Years ago, you were my comrade in the Psychic Wars, fighting side by side against all manner of demons, and sometimes even perception. Now, I most desperately need your help in my struggles against the figurative creatures of the here and now. It seems I could not save you, and I fear my mission to keep you on Earth has failed. As the sibling of the cosmos, As the only heart and mind constructed similarly enough to understand, you will know how to retrieve and decode what others would discount as ravings of a being once sane, once rational, once logical. This is my most desperate hour. Help me, Universe Kenobi. You are my only hope.....
First of all, my usual disclaimer, though more concise: I go mad here in these words so I don't go mad elsewhere. I am always better after I have vented a bit. That said, Major Tom, take those pills, don that helmet, and brace yourself. It's Showtime! (Headspins) Donchya just hate it when that happens? This time we are going on a ride of exponential adventure. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Blastoff! We join our main character as they pull back into the work parking lot after taking their father to the doctor. After taking a couple hours off to run an important errand, I have questions: How can it be that so many people have the time and gas money to ride the roads all day while I'm at work? And tell me, tell me, tell me, how can they be soooooo bad at driving after all that practice? I thought the 45th Annual Dummy Derby was next month. And what is with all of those IWT's! I see you have a cool trailer there. It would be even cooler if you knew how to drive with one. Sorry.... Like I said, it's like a contest between the deer and the humans to see which ones will finally get me committed to the looney bin. Hell, I might just show up on their doorstep and put on whatever show for them to let me in. (Tips imaginary hat) Pardon me, Miss. I am Abraham Lincoln. Why, yes, I do look great for my age. Why just last month, I celebrated my 215th birthday. Might I make an inquiry? Is this my Gettysburg address? Oh, my. Begging your pardon, Milady. (Makes beeping noises)This GPS is quite vague, my dear. Oh, don't worry, Ma'am. You're quite safe with me. I am of the Yellow-Yellow Taxi, and I can fly! I am Napoleon! I demand a room with a view! Josephine? Where is my Josephine?! Yes... This is madness, yes madness, indeed. Madness, this must be, absolutely has to be. It's certainly not Sparta.... Though if you read about those Spartan dudes, you might find they were all madder than hatters, too. Madness. Yes, I think this is madness. It's Red Alert, Battle Stations, On the USS Sanity. And, like Montgomery Scott, trying to keep this old ship from flying apart, I'm cross-wiring every neuron I can think of. I think the phase inducers are glowing red and smoking just a bit. Oh, and the Heisenberg Compensators? Oh, I am totally uncertain about them. Madness, yes, this is most certainly madness. I have been doing my best to shield myself from all the insanity without, coming in from all sides, with everyone seeing me for just this robot on which to lay a laundry list of things to on... Is it too much? Don't have time? Is it freaking you out? No problem. Just give it to the robot. The robot can handle anything. The robot would never burn out from stress or get tired or maybe need the rare sign that maybe somebody actually cares for it. Just pile all your troubles and bullshit on the robot. Think of it as a coat rack for everything that weighs on your shoulders. Oh, the robot can take it. Oh, we never ask it what it feels, thinks, or needs. Why would we do a silly thing like that? At work, I get it, I understand. I do have a job to do, after all. Outside of work, I get a bit hazy. Just give it to the robot. Why we never even think of the robot unless we want the robot to perform some sort of task. That is the only existence of the robot in our minds, just a tool, some servo in the machinery. We are the same ones who erroneously assume that the Tin Man really didn't have a heart, while he's all the while rusting in his own tears. I wonder if when this robot ceases to function, they'll just cart it out to the curb and get a new one. Sometimes, I think that even if were I to rant and rave, it would be barely noticed and dismissed at that. I think I'd be better if people and circumstances would just leave me alone and let me be. I swear it feels like a conspiracy to drive me to the freaking madhouse! Please just stop. This is not exactly the best time. Perhaps we can make an appointment? Lemmie see... How about on the day after hell freezes over? Just go away, please go away, these many and overwhelming buzz kills for my sanity! After all this, trust me, I am already sufficiently crazy. If I were any worse, I'd be fit for a straitjacket, a padded room, and some good drugs. Madness, yes. I am going mad. Friends, what is your silly hobby? You know, the one thing that you do to occupy your mind? That one silly thing to keep those horrible heavy thoughts away? Mine is my digital collection, along with what I could save of my sister's.. It's silly, but it drives out these heavy thoughts. It chases them away just as she would have chased away anybody who was hurting me. Maybe they are a talisman of some sorts. Maybe they have a way of warding away all the sadness and the loneliness, all of the regret, and even anger. Well, my master drive failed on me last night, and I freaked. I know it may sound like a silly thing to freak out about, unless you know the context and the meaning. It wasn't the last remaining copy, but it was still one hell of a setback, and I freaked. It was about that moment that my Bluetooth music player decided to do its "low battery, please recharge", song and dance. Needless to say, that was its last words. I kinda sorta spiked it like a football after a winning Superbowl touchdown. (Whistle-whistle!) Unnecessary roughness on the electronics! Fourth Down, 15-yard penalty! This isn't me. Not at all. It is not like me to rage like that. That was my ex-wife's bit. She was one to rage, and I was one to cry. I know, not exactly fitting the roles, were we? Is it any wonder why breakup songs by Jewel Kilcher resonate so much with me... Goodbye, Alice in Wonderland... Yeah... I get that in ways the world will never know... But anyway... So these words flow from my brain to these pages... When was the last time I felt genuinely loved? There were the illusions I lived under long ago. How could I have even believed my ex genuinely loved me, cared for me, when she continuously demonstrated, time and time again that she didn't? Funny thing about being on the inside of a situation: There are so many things you'll never see, unless and if you make it out of them. Okay.... So when was the last time I felt genuinely loved and actually loved. I think it was when I saw my baby sister's genuine rage on my behalf. I felt worried what would happen if she ever came into the same room... Not for her physically, because I have no doubt my baby sister would have mopped the floor with them, wring them out and hung them out to dry. But for the trouble she would get herself in for putting the smackdown on someone who had hurt me. I felt worried, but I also felt loved. How many people out there would care for you so much that they would quite literally swear a Klingon blood oath to avenge you? That was my guardian warrior sister. But now... I just wish she were here so I could talk to her. I wish she were here, period. Still living her life and following her dreams. But yes... She was good to talk to. She always knew just what to say to chase these heavy thoughts away. I wish she were here. She might not have known the answers any better than I do, but she would have stayed around until she knew I was okay. She was my listening ear and my crying shoulder. I don't know what to do, Sis. I fear I am literally losing my mind. Madness, indeed. There is no mistaking it this time. I am most definitely going mad. What else could this be?
What would be worse? The fate of the word that loses the definition, or the fate of the definition that loses the word? There is a phone call I wish I could make tonight... It is a number I used to call in moments like these. Most of the times I didn't even have to finish my disjointed sentences. It wasn't telepathy, just a matter of similar minds thinking alike. It was a two-way help line. Sometimes, it was my turn to listen. And it's strange how each knew the right words to say to turn a serious conversation into a lighthearted chat about movies, music, and games. Funny really, how no matter who would call who, that's how our talks always ended, with laughter, smiles, and a weight off the shoulders. Now, Now, what can define us? The things we do. The things believe in (or don't) and... And.... AAAAAAND.... The people we love. This would have sounded silly to me a few years ago. Hell, I went through a divorce and lost a lot. But I kept my definition. I kept myself. It was only later, much later... I learned. You know there have been a million songs written about romantic love, but that is far from the only kind their is, nor are these other kinds any less meaningful. And some bonds are so obvious you can't really see them.. Until they're gone. Carved in stone is my guardian angel. Small is the box with her name so neatly written on the label. Lonely is that place where people say she is, lonely for she is not really there. She may visit and reflect as I tried to do, but it's not the sort of place she would dwell forever. No. She would be among laughter and smiles, strolling through sunshine. She would be among stars and memories, bringing the same light she always brought to my heart. And above all, I know she wouldn't want me to feel this way. This I know. There may be moments when I, without a cause or a clue, can barely even know myself. But it seems I do know this. How, I can't say, but my certainty of this is paradoxically confounding.
We now rejoin my innermost thoughts, a place where only the brave dare to tread. You may find them odd. You may find them peculiar. But no thoughts or feelings could be more real. I should know. They are, after all, mine. I well understand that my life isn't always about me. I get it, I honestly do. But could it be a wee bit about me, just for once? Could there be a fleeting momentary brilliance of a shooting star, the ghost of a chance there would exist... At least one human soul for whom it would matter, who would want to know that I'm okay, truly okay. See, we imperfect human beings have a slight flaw in our programming. Some of us need a wee bit of reassurance. Oh, that's silly, right? Well, if it seems silly to you, then you are indeed fortunate. I would imagine you could brave all the possibilities of this universe with a film star grin. It would be no great matter to be the person this world expects you to be, basically the average Joe equivalent to a Stallone or an Arnold. Sadly, not all of us are built this way. Okay... Now, I'm going to gaze into my crystal ball and tell you what I think my future will be: If I be good, work and pay some bills and be a generally useful human being to everyone around me, that wants this and wants that, the grand showcase prize is I'm going to get old. The End. Riddle me this, riddle me that, why do we little people only get a police escort one time, and it's when we're already late? (My grim humor kicking in) Anyway, like wow, I sure feel motivated. I mean, that's a whole lot of effort to wind up with nothing, oh, and as nothing. It's not the sort of crystal ball I want to see. Believe me, that image would make the Wicked Witch Of The West and her flying friends look like a band of angels, with she being the most beautiful angel of them all. (Your castle or mine, beautiful?) I don't ask to be the center of any universe, but could I be at least part of the orbit? Could I be part of the sum total? Do my feelings matter? Isn't that the Million Dollar Question? This little speech has been brought to you by anxiety, the little disorder with the funny name. And by the question, do you have it, or does it have you? Oh, and by the number three. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, For I am the great and powerful wizard of oz. And yes, my imaginary fears are bigger than your imaginary friend. Tell me another tall tale of time, but please try to make it one I've never heard before. These tired non-solutions to every single problem in life are getting even older than I am. Really. How about a tangible effort to make this world a better place instead? Man, I'm just tired of everything. I try not to think of certain things anymore, those that maybe I could have changed long ago, but can no longer, or the ones where the cookie crumbled a certain way, and dem breaks fell another way, where everything zigged instead of zagged, and vice-versa, where I was at the mercy of fate and could not stand before that mighty wind. The lines between these tend to blur anyway to the point where I don't always know what was circumstance or simply me. I used to ask myself what I did wrong or what I could have done differently. Then I realized all these woulda coulda shoulda what-ifs lose their meaning if there's no chance to try again. You know? I am not sure if mid-life crisis is the correct word for someone like me. But there's certainly something to how I feel. See, the path of my life wouldn't allow such a thing. The first issue is money. I can't exactly go out buy a new wardrobe or sports car. Besides, I like my current clothes and Kia. I have no caring wife or a loving home to leave. Not that I would. I have always craved stability, and I have never understood those who treat spouses like cars and trade for a new one every few years. But here's where I match. Do I feel like life has passed me by? Yes. Do I feel it's too late for me in so many aspects? Yes. Do I often feel that the only future I have is the senior citizen's discount and the grave? Also, yes. What's fair or not fair is not a good road to go down, for keeping score is certainly no path to happiness. I'll jump on that bandwagon in saying I hope we all win in the end. It's a good way to travel. Still, I wish we could all get one redo to fix at least one thing, to try again. Why not? Mistakes in life are a dime a dozen, minor ones like mismatched socks to major ones like picking the wrong spouse to esoteric ones where maybe you find yourself wishing you had shown more love (when you still could). Just one redo. Just one saved game. It's all I need. It's a hell of a feeling, love that resides in the dead letter box, the place they send mail with nowhere to go. Sometimes I feel like a fish out of water, like so many things in life are meant for the young, and that I, through circumstances, both within and beyond my control, saw all my opportunities pass me by, leaving me but one thing to look forward to. If I'm really good, work hard, and pay bills, my grand prize will be to grow elderly, weaker, and die. How about no? Maybe I don't want to go out that way. When one finds themselves with nothing left to lose, then maybe it's time for something a bit..... Unusual. I try not to be one who finds a dark cloud behind every silver lining, but still.... Have you ever wondered about the reasoning behind that whole saying about life being about the journey and not the destination? Hopefully, it's not because we're all headed for disaster. This following the rules and paying the bills just to get old just doesn't sound cool to me. I'd pay a penny for the thoughts of Wile E Coyote on his rocket powered roller skates just before the rock face, and hope mine are not just his slowed way down. Speaking of going looney tunes, I remember this thing where Yosemite Sam was a Duke or something and was going to inherit millions of pounds, with one stipulation: A penalty will be deducted for every swear word Sam says. What does this have to do with me? Well, between the day and some of these people, I've lost more pounds than the raggin fraggin grapefruit diet. Heck, I might even end up with a bill. If only this worked like this for losing weight. Then again, I'd be freakin Skeletor, heeheeheehee! I'd give the Crypt Keeper a run for his money. Wow, these thoughts, these heavy, heavy thoughts. This is my most desperate hour. Help me, Universe Kenobi. You are indeed my only hope.
Well it seems my latest high octane nerve adventure into the upper stratosphere and beyond is finally coming back down. You can see the capsule gently returning to Earth. We are now in that "after phase" y'all've heard tale about. Yep. Okay, okay, okay. I need my ground crew to gently pick the Major up and easily put them to bed. Don't worry, Ground control. I promise the major's going to be out for a good while before they come to. It has been one eventful trip to the stars, a full speed ahead rocket fueled adventure. Now that all of that high octane anxiety has burned itself out, Major Tom is going beddy bye. Once awakened, Captain Normal will reappear and hopefully remain with us for a good while. Thank you for flying Acme Rocket Anxiety Powered Airways. We know you have a choice in air travel and we think you may have goofed and chose wrongly. Watch that last step, bu-buy, bu-buy, bu-buy. And that ladies and Gentlemen, is the best way to describe a panic attack to people who have never experienced one. Describing it as a rocketman space adventure makes my life seem far more glamorous than it really is. Still, I am available for autographs and tee-shirts.
And now for an update from Ground Control: Well, I thought Captain Normal would return in the morning, but it looks like they only sent his adjutant, Major Lee Depressed. At least it wasn't Major Tom again, That Anxiety Astronaut can be a bit of a drain on the 'ol batteries. Damn, The high command really needs to get their act together. Ain't nobody got time for that. I guess that's supposed to be me, I am that elusive high command. Funny though. I'm not exactly feeling high or in command. And, the only military jargon that would apply to my situation would be SNAFU. Oh well... As the poster in Futurama says, You've gotta do what you've gotta do. I know the cycle well enough to know I'll be okay. But God damn it, man. You know? A dead end road and a one way street are merely simple hassles independently. They can still be overcome. It's when they're one and the same when you start think of taking the side exit. Not even I know if I am just being a drama queen here or if this is truly the longest U-Know-What Note ever. Oh, well. The good news is that one does not do anything rash until they finish writing the note, right? Wait: There's rules? But, yeah, it would seem I'm not finished writing it, 1.2 Megabytes and counting. I would like all my reasons clearly detailed in my little Encyclopedia Insanica. They're that complicated. They're that simple. And maybe speaking of them in enough heavy detail will send the heavy heavies back into hiding. Scram, heavies. I wanna feel groovy again. I used to see gateways to many little realms of heaven. First, it was to immerse myself in music, to let it carry me away to a place of no pain. Later, it was in merging myself into the character of a book or a video game, whether in defending a city, fighting monsters, or finding romance. I have long wondered the commonality between all of these things. Then it suddenly hit me, overwhelmed me with its simplicity. All of these things took me to places that are not here. So what does this say about me and this place I am always trying to escape? I think sometimes that the most wonderful yet painful thing the human soul ever did was to finally move beyond the simple creature that gave it existence. We are more and never less than the matter that binds us. Is there any chance to elevate beyond this fishbowl world? Or is all we have just words and words and more words? How about some lyrics instead?
"You're on a tightrope ride, We're all by your side, but you're all alone, like a rolling stone, like Brian Jones. on a tightrope ride..." -- The Doors minus Jim.
"Watch out, don't fall!" (I'm being as careful as I can Mr. Manzerik, sir.) "Careful, don't slip!" (I'm trying, Ray, I really am.) "But, you're all alone!" (Yes I know.) "And we're going home!" ( I am too). "On a tightrope ride!" (Damn, I don't see a net!) "On a tightrope ride!" (Wow, does that wire have to be so thin?) "Yeaaahhhhh, On a tightrope ride!" (Cut it out, Ray!) (Hey, Robby, could you please jam out on that guitar there and bring it on home?) "On a tightrope ride!" "Yeaaaaaah, on a tightrope ride!" (And Robby plays it on out)
I know he was singing about Jim, but it seems to fit me as well, just for different reasons. It's about Jim and it's about me, too. I may not be number three, but it's somewhere between a half dollar and infinity, and all is chump change compared with infinity. And sometimes I feel even infinity's taking its own sweet time. Other times, I scare the hell out of myself with a thought like that. Not to worry. It is only words, my friends. May all our roads lead us somewhere we want to be. Everyone should have a real chance.
Oh well... It's been a slice of heaven with a dash of Hades. Signing off for a deep sleep worthy of Charlton Heston.
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