t another drug transaction.  The hub for that burned to the ground a few weeks ago.  There’s no admitting it to my coworkers, but I’m fucking glad that hipster shit hole now sits vacant and condemned.

I took a break, because I couldn’t feel my toes, got myself off a few times and went back to work scraping paint.

Last year was probably one of the hardest years for me.

I felt like I made one of the biggest career mistakes ever, because I absolutely hated my new boss.  I still fucking hate her, but she’s gone now…and I’m the boss.  I make a significant amount more than I did, or still would, if I hadn’t made the change, and I was already doing the job before the bitch left anyway, so…not much of a change.  I can deal with being middle management.  It enabled me to finally quit my safety net job, which gives me much relished time to scrape paint off of fish tanks.

I’m not going to complain about how shitty a lot of mundane things are, because I finally don’t have to work two jobs that I hated with every fiber of my being…and I like having a dog.

Don’t fuck me over, 2016.