In The Fullness Of Time

I have hours to kill, but it feels like the hours are killing me. How can I find it so hard to fall asleep when I can and should, yet find it equally difficult to stay awake when I absolutely have to? My inner clock must be on Timbuktu time. What the hell, man. I'm so damn sleepy that my eyes are burning. I'd damn near sell my soul to be in my bed right now. Now watch me be staring at the ceiling tonight. Oh, the irony. Maybe tonight will be better. I don't think even Freddy Kruger could keep me awake tonight. Move over, Fred. I need some freaking shut eye. There has been a bit of a heated debate in the cosmic senate of Wie on whether or not I should bring this blog to an end. On one hand, shouldn't I after three years and two megabytes have said all there was to say? But was that really the point? If this is really the cheap therapy I say it is, then shouldn't multiple sessions cover the same subject? While this seems to be getting longer than a lot of books, a book was not my intention. Besides, it's not exactly of biblical proportions. Not yet. Apparently, that would be just under 5 megabytes. Yes, I checked. So, less than halfway there. Besides, my direct outpouring of the contents of both heart and mind is a bit disorganized, with no chapters and verses here. Good thing I'm not a prophet. There's no counting the religious wars the book of Wie would start. I am glad I'm not a god. Gods live forever, and I wouldn't want that. I have thought about maybe changing it up by writing stories based on the things I've been through, but I don't know. Have I really said all there is to say? Wouldn't it be so that for as long as there are thoughts in my head and feelings in my heart, there will always be something left to be said? Is my story really so over that words would be a waste? My heart still beats and I'm still here. I suppose I should continue on, since it is simply what I do and the way I deal. It's the way I keep my sanity (or at least my ability to fake it) out in the world. So, for my dear universe and the good Doctor Blog-ieo, I shall remain. And my friends, Romans, robots, and strangers, you are welcome to continue with me on this longest and strangest of trips, which might impress even Jerry Garcia. See, Jerry, we dont need drugs to be fhacked oop in za head. Just a bit of the genetic code I call the Barney curse. That's all we need for a wild ride indeed. And writing is a healthier coping mechanism than booze or drugs. It even makes sense for my baby sister and I to be the bookends for this blog. It began when death took her. It will end when death takes me. This is the purgatory between. These are the years that I still live, but without her. It sounds heavy as a concept, but it is oh so apt. Unlike being the eldest but still alive. That makes absolutely no damn sense to me at all. I wonder if there's a parallel world out there where it was me instead. Or better yet, a universe where it was neither one of us? It doesn't really matter if it's this universe I must live in. Damn. Here I go on this road again. Time to change the subject. I call for your finest, cleanest cup, universe. Fill it with bourbon and move it on down.  Maybe I should just continue letting my heart speak. This could be yet another reason to keep living. I need these things to remind myself when my tide and my spirit is low. Sometimes, these blues breed scary thoughts, little monsters I don't need conspiring with demons already there. I've got to keep that Robert Frost poem flowing in my head, that I've got things to do, and many miles to go before I can sleep on that soft grass in that lovely dark and deep forest. I'd bet those night birds could sing the most beautiful lullaby. How peaceful in the forest, peace in the valley, far beyond the reach of pain, blame, and shame. Damn. I need to stop, don't I? I do believe worlds begin and end every day. And sometimes we outlive all hope of happy endings. Maybe the question is as to what is the next best thing. Aren't we all trying to fill this very same void? Who doesn't want to feel loved and appreciated, to be the object of affection? It's just the stress, the baggage, and the stupid games, the traps, those beautifully deceptive pearly gates that lead to the other place instead. These are all the things an old heart (this one) can't take anymore. We all think we're reasonable until we're not. So I ask again, what is the next best thing? How does one fill the void, and how does one glue broken hearts back together? Duct tape? Gorilla glue? Bailing wire? How can one feel whole again? How can we move on and begin to heal? If we humans were indeed just animals, then I guess my reasons for living would have been long gone. After all, I have already met the criteria for a successful life by animal standards. I survived, and I made more of us and raised them to adulthood. That's the goal for animals, even human ones. But for heart, soul, and spirit, there are so many miles to go. For one thing, my purpose, my meaning for life should be far more than food, sleep, and reproduction... As nice as such things can be. I want to leave behind much more than my genetic code. My genes, much like the land I live on, are not permanently mine anyway. They are of my mother. They are of my father. They are of my grandparents, Edna, Clarence, Lena, and.... I loathe to admit... Barney... The latter's only gift seems to be my mental problems.. And genetics don't stop there either... My forebearers, most I do not even know.... My genes, my time, my land: only for now, only my turn, no more permanent than Dad's or Grandpa's. I know this. I just hope at least one of my three grown kids will finally get their shit together so I can decide who to pass this on to before my turn at the helm of this ancient enduring family ends. I may not be the Pharaoh of Egypt, but I still want to leave my 'kingdom' in capable hands. I owe this to my forefathers and to my descendants. The strongest chain is judged by its weakest link. Therefore, I am trying my best to be strong. I am of the variety of human that supposedly never needs to be held, consoled, or loved because feelings are supposedly forbidden. But I do feel a need for all these things! Hold me, comfort me, love me, and tell me that I am not alone. Yet I am supposed to be too big and bad, too rough and tough to need such things. I guess I fail. Before everything, I am a human being with one hell of a well of deep emotions. I am a being with needs beyond the physical. We all have feelings, and some of these expectations of society are absolute bullshit. Emotions are a strength, not a weakness. A man must have a reason to be strong. Standing in defense of the people that he loves is a damn good reason to be strong. Let me say a bit about fathers. There is or at least was this tendency to say to yourself, "He knows I do." Instead of telling him, "I love you." Let me just say that in a life otherwise full of loss, lamentations, and regret, there was one thing I actually got right in the last few years of my father's life. I finally got into the habit of saying, "I love you," every time I spoke to him. How much worse would I feel today had I not? Remember, sons and daughters, it's not enough that he knows. Tell him anyway. There may come a day when it is the only thing that eases the pain. Well, well, anyway, how are ya? Me, I'm okay. Except that if I were Beetlejuice, I'd feel like a trip to Dante's Inferno Room. Ah, but that's another story. I have spent my weekend so far working on making this place as beautiful as possible.. I know it's crazy, but I feel closer to my Mom and Dad when I'm out there. Really, my baby Sis, too.... When I'm out there working, the difference between the 1980s and the 2020s just seems a little smaller. Beyond that, I have not been on here much, have I? Just as I can't really find any inspiration to be seen, noticed, yadda yadda Yoda, as someone I am not, I can't really get all that inspired either by feeling totally invisible for simply being myself, either. The truth is, I wouldn't know how else to be. There is a fine line between fitting in and blind conformity. See, one side effect of getting old is caring less and less about such things. Though it would be nice to find as for this unique wavelength of mine that the frequency isn't totally empty. After all, static is nobody's favorite tune. Not even when remixed. Such is the way of the force, I guess. If I were the religious type, maybe I would call this my version of the whole 40 years wandering the wilderness thing. At least I never had the trappings of Egyptian royalty to miss while wandering. Damn it, I could have had my very own pyramid, but noooo! Seriously, I doubt I have 40 years. Only if I had my grandfather's lifespan. Based on my parents, barring unforeseen tragedy, I've got 22, maybe 23. One can't exactly base the future on the past, though. If that were true, my parents would be alive today, and Dad would especially have another 20 years. It would seem my aunt, his older sister by 6 years, is the one who inherited Grandpa's longevity genes. Dad was her little brother, just as Marsha was my little sister. Being the eldest yet still alive, I think maybe I understand. It's one hell of a bummer. I've seen way too much proof that being the firstborn does not mean the first to go. I'm still here, it seems. Maybe this is my punishment, disguised, though it may be as a blessing. The finest blessings are empty without the people that I love and owe so much. It's like having a billion dollars, yet nothing to buy. Empty, lonely, full of lamentations, and regret. I could have done better, and I know it. This is what I must live with along with this loneliness and loss. I should have done better. But this aging soul is all that's left. This is the most apt and accurate punishment. I can't describe the pain of not being able to change a damn thing about the past. It's too bad that the young and stupid kid I once was is no longer here to take the lashes. It's just me, but in me, you have a willing party to take them just the same. Just know I am not that person anymore and I will never be again. By the stars in heaven and by the fires of hell, this I forever swear, to my very grave. And whatever (if anything) lies beyond. I guess we are often our worst critics, especially when it comes to the past. Imagine a court room where the accused, the judge, prosecutor, and bailiff, are all you. Your Honor, Wies of the jury, I, District Attorney Wie, will prove beyond doubt- Objection! Overruled! Sustained! I declare Clean Cup Move Down! This universe is made of time and space, which is what I just so happen to need sometimes. I need to think. I need to breathe. If I isolate myself, there is a good reason. It not only benefits me, but others, too. After all, I do not wish to be a total jerk by getting ugly with those not giving me the breathing room I need. See, it's like this: When I go somewhere to be alone, that is exactly what I want. Some people (I think as I take out a couple of anti-psycho lozenges, aka nicotine pouches) just piss me off by existing, especially when encroaching my personal space enough to breathe my air. Not today, human. Scram! With polite expression, please leave. With impolite expression, go away. With rude expression,goo to Hell! Ah, whatever works. If it wasn't for varmints, there would be times when I would say humans (including myself sometimes) were my least favorite animal. Though I really hate armadillos much more. Did a turtle and a possum get freaky? Ugly! And they dig up the damn yard. Ragging fragging varmints.  ..And I mean this in the kindest Yosemite Sam way. After all, it seems I see more woodland creatures than Snow White herself, at least in the mornings. Some of them are daredevils with a deathwish that I try my damndest to avoid. I am a bit tender hearted for most creatures, and I would never want to hurt them if I can avoid doing so without getting in a wreck. Life is precious, but so is mine. Miles to go, miles to go. I am amazed how minds can move, evolve through time, and change. Some minds learn and grow. Others grow bitter and cold. It can go either way. Examples abound in fiction. 30,000 years of self reflection turned Vandal Savage into a good, thoughtful man who helped Superman undo his past evil deeds. Self-preservation turned the Metamorphis into an evil being bent on the destruction of a nation when he once held compassion for Ghandahar. The tragic loss of loved ones turned the once sympathetic radio host, Luther Mandrake, into a bitter cynical man who didn't mind making people cry with his cruel, hateful words. What about the spiritual journey of Moses from Egyptian Prince to prophet of God? What about Lucifer's fall from a high-ranking angel to a literal devil? Minds move all the time. And really, I have had my own journey. I am not the same being I once was. Not even close. Years of wisdom and tragic loss have left their mark on me. I am somebody else. I look back at someone who is clearly not me. I suppose so long as free will exists, both redemption and falling are both possible. Superheroes, Supervillains, Angels, and Devils: They all have a back story, an origin. We must all decide which we're going to be. May I continue on the path of wisdom, growth, improvement, and evolution. Let me see in the mirror the good person I wish to be. I need to know I am becoming more and more the one I should be. I had another crazy dream, another maze. A hospice nurse came up to me and asked how my father was doing. I was about to tell her that he's been dead and gone since last July, but his voice interrupted me, saying, "I'm doing much better now." I turned around to see him, about my age, in his 1990s health and glory. Then I wondered the maze some more and found myself in some sort of restaurant. A waitress asked me if I could help them clean up the place, and I agreed, wiping counters, gathering up trash, and putting it on a giant dumpster out back. On about my third trip back in, something was wrong. There was this crazy fat maniac with a gun on a murder spree. I tried warning people to run away, but only a few heard me in time to get to safely. Instead of being brave like I'd hope to be, I ran away. I could see the lights flashing and hear the sirens blaring as the police surrounded the building. Then I found myself back in the maze again. I couldn't find my car. Suddenly, a sharp pain seized my leg, and I fell. It turns out it was one of those damn cramps I get in the middle of the night. The only way to make it stop is by getting out of bed and standing up. That was what woke me up. It was 3am. The dream or the cramp that woke me, which hurt more? Tough contest to judge if you ask me. My dreams make me wonder about my own mental health. Am I really that flarked up in the head? The only good aspect was Dad, undiminished by the ravages of time, saying he was doing okay. The rest of the dream totally sucked. We all want to be heroes, but can we really know what we'll be when all hell breaks loose? No. Me, I'll either be running toward the enemy to fight or away to flee. All I know it I will not freeze. Flight or fight, one or the other. Oh well, at least my dream self did make some effort to warn people of the danger. What the hell causes me to have nightmares like that? Probably all the insanity on the television news. It's a madhouse out there. Most of the maniacs are not in the asylum but are roaming free. It's a frightening thought. I guess it seeps into the subconscious, impossible to digest, so the mind needs to take a giant shit now and then. Though what the mental Ex-lax happened to be, I don't know. I thought Freddy Kruger was the only maniac of dreams. I guess every town has more than just an Elm Street. Mean glove, move down! Enough of the freaking prime time! Enough unpleasantness. Spring is here. And if Mr Orange happens to be right, I just so happen to be in the right industry. Stocks mean nothing when one can't afford to invest. Wages, on the other hand, matter a great deal. I guess we'll see, won't we? All I know is I have seen things go downhill for a very long time now. It doesn't take a genus to know workers with a living wage can't compete against sweat shops. I have no need of cheap junk, especially expensive cheap junk. I have no plans to buy a new car. My current vehicle still had reasonably low mileage, and I take good care of that ol gal. I have long figured I can't afford retirement. Who knows? Maybe that will change. If not, it will be just as bleak as before. Any chance is better than no chance at all. As I have said, it's my bottom line I care about and none of the bullshit. One country said it was like a friend starting a fistfight. Well, if I caught my friend stealing from me, I'd go all Rocky Balboa too. And enough of that because I still hate politics. The only side I'm on is mine. It's like the Superbowl. What do I care who wins? Do I get a ring? Do I get to party with the cheerleaders? No. So why should it make a difference to me? It's only natural that the only team I care about winning the championship is Team Wie. Go Space Cadets! Fight, fight, fight, for the spaced out cadets! Goooo Meeee! GI Zapp! Did you pack your parachute? Good, because I forgot mine. It's not selfish to be making sure that at least one person is looking out for your own best interests. Casting our souls out to be at the mercy of strangers is a very risky business indeed. You've got to have your own back if you expect others to. On the other side of that same coin, we should always look after the ones who look after us. Not blindly, but with open eyes. I take no side that refuses to be on mine. I try my best not to be like Luther Mandrake by letting tragedy and loss transform me into some hateful, bitter cynic. I still have empathy for others. But the lessons born of tragedy not only remind me to appreciate the people who genuinely love me but also remind me to have the same care for myself. I am not perfect, but I am still worthy of love, patience, and understanding. Why? Because I actually do care. I just have to remember I can't drain the very last drop of my own life's blood, just to save another. I am not Jesus Christ, just another human being, full of flaws, and with a past, I can not change. I am not immune to temptation or death. And sometimes, I think death has sadisticly spared me thus far, just for me to witness him take the ones I love, one by one. Just as with my trashy ex, sometimes the best revenge is letting them live while everything and everyone they love is picked like flowers by the gods and the angels, for Heaven, Valhalla, wherever What matters is that this world grows darker with each light extinguished. I won't lie. Would you laugh at a middle-aged aged adult sits and cries because Mommy and Daddy are gone? Then laugh it up, asshole. It'll stop being funny when it starts being you. I miss them. I miss my dear baby sister. I miss the illusion I once had of success and normality, that as long as I were good I would be treated in kind, that I had married a soul mate and not a monster intent on first using me then crushing my soul. I can't be like Mandrake. If I become a cynic, then I have lost. I am no advocate for the devil. Only for myself, because most of my advocates are gone now. I still have a heart, even if it has grown old. Old, but never cold, my friends. I still love with everything I've got. I'm just a lot more careful with who. Time is peculiar. This day seems like eternity. My youth seems like yesterday. And I? I am sure I've explained why I call now the future and not the present. I am a space cadet lost in time. This future, where so little is familiar, where the dead should still be living, and where I should not be this damn old. This is the future. And in more ways than not, the future sucks. Science damn it. I am sick of the freaking future. Just drop by in your 1981 DeLorean DMC-12, like a knight in stainless steel armor, pick me up and take me home. Rescue me. Take me back to a time when I still had a chance and things still made sense. I am old and I am tired. There goes my dramatic ranting again. God save the King..... (and the Queen). Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. I am the great and powerful wizard of Oz, north, south, east, west, to the borders of Wonderland.