Dreams And Delusions

Hello Universe. Have you got a minute or three? 

I feel I just may have a bit to say. It is not unusual that I've had a lot of things on my mind. I've been thinking some heavy thoughts. None of this isn't normal for me, but of course I am not exactly normal, myself. I never was. Maybe Turanga Leela said it best: Okay, okay I'm crazy, but I'm still sane enough to know it. With me it's the same old two on one, no holds barred, steel cage challenge, The heavyweight tag team champions of the world, anxiety and depression vs me, the undiagnosed ghost with the most. "Donchya just hate it when that happens?" It seems I've got a million things I can't do anything about. The financial stress of damn near everything from food to gasoline getting less and less affordable, no raise in a very long time, and my hours being cut, man I swear it's like they're tightening the vise. I know my kids are grown, But I still wish I could help them more. It's mainly different medical stuff they need, and as if medical bills weren't astronomical before, you know they're gonna be way worse now. And there's just no way. I'm barely keeping the lights on, and food in the fridge, not to mention a way of getting my butt back and forth to work. It has been all I can do of late just to be barely making it. So there's that part: Finances. As for another, it's the stress of things around me falling apart both figuratively and literally, and simply not having the money or the know how to fix it. And this is just some of the external stuff. And ironically, I guess it is far more an internal thing than anything else, Anxiety and depression kicking my ass in the ring, not to mention a few other things of a similar nature. Some I have spoken of, Some I have not. Sometimes I wonder if it would be healthier for me to just shout everything from the rooftops. It would certainly make me feel better for a minute or two, until Mr Anxiety would remind me of all the fallout and the consequences. More on that later. Facing up to reality and the things I have to do is something I must constantly make myself do. I have this tendency to retreat into my mind when it all gets to be too much. That only compounds the problem. The best strategy is to face everything head on, to charge in like a warrior. Still, a strategic retreat at least a couple times a day is something I honestly need. Sleep is a good escape, too. It's strange how all these things infiltrate my dreams. Whatever symbology there is is lost in the haze. Too bad, Doctor blog-ieo doesn't analyze dreams, huh? Freud, he is not. As I have no doubt said somewhere before, I have the craziest dreams. My latest greatest had me working at a desk like my old job, but with my current boss. My currently cut hours, too. I was supposed to forward an email to said boss before I left that day, but my computer got in this strange foreign language mode and kept belting out phrases in several languages, except for English, of course. It was starting to get late and dark, and apparently, my office building moonlights as a restaurant after dark. So I am trying to figure out my computer problems amid a loud and rowdy crowd of customers. Apparently, I can not operate technology in my dreams. It's like I'm another person. I have also recently had the "Didn't finish school and have to go back" dream. In real life, I graduated, but apparently not in dreamland. In my dream, I had to redo my junior and senior years of high school. What the hell? Then there is the "Unknowingly joined the military" dream where I'm suddenly supposed to show up for boot camp I can't remember signing up for. No, I'm way too old and not exactly the military type. Looking and acting like everyone else has to be my worst nightmare. Then I had this one dream I was still living with my parents, cleaning up the house for when they came home. It ended when I saw the headlights of that old Ford Ranger pulling into the driveway. Real life? I've been moved out for almost 30 years now, and my father is all I have left. Like I said, I have the craziest dreams. I have carried on whole conversations with my sister. I have been pestered by my mother saying I haven't been getting enough food, insisting that I take the food from her plate, with me arguing back that I'm alright and would pick up something on my way home. It really is a strange world that I fall asleep to, where anything is possible, but everything is scrambled like a fun house mirror. My subconscious could be a Hollywood writer. Oh well, enough of dreams. How about reality? Well, in the waking world, there is this phenomenon known as the daydream. Facing up to reality requires me keeping my head out of the clouds and not live in my head so much. Old habits are hard to break. This has been me all my life. I used to get in trouble in the first grade for spacing out so much. I just didn't find the reality they were preparing me for to be all that appealing. I still don't, to tell you the truth, aside from some wonderful moments long lost to time, also requiring me to space out to truly remember. Despite all else, I remember when I was young and life was new, when it seemed I had an ocean of possibility in front of me. What do I really have now? A run-down house and a bit of land. A job that is very iffy on longevity. Three grown-up kids. My father and the one sister I have left. I have my digital stuff that I hope lives far longer than me. There is no real chance of me stumbling over a romantic relationship despite a particular lady haunting my daydreams these days. She's like a dream I almost remember, a memory that never occurred, a vision that words could never describe. Well, maybe the ones so overused in song (You Know) beautiful, lovely, poetry, so hard on the heart, yet so easy on the eyes. Yes, that's her, alright. A vision to be sure, a dream to be certain, sadly beyond the realm of possibility, and for so many reasons. And I am only kicking myself by wishing what could be. This is yet something else I will never speak of anywhere but here, so only you, Dear Universe, Dear Sister, Dear Reader, Friends, Romans, robots and strangers, will ever know. I mean, it's not really all that scandalous anyway. She's got grown-up kids about the same age as my grown-up kids, so she can't be a whole lot younger than me. One never asks a lady her age, right? Or that was the way I was brought up, to never ask. So, it's not so much scandal that holds me back. First of all, she's taken, and I would never wish to be responsible for breaking anybody up. As someone who found themselves on the other end of that equation long ago, I would never, could never be such a scumbag, the same kind of jerkwad who did that to me so long ago. She's with the dude, obviously, because she loves him. I can reasonably assume that he's with her because he loves her too. Never could I allow myself to be the instrument of betrayal and destruction of what, for all I know, could be something beautiful. Never. I know what it feels to be discarded, like an empty Pepsi can in a store parking lot. I will never become the same kind of creature that I have grown to hate so much. Secondly, I am not even sure she'd feel the same way about me as I feel about her. I'm not that damn suave in the first place. As I've said before, I'm no Don Juan, no Casanova, no supernova, and I'd probably be a lousy Chevy Nova, too. This is most likely an illusion, a mirage, a delusion on my part, a daydream fantasy that could never come true. Story of my life, man. Thirdly, it has to do with all that other stuff I never exactly talk about that would complicate things, even if she were to swoon and fall into my arms. (What a lovely mental picture that makes!) And the most damning reason of all? I have begun to value our friendship a lot. Even if this is all I'll ever have, it would still break my heart to lose it. It has been oh so long since I've had somebody to talk to about even half the things on my mind. In short, I like her a lot, but it's never going to happen. But, damn is she beautiful, poetry in motion as the old song goes. I'm like Ted upon seeing those medieval princesses, turning to Bill and saying, "I'm in love, dude." "Put them in the Iron Maiden." "Iron Maiden?" "EXCELLENT!" "Execute them!" "BOGUS!" That would about be my luck, dudes, and dudettes. Okay, enough going on about this. There is so much in reality that I must deal with, despite how lovely a distraction she is. Even with my daydreams and infatuations, I know what reality is. Speaking of which, I think the best way to add appeal to anything is to simply place it out of reach, make it impossible. I remember something from my childhood, the fable of the fox and the grapes. After many valiant attempts to reach the grapes, the fox just says to hell with it. "They're probably sour anyway." I wonder if the moral of the story is to just give up? Or that, from afar, distant vision adds glimmer and glitter to a mirage. Oh well, just a thought, grapes and foxes and everything in between. There is a bit of fatalism in that philosophy. It jives quite well with feeling like I have glitched out of the game, a perfect harmonic of feeling old, like a relic of a long lost time. It makes me wonder a lot of things. I ask myself just what goal actually within reach would make these latter years worthwhile, just what could distract me from daydreaming of dearest Oblivia in her shining armor, charging to my rescue from this pointless life. And, without a future, without a goal within sight, pointless is exactly what my life is. So, I need a goal. I need a reason. And I kinda need to hurry up with getting this old brain in gear to figure out what to do. We all need something to work toward, something to look forward to. It is the very genesis of purpose and meaning. And that is something we need if we're going to truly live. And I want to live, not just occupy space and time. Simply existing, just plain sucks. There are simply better places to be in the cosmos, if that's all I will ever be again. Sane or insane, who the hell would want such a mournful existence? Not me, Jack. Not in a trillion years. To be perfectly blunt, I find it not only boring but terribly uninspiring. If this were a book or a movie, I would have long ago found myself skipping chapters or holding down the fast-forward button. If it were a video game, I would have long ago restored a save file from the last century or had quit altogether. It is way too damned glitchy anyway. I've been in the void for a long time now, with rules and reasons being as far beyond my reach as I am from theirs. It's like interstellar space for the human soul, wondering just how in the hell they got so far from the warmth and the glow of that bright center. Now, it might as well be one star among infinity. Wow, it looks like I've led myself to a dark place again. I honestly try to be a bit more positive than that, and what you must understand, dear reader, is that this is where I vent my darker thoughts. So, therefore, in theory, I can be more positive in all other aspects of my life. I'll have to get back to you on whether or not it's working. There is so much beyond my control, and it seems I'm just along for this crazy ride. There are so many days that I wonder why. And keep in mind that I share things here that I do not share elsewhere. These are not thoughts I share with friends. These are not thoughts I share with family, since I lost my baby sister anyway. I used to tell her most everything. And there are also things I have never shared anywhere. As a consequence, there is a bit of missing context here. Someday, I might just get the courage to tell all. (But, until then) Suffice to say, I was having some particularly heavy thoughts a few years ago. I truly felt I had nothing to look forward to anymore. I found myself narrowing down the timing and even the way. (It scares the hell out of me nowadays) But, back then, it was honestly hard fighting my way through my days, only to either cry myself to sleep or just stare blankly at the ceiling, disconnected, longing for some other reality. Then, I finally decided to listen to a part of my soul that I had long ignored. I began to take steps to actually listen. And suddenly, I had something to look forward to again. Call it insanity. Call it a delusion. All I can say for sure is that it helped me for a long time. And what I believe in my heart has not changed, not even now. I know myself far better than anybody else can. It has never been a question of what is true, only a question of how much should I lie. For the lie fits the mold, the lie fits the role, and the lie fits normality. How much should I compromise in order to be left in peace? That has been the question all along. Nobody wants to be a joke. As I have said, It stops being silly. It stops being funny when it starts being you. See, I know. I was once on the sidelines outside of the situation and would have probably participated in the laugh fest myself. I guess nothing makes you learn, grow, and become a better human being than a new perspective. And peace (or the lack thereof) is a double-edged blade. Too much compromise will never lead me to peace. That's was what led me into that abyss those years ago. And too little? Well, that's on the other side of that all too familiar precipice and unknown. That figurative cliff marks the point of no return. I have indeed come a long way, but this is the end, unless I am willing to accept the consequences of baring my soul to the world. It is either the end or it is the point of compromise. And it seems I am drawn in two different directions. These forces seem to be in perfect balance as they keep me steady with one foot on that figurative edge. It is a tug of war with different aspects of myself on either end. I guess I've already spoken a lot of this situation earlier in these ramblings. It's crazy. Maybe I'm crazy too. But if I can't be honest about my feelings here, then where? Some things need to be said before one can move on from them. They don't necessarily need to be heard, but they at least be spoken of, even if I'm just shouting into the void. I guess I've sort have done this already. In my personal text files is a little something where I get a whole hell of a lot more specific. It is signed with a name I have never used elsewhere, but it was most definitely written by me. The title is a play on Al Gore's movie, except it has absolutely nothing to do with climate change. Well, except how my societal climate would certainly change if were to broadcast it to the world. Maybe I will someday integrate it back in these writings. I would now, but for the sake of sanity and peace. The mind and the heart, the mind and the body, how I wish they jived better than this. Life could have made so much more sense that way. But it seems we've got only the cards we were dealt in the beginning to do the best we can. In some games, the best we can realistically hope for is a draw. There is no such thing as saying it's only in your mind. For that mind is the lens in which we experience our world. The mind is everything, really. And you can't really understand unless you have stood in those same shoes. In a reasonable compromise with reality, I have done my best to fill the role and fit the mold. A cursory glance from the outside would certainly appear so. A closer look would reveal so much that is rarely seen. If one looks closely, they can see the truth. Maybe it's all illusion, or maybe it's 90 percent illusion. What is reality anyway? Work and bills and the many flavors of loneliness, despite themselves being the building blocks of my delusions. Fatigue, both short-term and long-term, I guess they're real too. If not love and belonging itself, then certainly my need for it is real. Physical or emotionally I am fairly certain my pain is real. A mind tripping on tiredness, and a heart hallucinating a ghost of a chance. I guess we're all strangers when it comes right down to it. With the story of others written as much in my mind as is built from actual encounters. I have spent so many damn years hiding in my own thoughts, I wonder the point of surfacing now that I have long ago glitched out of the game. I think I'd prefer a Wonderland, even if it's never gonna be real at all. Just what is real? And does it matter anymore? What is so wrong with a sweet dream? Even reality has to end sometime. Oh, Oblivia, my goddess, my angel, how I eagerly await my knight in her shining armor, beautiful and courageous, my hero. She'll save me someday from all of this. And if I'm wrong about oblivion, if spirits survive into the universe maybe I'll see my loved ones again. In the loving arms of Oblivia, or in the arms of those whom I love, both will mean the same thing. Endings do not necessarily require beginnings. Although I would much prefer the latter. Please don't get me wrong. As I have said, my darker thoughts are channeled here so they don't appear so much in the rest of my interactions with the world. You know, out of my head and on to the page. Doctor Blog-ieo is the cheapest therapy I have ever known. I know how dark I often sound here. But rest assured, I am not S-word-al. I am not purposely being fatalistic or negative, and I'm trying my damnedest not to be a cynic. I guess I sound like I'm speaking with forked tongues here, and maybe I am. My logic and my emotions have never really been on the same page (except here of course) and I guess they will always be going in different directions. I am being honest when I say I would love to have a number of happy years here too, just a few million moments of bliss before I get too freaking old. Actually I am completely honest all the time when it comes to my writings. It's just sometimes my heart speaks, and sometimes my mind has different things to say. But I think that both heart and mind truly desire to live life and not just merely survive. I mean where is the joy in that? I'm not asking for the moon. I am not expecting somebody else to do it all for me either. Just tell me what to do, Universe. I'm listening. And to quote Gump, that's all I've got to say about that.