Driving Hatters Mad

 Okay, okay, okay, It has been one hell of a last few days...

My youngest son's habit of not keeping me informed almost took a tragic turn. He was in intensive care in the hospital, and nobody bothered to tell me what the hell was going on. That was the way we found out he was diabetic, and they tell me he almost died. And I was completely unaware. Can you imagine how it makes me feel? When I was finally informed, I hurried to be by his side. It's not a fun thing to find out your baby's in the hospital. Apparently, all these stomach problems he'd been having was because of dangerously high blood sugar. He's doing much better now. Still.... his life going forward is going to be different, change in diet, and closely monitoring that blood sugar. Not knowing was the dangerous part. Now that we know, we can do something about it. I guess that's the only good that's come from this. Meanwhile, tomorrow is Marsha's birthday. If I seem a bit disconnected and off kilter and weird, I'm just missing her. My mind is like that Deejay, you wish you never invited to the party, remixing and scratching, lost sister, almost losing my kid... I am thinking of Momma, too. I am just not in the right mindset for a Monday morning. And of course, that's when the whole world jumps on me with both feet. If I had woke up whistling, nobody would have anything to do with me. However, when I'm just not up to dealing with it, you can bet that ass they'll hound me to death. Then there are these financial stresses and the way they weigh... My kids' insurance still covers him, and thank mercy for that.. But even with that covered, I find myself in one hell of a mess and damn sick and tired of running as hard as I can, merely to survive. A want is not a need, physically... But damn it, should I be deprived of everything? Sometimes an unnecessary thing, even a small one. does wonders for mental health, and just might be necessary indeed. Damn it. I am not asking for all the gold in Fort Knox or all the diamonds in Africa. I am not sitting on a pile of money, denying it to others. Is it really greed if you don't have it to give in the first place? I'm not exactly Rockefeller here, not exactly the ATM, not exactly the bank. And though I hate to sound like Ezra Thortonberry from my favorite episode of "Tales From The Crypt," I'm not exactly made of money. I work work work and still have to budget down to the penny. This sky-high insurance on my Kia, ridiculous grocery prices, and astronomical electric bills make sure of that. I can spare love, compassion, empathy, and understanding. Sadly, however, coming to me for money is like going to the Sahara for water or to the moon for air. If I had it, I would share it, give it, but I don't. So, I ask again, is it greed when you don't have it to give? Everybody I owe jacks up their prices, citing rising costs. But just what in the hell am I to do about those rising costs they're passing on to me? I haven't had a pay raise in several years. I see people making damn near double what I make, yet going on strike and I'm like, what the fuck? There are no such things as unions in my little corner of the USA. Here, we are absolutely free...... To be exploited, that is. Man, what a load of shit! I've been working my ass of since I was 19. I spent many years shelling out everything I had to take care of others. And now? Hell, I can barely afford to cover myself. Is it greed? Is it really? I have no doubt somebody's profiting from my work, but it damn sure isn't me. I'm sorry, but I can no longer pull the weight of others. I can give love and whatever emotional support I can, but money? Sorry, but I just don't have it to give. You're just gonna have to do as I do. Work your ass silly and hope that the powers that be will throw you a bone every once in a while. I hate it. I wish it were different. But that's just the way it is these days. Okay, enough of this! Clean cup, damn it! Move down! How about an interlude?

I am realizing my life has long been a trail of gates disguised as breadcrumbs. It was all about trying to get home, to the same place I have long called Wonderland. At first it was wine and song. Then it was digital realms and worlds of bits and bites. Later it was stories of ghosts and dreams and pirate queens, of people who made it the place I want to be. Later still, it was sleep, maybe even death. And even so, none of it truly led anywhere but back to me. Not to he, but me, me, me, listening to Weezer sing a song about unraveling, fraying threads and to The Who singing a song that might as well be my manifesto, trying to sort out thoughts and feelings, scattered, shattered, and don't exactly jive, just know my ravings, rants, and ramblings are to be taken with a grain of salt the size of the Washington Monument. I am all over the place, everywhere and nowhere, tangible and intangible all at the same time. Am I even this person anymore or am I a collection of fragments? Still, I feel compelled to speak, a need to write it all down, desperately to get it all out, to shout it, to scream it. Somebody should know who I am, even if it's only one person. And in the end, If I have indeed finally gone insane, as I always knew would happen, then I have well earned a trip to Wonderland, breadcrumbs and gates be damned. Wonderland, wonderful Wonderland. It is in fact where I have always belonged. Home is a close synonym. I sure could sure do with a Wonderland, a nice little world of my own. I'd go there today. Home. It is home. Reality is just sensory overload, too much. I need lush gardens and mad tea parties. I'd love to learn a lot of things from the flowers and/or break out the lawnmower if they're too rude. Hey! I am not a weed at all, but an often overlooked flower, at least I think so. I can be awesome when I want to be. I'll even help you paint the roses and hide you from the queen. I won't play croquet, though. Croquet sucks. Especially with hedgehogs and flamingos. Though too many situations in my real life closely resemble such a chaotic game. The only thing missing is an angry red queen after my head instead of the wolf at my door. Life should be about more than surviving one day to face the next. More of the same is insufficient reason to face anything. Who knows how many years I've got left, but damn they need to be worth my while. I'm tired, man. Long-term tired. Merely surviving is not enough for me. I want more. I need more for the sake of my sanity. In plain English, I'm tired of this world and the bullshit that goes with it. I need more of a reason, and your religion does not interest me. A delusion is not a reason but a coping mechanism that is simply not for me. And if I am going to delude myself, it is going to be a Wonderland of my own. It will be my own dream, not one designed to shut me up or use me, for I too am what I am and who I am, and I'm damn sure going to be who I want to be, driving all the hatters mad. If I'm gonna do this, I am gonna do it my way. If everyone is mad here, I'm gonna be stark raving so in the funnest possible way. Clean cup, baby, move down. I do make awesome tea, and you're gonna absolutely love it. A wha? Where was I? Oh yeah, reality. Damn it. There is this quiet garden in the pages of a book, written by a man long since dead, long since cast under a questionable light over some 1860s photographs. What was he thinking? Still the words and that garden are far beyond the man. I think it is perfectly appropriate to claim those words, that place, and a person I long to be for myself. Neither exist in this reality I must face, but a dream is something maybe I can hold onto. I have to stay outwardly, relatively sane. Even if you, dear reader, know I am far from it on the inside. This balancing act of fake sanity continues to be the main event. I seem to be damn good at it too. Every day that I feel like I'm coming apart at the seems, I somehow manage to hold myself together for yet another day. It's days like today when I wonder if I can continue this exercise in futility. All I am doing is playing a role I never asked for and can't exactly retire from. It is a reverse Shakespearean situation, if you know what I mean. It is a role, and a name that might as well be a stage name, for he's not me and I'm not he. And there's no real way out. Not even in my dreams. And wow... speaking of my dreams, mine have been unsettled and weird, anything from getting in fights like a pro wrestling match where everybody wants to take me on, to getting married... Ah, but with a twist. I didn't know the other party, but let's just say I knew myself oh so much better than in real life and that my attire was quite through the looking glass. If they knew just how much skill, will, and effort it takes to keep up this balancing act of an acting gig, would they be impressed? Nope. They'll only take notice on the day I fuck up and let everything come crashing down. So far, that day is not today. As I said, it's between you and me, Universe and dear reader. It is our precious, intimate little secret. Surely you have guessed by now just who is the A in AEB, and it's me, yes it's me. Another cup of tea? It's our little secret, a special dash of madness I can share with you and only you, just like a nice cup of tea, deary. Going so soon? I wouldn't hear of it! You simply must have another cup of tea. But don't trouble your pretty little head, dear. I'll get it. Clean cup, baby, move it on down to the world renowned. I'm just so very tired of having to be somebody I'm not. It's hard on the mind and wears on the soul. I am not that man anymore. I never really was. That name no longer has any meaning for me. Did it ever? I'm not even sure now. As I said about grains of salt the size of the Washington Monument, so goes the above. Still, you got to see the human behind the curtain, the actor instead of the character. It is indeed my person and not my persona, the face and not the mask, the true soul and not the forced mold of society. But now the world can rest assured I'm back to myself. Pay no attention to that human being behind the curtain! I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL WIZARD OF OZ! Or really just a mild mannered me, an absolutely normal, nondescript, ordinary, traditional me. Why? Would I lie? Only to myself, but never to you, Universe. Never to you, Dear Reader. These words and thoughts are still running around my brain, mixed, and remixed by that certain Deejay... Marsha's birthday, my son's trip to the hospital and medical condition, My mother, my standing on that precipice where I either shout it out loud or forever keep my silence.Thoughts going round and down, never knowing what I should say or even to say. Never knowing what I should do or what to do, standing in limbo, listening to the roar of the wind. What does the universe, Bigfoot, and the Locness monster have in common? Big, scary, and maybe a little lonely. Maybe I am lonely, too. But in my current situation, my current human condition, I just don't think I can change that. I really wish there were a Wonderland for someone like me. I wish it were more than a page from a dead man's book. I wish it were here. I wish I were there. I wish I could think in a logical way that fits better with this world, but my heart is in charge of the kingdom and holds all the cards. And it is that world I wish I could live in.