Wolves, Doors, And Uncertainty

Once upon a long time ago, music was my gateway to this fantasy realm where everyone was kind and everything was groovy, dream scenes of watching sunsets and the peace of being truly among friends. No hanging on to yesterday, no worrying about tomorrow, just this constant state of now with the sunlight and shadows being just right in that late evening way that could have been painted on canvas and framed in this serene work of art that could sell for a ransom. A good tune and a good groove would take me away from difficult reality, to a time I only imagined would be long before I was born. Not that the world was ever really like that, not even in the summer of love. Back then, (My then being the late 1980s and early 1990s) music was my drug, and like with all drugs, you can never really equal that first high, aquamarine dreams in technicolor. When you get older, not even your dreams remain the same. Reality is that constant water that slowly erodes the bedrock of those dreams. It has had enough decades, I guess, to do its work on me. It has eroded a part of myself, lost in the river of time, a bit of my core I wish I could recapture. Doctor Soran was right. Time is a predator that never fails. It steals youth, possibility, and imagination. If that wasn't bad enough, time has taken away many of the people I love most. Time is a bastard. I hate to admit a bit of understanding as to why that evil doctor would destroy a planet just to return to the ones he loved. I wish the Nexus were as real as the summer of love, or at least as real as I once believed, the summer of love to be. And that the pathway were before my feet, and the door before my eyes. I would walk through. I would never look back. I, for the first time in my life, would be truly coming home. Television snow, television snow. Ah, the sound of the rain. It is so soothing. I wish it brought me peace like it once did. Ah, beautiful television snow. I wish I could fade into the background as I wished I could have faded into the one that I love. The loneliness here is beyond description. It's hard having so little time to myself, yet way too much time to think. Life is indeed the long strange trip Jerry Garcia sang about. He also sang of a touch of grey and about getting by. How long? How much longer? I wonder in my mind as I wander this earth, or at least the places I have always known. How and when will it end? Will it be in the arms of my loved ones or in the arms of Oblivia where I will never again know pain or anything at all? Or will I be punished because I could not fit this rigid mold, that I never had the chance to apply these painful lessons long ago learned? Will I truly find rest? Will I truly find peace? Tiredness of the body I can do something about. This fatigue of the soul, exhaustion of the heart? Not so much. I'm so tired of everything and everyone depending on me. Can't you see you're killing me? I have done my best for a very long time now. I have had a lot on my shoulders, and I think it's time for me to breathe again. I can't carry the whole damn world forever. I need time, and I need space, and maybe a bit more reason to pull myself out of sleep rather than keeping the wolf away from the door. Can I work toward something positive instead of always working against the negative consequences of keeping the bill collectors and the repo man at bay? Aside from taxes, they really couldn't take my home, but sitting in the dark, forgoing food and human interaction might be hazardous to my physical and mental health. I would like a life worth going through all this effort to sustain. I need the council of my loved ones more than ever. The fact that so many of them are no longer here does not change my need to hear their words. I miss them more and more. This world still has billions, but it feels empty without them. I was never so good at dividing my heart equally, and fate took the ones with the biggest pieces of it. They were also the ones who knew me best, the ones who could see more into my being. Life and the world that we see is a paradox, for our worlds can differ greatly, even though we're all on the same planet. I can't truly know what it's like to be you. You can't truly understand what it's like to be me. Even though we're both human, both alive, both with hopes, dreams, fears, our own struggles, our own pain, and our own comforts. And, yes, even our own reasons for going once more into the breach, once more with feeling, for saying to hell with fear and letting whatever happens happen. And the enduring hope that at the end of the day, there is always home, and that home is never just a place, but a person. And that it is the soul that too needs rest, just as the body. Keeping the defenses up 24-7 drains both energy and sanity. You've got to have that safe harbor to lower your shields, to repair mind, body, and soul. Just a note from one human being to another, with love, with compassion. Understanding is not a requirement, but doesn't it do a heart good when they try? It's strange how foreboding can seep into one's dreams. I'm not sure what's up with me aside from my various worries. Uncertainty and anxiety ain't exactly peanut butter and jelly. It's more like gasoline and matches. Everything seems to be chaos. Damn holidays. This will be the first one spent at home, home being the same place that once held a family of five. Just one sister and I survive for the 2024 holidays. My sister will be with her boyfriend's family... So it's just my boys and I this year. When his parents passed, Dad had Momma and all of us by his side. When my Granny passed, Momma had Dad and all of us by her side. What do I have? That's a good question. I better not answer because I might get bitter. Let's say it seems I've got a lot of people relying on me, and no one to rely on myself. I feel like I'm seen as an endless money supply or an endless supply of the things money buys. Meanwhile, I struggle on. All I know is I have worked continuously since I was 19 years old, aside from 10 months unemployment about 10 years ago. I have no luxury of any choice whether to work or not. It's life, you know? And will there ever come a time when my life is once again my own? If I must live with loneliness, shouldn't I have the freedom that goes along with it? When I say I've done my time, I really have done some heavy time. I spent much of my life with both the downside of being a family man and the downside of being a single man. Because, unlike on TV, and understandable when I put myself in their shoes, Nobody wanted one half of the Brady Bunch. (Besides, unlike me, the Brady's seemed to be well off, financially). Still, I bore no resentment, not to them, anyway. I was the one who stayed, and not merely because it was my responsibility to do so. I wanted to, and it was only right to do the best I could for them. I'll never claim to have been perfect, but I did okay. I don't even know what I'm trying to say here, except I'd like to actually live before I die, rather than just merely existing and surviving. After all this time, am I really asking too much? Oh well, this is just me getting it out of my head and onto the page. Indeed, sometimes I wonder if my life will ever be my own again. I really feel I've done my time, some heavy time, A family man but a single man, with all the responsibility of the former, and none of the freedom of the latter, yet the struggles and the stress of the former, and the loneliness, emptiness, and self doubt of the latter. One half of the Brady Bunch, except for the paycheck to paycheck life of struggling for every penny. I bear no resentment. Not to the kids anyway. None of this was their doing. If anything, it was my poor decision. I tried to be a white knight, Mr Fixit, and failed. My advice to all would be Mr Fixits is to keep this simple thought in your upstairs brain, and don't fall fool to the other one. Changing yourself is hard enough. Changing someone else is impossible unless they themselves truly want to change. The helping and the healing should be a two-way street. Don't give all of your heart and soul only to find yourself an empty container discarded in the foodmart parking lot. In a grandly designed universe, long years of sacrifice and struggle would mean something. There would be a light at the end of this long dark tunnel that isn't an oncoming train. Still, I fail to see it, and I sure as hell ain't getting any younger. In a glittering ideal world made by the hand of God, I would have earned some peace and maybe a chance to live before I drop dead. Instead, I live in this absolutely real universe of random chance and bad choices, where the crime of falling in love and buying into the lines and the lies, merits a life sentence without the possibility of parole. Will I get a chance to actually feel alive again? If loneliness is what is meant for me, then at least give me the freedom. Why in the hell is it that I am constantly left alone in every way possible, except for the one way I actually want to be left alone? In fact, leave me in peace, but not alone. Damn it, I am tired, so very damn tired. It gets figuratively claustrophobic and quite soul crushing. In space, one can't scream because there's no air, and nobody could hear you anyway. Here on earth, I could scream, but I think it would rather hurt my situation than help it. Well, maybe a vacation in Chattahoochee might actually help, three square meals, good drugs, and people wanting to keep me all calm and chill. I am Napoleon! Okay, even if I'm not quite ready for the nuthouse just yet, I still need to find a place where there are no human ears to hear and let loose with a scream worthy of Captain Kirk or Fay Rey, Just scream out as loud as I can and scare the poor woodland creatures. Failing that chance, I guess the best I can do is write. In many ways, the good Doctor Blog-ieo is all I have left. I hate it when I have a day like this. I can't completely blame it on my surroundings, nor the people I deal with. It's the same world and the same people. Half of my battles will always be inside myself. And some days, quitting time merely means a strategic retreat home and to my bed in the hope that sleep will grant me the chance to try again tomorrow. I have to do the best I can with both body and mind. I can't say I'm happy with either, but what other choice do I have? This is how I am able to keep these thoughts to myself, yes, by expressing them. Counterintuitive, right? Well, very few ever venture into my blog, much less the ones I'm around every day. Besides, here I'm the great Cosmic Wie, and I could be anyone. Nobody, but Uncle Sam knows who I really am. Well, that and anyone who might look closely enough to find the link on my social media pages. Nobody, really. I'm not exactly important enough to spy on. Oh, Hello, Uncle Sam, Please help your extremely broke relative. Send me many pictures of Ben Franklin. I think liberty is something only the rich can afford these days. As my father once told me, we're all enslaved by the almighty dollar. Freedom? That's bullshit. We're all imprisoned by something or someone. The mind is the worst prison of all. One can't really escape. Run as fast and as far as you might, but you'll never get away from yourself. Really, there's got to be a better way, an out that isn't exactly an out. Though I couldn't even hazard a guess as to what that out could be. I just want a lot of peace with some meaning thrown in. I'm sorry if I can't accept those old answers that really are just guesses and always were. I need so much more than faith. I need knowledge. I need an answer that actually makes some sense. It's not that I won't, more that I simply can't accept anything less. Wanting to believe in something, even needing to, is just not the same as actually being able to. It's been one long strange trip. I wonder how much longer it will be. Eternity minus whatever that is will still be eternity. I just wish I could rest in peace, yet still be quite alive and actually living. Existence and survival are not enough for me. I need so much more than that. Where or from whom that may be found, I could not say, but if wishes were answers, I would have exactly one. That's why so many of us spend a lifetime wishing away. People and the encounters I have with them can be so different. I hate to say it, but some have this negative energy that can be so draining. But others don't even have to say a word or really be anybody but themselves for their presence to be soothing and reassuring. Maybe that's why I will always love them like I do, even knowing they could never feel the same. At least I can be in their presence once in a while. I can't say why I find it so healing to be there, but I have to settle for whatever I can get, even if I can't help but wonder how peaceful and safe it would feel to be held by them. Damn it. I'll never know, but I will always wonder. I can't exactly help my feelings. I can control what I do, but I can't change how I feel. As I said, holding back love hurts more than holding onto hatred. It's so hard to bite my tongue instead of expressing my deep adoration and love for what I can never really have. I have encountered many souls in this long trip of a life, but none like this one. I can't exactly put my reasons into words except that that particular soul will always have my love, no matter what. Even if I never see them again. In a grandly designed universe, feelings would be mutual, and everything would be wonderful. Not so much in random chance reality. For want of a nail, for the flip of a coin, for the hit or the miss of an asteroid, go we. That's how we avoided being dino chow, and that's why I'm alive today to contemplate the letters W, T, and F... Oh, and the number 9. What's the special word of the day? I can't say it now, but remember to shout it out loud. I think it was one of those, Mr. Rogers didn't teach me. Get it past the censors if you can and have a lovely day in the neighborhood. Perhaps I should elaborate: It never happens anywhere else, but when I type the words, I love you, her name appears. The suggested text on my phone might potentially be a dangerous thing. I guess I must have confessed my feelings somewhere in these long walls of text, maybe last summer. I mean, it's true. I can't help that I feel that way. The better I have gotten to know her over this past year or so, the more endearing she has become. Yes. Both Google and Uncle Sam know that I love you, (name redacted). See, I didn't type her name. Google typed it for me. I know it's true. So does Google. So does Uncle Sam. Hey, NSA, do you have any suggestions as to how to win her heart? No? All that spying, and you still don't know shit. Shouldn't the government know everything? I guess Google only echos the fact of my feelings. It doesn't make it any more possible for her to feel the same way about me. This I have to accept and I have for the most part. It's just a shocker to see her name show up when I speak of love. Though It does make perfect sense. She is one of the most beautiful, interesting, intriguing, intelligent, kind, sweet, lovely, and yes, lovable person I have ever met in my life. I can't make anyone love me. Love can't be forced. Though I would do anything to win her heart, if I could. Heck, I would do most anything within reason even if it wouldn't, just for her asking me. Not because I foolishly think it would make her love me, but just because I love her anyway, and when you love someone, you want to see them happy. (Even when it is breaking your heart) Because she means so much to me, It's hard to say no. I guess I should count myself lucky that I've gone and caught feelings for someone I know in real life, even if she can't return them, than for it to be some romance scammer online determined to fleece me of my last dime. And I'm not one of those crazies giving all their money to some paywalled website. At least, she is a real person. Incidentally, her realness is what I love most about her. In those eyes, there is a beautiful soul that I just can't help but love. I have come to accept that it's not meant to be, and her friendship means everything to me, but I have also accepted the futility in denying to myself, the truth of my feelings. One plus one is two, E is equal to MC squared, and I love her. These are facts. And I must live with facts. Facts can be cruel sometimes. I just wish that if it can never be me, she would at least choose someone who would see her the way I do. Whoever that might be would do whatever it takes to make her happy. And to see my dearest friend happy would take away much of the sadness in myself. Not all, mind you, but most. Part of me can't get past wishing I were hers. Oh, well. That's my story, Uncle Sam and Google. Don't take the book and movie rights. AI could never generate someone so wonderfully real. Maybe imitate but never duplicate. Random chance may not be a god, but it seems to be capable of grand design after all. Maybe it's a devil, too, to create the perfect love of my life, yet make me not be that one. In surfer speak, bummer, dude. What is more important is that my special friend finds happiness and a real chance to shine. Let the world at least see what I see, this wonderful person who deserves to be cherished and maybe realize a dream or two. And like Forest Gump, that's all I got to say about that. Oh, and I may not be a smart man, but I know what love is. And to quote Nazareth, Love hurts. Not only this particular unrequited love, either, but all love that has nowhere to go. This love for my mother and father, this love for my dearest sister. Thanksgiving's gonna suck. Christmas is gonna suck. January 23rd is gonna blow hard. That will make three long years. Do I carry on because she, because they would want me to? How long must one burn in the flames of time to be reduced to the ashes of madness? I guess that depends on whether the flame consumes you or tempers you, whether it takes away your resolve or makes you stronger. Does it make you a winner to be the last one standing? Or does it merely mean the longer you've stood, the more you have had time to lose? And what is strength, anyway? I can be so much stronger for the ones I love than I could ever be for myself. In fact, those who stood with me made me strong. In life, we all win, and we all lose. I would like to do more of one than the other. That is the goal. That, too, is my wish for you. Still, I feel empty without those who once stood with me. It is good to still be standing, but who truly wants to stand alone? Not me. Not anymore. And so, Doctor Blog-ieo, along with whatever friends, Romans, robots, or strangers who might be reading, what do you think of this mess of a mind? Keep in mind I say so much here to keep from blurting it out elsewhere. This keeps me (barely) gainfully employed and out of the nuthouse. I was about to say out of the madhouse, but hell, this whole world is a madhouse anyway. Here I can rant and rave all the live long day and very few will be the wiser. I think I once said that I go insane on these words so I don't go crazy here in reality, not at work, not around my kids or any of the people that I love, not out in public spaces where I may or not get srnt to the funny farm. It's just between the universe, and you (whoever you may be) and me. Here is where I tell most but not all of my secrets. I talk about my outer struggles and financial worries. Here I talk about my inner struggles, anxiety and coming to terms with grief. Here I speak of an unrequited love I just can't help but have in my heart for a certain beautiful soul, despite reality, despite impossibility. I guess when I love you, I just do. Here I tell most but not all of my deepest secrets. Though I may hint about what I don't explicitly say about the rest. Here, one can learn all they need to know about the great Cosmic Wie and maybe then some. Since I'm going on three years, and going on two megabytes, there's probably not much that I haven't said or implied somewhere in these words. I am undiagnosed, unsupervised, and on my own. I would hate to leave this world without leaving behind a record that describes as best I can the person I am. If not for eternity, then maybe for posterity. Maybe these letters will find someone going through the same things. Maybe it will help them to know they're not alone, that somewhere in space and in time, there exists a soul who would understand. I would certainly want this, too. Wouldn't it be wonderful to look into a set of eyes and see a glimmer of understanding, maybe even a bit of yourself? Here in space, here in time, go I, waiting for something within nothing, for that long ago echo to come 'round again. May there be meaning. May there be reasons. May there be light.