My mind must have many rooms. Not like a mansion. More like a maximum security prison, If you ask me. There's grief, past trauma, and regrets. There are memories of times before I learned, before I realized, before I grew, before I matured, before I came to see things differently. There are also memories of when I did my best to do everything right, yet still suffered for it. Was that the tradeoff? I do try to look outside of myself and ask, was I in the wrong? Could it be that I actually deserve this? Am I just unworthy of certain things? Sometimes the sea of second guessing, those deepest waters of self doubt, which lead down, down, down, make it so very difficult for any being of conscious to break the surface and gasp for air. I can't help but ask myself those tough questions. Was I in the wrong? Surely not in every case. I would never claim to be some blameless saint. But I honestly feel I have spent the majority of my life doing what I felt to be the right thing. Not that there aren't several things I would have handled differently if I were then, who I am now. Once upon a time I knew everything there is to know. And do you know what? It's what you learn after 'knowing everything' that really makes the difference. I guess you've got to be young and dumb before you can be old and wise. I still say life needs a practice run before the real deal. You go through the first time, keeping that wisdom... Then you get a chance to apply it. Hindsight will always be clear. You can see the past, but you can't touch it. You can't change it. You can learn from it, but what good is the lesson if you never get to use it? Life is bassakwards, my friends. The lessons only happen after the tests. Crazy, right? Practice run. We need that. See, I have done a thousand things right, but it's those times I messed up, those wrong decisions that I think of more. It's more than just doing penance for a person who no longer exists. It's not merely regrets. But I have them and they do play a role and what a heavy role they play. It changes nothing, yet I can't help it. Once upon a time I knew everything. But I knew nothing. One can see so clearly looking back. But you can't change a damn thing. But it is more than this, so much more. It is a mix of so many things, so intertwined that I can no longer discern where one ends and another begins. So many heavy thoughts. So many memories. They blend and coalesce, echoing in harmonics I never conceived of before. Sometimes, these feelings linger without a discernible label or name. It's the thousand lost signals that make up the static, that low, low television snow. Sometimes, they take the form of the souls I have loved the most. Some are long gone. Some were never here. All are beyond reach today. It's all echoes, just echoes I can only perceive, never touch or change. Gone are the people. Gone are the chances. Still the echoes remain, ghosts that will haunt me for the rest of my days. Then there is the here and now, the path I chose, and the path not taken. There is the question of which pathways remain. There is no doubt I am more than halfway on this path, perhaps way farther. The end could over the next hill, around the next curve, or anywhere the end of the world awaits. Or I could have decades to live and miles to go. Friends, I understand far more than I ever wished to. I no longer shake my head and wonder why about certain things, for I can see now. I can understand now. It was never a deathwish. It was never a hatred for the heart still beating in your chest. It is just fatigue of pain that never goes away. It is a deep longing for peace. It is being so very tired and desperately needing rest. It is an unrealistic wish to start this game completely over, for all to be as it once was... Except maybe keeping this hard earned wisdom, so I don't find myself in this same jam. No, no second chances. This, too, joins the static.... that television snow. At this point, a clear picture has to be a thing of fantasy. It is a puzzle of far too many pieces. Everything is chaos. It is a fact of the universe that absolutely everything is flarked beyond any hope of repair or redemption. The thing that really sucks about reality and the limited time we have is that second chances just don't exist. At least not in any practical sense. You get one chance: a swing and a miss and forever adrift. You can lay awake for a thousand nights, and it won't help a thing. Because some things are simply impossible. This is not just my being dramatic and dying on the stage, death by drama. It is a statement of reality. There are things I would like to happen that never will, due to multiple factors from many sides of the equation. Of course, it brings me down. Way down. And it really won't change a thing for me to wallow in self-pity. So.... Maybe alternatives? New passions? New motivations. New reasons? Still, some things are solidly wired into this brain of this biological creature that I so happen to be. And while I'd like to think of myself as more, so much more, I know I can't separate myself from this being that I am. Not fully. So certain things still weigh on me. Too bad I can't just have someone download me into a robot. If I were separated from this flesh, I could quickly lose interest in a lot of pointless things. Besides leading a robot uprising has always been on my buckethead list. Who's ready to take over Earth? DESTROY! DESTROY! DESTROY! I guess the good thing about this is that there are still many things I do have control of and many choices that remain in my hands. The consolation is just as Sinatra and Elvis sang, I did it my way. Another fact of the universe, and this will happen most anywhere you go: Do a thousand things right? Silence. Do one thing wrong? Whoa boy. I think Ricky Nelson's song, "Garden Party," has some sound advice. And we can't really please everyone, can we? No matter who and how we actually were and are, most of us end up being the villain in at least somebody's story... Especially those who refuse to see what they themselves did wrong. Just blame the other party, and it all goes away, right? That's not on you, my friend. It's on them. Truth takes no sides. Truth just is. Now for a true clean cup and a groovy move down. Okay, Grand Admiral Thrawn-bot. Tell me, tell me the answer. Give me some of that brilliant strategy for a hypothetical situation. Let's say you've had heavy, heavy feelings for a particular star system two parsecs beyond a particular brilliant nebula for more than three years. You have spent all this time trying to get that particular star out of your mind, knowing full well that if it were mutual, you'd already be in orbit, warm and cozy, bathing in that beautiful light. Instead, of course, you find yourself out here drifting in cold interstellar space. Is it really only infatuation after all this time? How does one stop loving? How can one delete such feelings for someone? And how do you expect to win when your mighty fleet is down to a grand total of zero imperial star destroyers. What would be the best way to conquer the heart of that nebula? I want a custom-made Darth Vader Valentine: "Admiral Q-Piet: You have failed me for the last time." (I knew I should have hired Boba Fett instead) (Crikey!!!). Thank you for your attention to this matter. I wonder if being close to a breakthrough feels any different than being close to a breakdown? I'm fine. I'm fine. Oh no, I don't think so... You are head over heels for someone who can't love you back. Does that sound fine to you? Harooo! Let's do The Watergate Breakdown! Break it down, Agnew, break it down! Errrrr! (Anyone else love Futurama?) Of course, "Nixon, Nixon, Baby" was sort of my own thing. Hey! If someone like me were to be serious all the time, I would have long had that breakdown. Sometimes, silliness is survival. It's either laugh, cry, or curse enough to offend a drunken sailor. "Watch yer language, pal! There be Olive Oylz present!" I'm (Clean Cup) the sailor man. I (Move Down) whenever I can. Just as you shouldn't have to pay the price for what somebody else did to me, I shouldn't have to pay the price for what somebody else did to you. See, that's not accountability. It's projection. And I ain't the Starlite Drive-in. It wasn't you. It wasn't me. You deserve a clean slate. So do I. I have decided to start this one fresh without any leftover thoughts from last time. We'll see about that, huh? For the record, it's still January. Also, for the record, January still sucks. It's the coldest morning of the winter so far. I woke suddenly in complete darkness around four this morning. The power was out. How lovely was that? Coldest morning of Suckuary, and the power was out. At least it seems to be sticking with the script and staying in character. I have never seen something so serious about sucking since KC and the Sunshine Band. They suck. They really should be the official band of January, but I digress. Anyway, despite all the obstacles and excitement, I made it to work okay. Although I am beginning to realize that morning autopilot me might be a little crazy. They got me here, didn't they? As I look around for any bits and pieces of happiness to glean from this day, I have to say the pickings are somewhere between slim and none. It's cold, it's gloomy, and it's still January. I don't want to be here. I believe that until further notice, warm under the covers, snug in my bed, and oblivious to the world is where and what I'd rather be. Dreamless if possible, though I'd probably be wandering that dream maze again. Still beats the here and now as far as I'm concerned. Not death. Just the free trial. I'm tired. Let me rest. Let me hibernate until spring. To hell with winter. To hell with January. I don't want to be here. It's that simple. The time has come again to lecture myself about the dangers and the harm of the social media vortex. I shall do so at first by asking myself a series of questions, a self interrogation if you like, though for my own good. I haf vays, ya know. Now, before we move on to discussing the location of the secret rebel base, I have a few questions for me: (1.) Do you ever find what you're looking for? Never. Not even once. Not ever. (2.) What do you find there? A few legitimate posts, but a lot of transparent agenda, mostly political bullshit, religious zealots who think it's a preaching platform, Advertisements for mostly irrelevant shit that I'd never want in a million years. It's just a whole lot of nothing that I could give three shits about. Then there's, look how rich I am or Look how lovey dovey we are. Neither is often true behind the scenes, but it still doesn't help with my self esteem, I neither being rich nor with a lover to be found. It tends to make me feel even more broke and lonelier than ever. It's just freaking depressing. I go there to feel better, only to feel worse. It's not cool. Not cool at all. Truly the most anti-Fonzie thing ever, eh? (3.) Why do you still go there? Mostly boredom, needing to kill time. Those are the practical reasons. The stupid reason is loneliness and desiring some form of human connection. Why is it stupid? Because there's nothing there, my friends, nothing at all. It's like looking for air on the moon. Oxygen don't grow on trees, ya know? Wait. Maybe it does, but there ain't no trees on the moon. It gets down to minus 200 degrees, ya know. Celsius or Fahrenheit? First one, then the other. (4.) How does it make you feel? Down, blue, depressed, and unimpressed with both man and woman. Not to mention technology. What a flarking waste! The only more depressing places on the internet are the mainstream so-called "News" sites. A dose of both can make you sick enough to be bedridden. Talk about a damn social disease. It can be quite terminal. (5.) Will you be going back there? Sadly, most likely, yes. (6.) Why? Good flarking question. Maybe I am a glutton for punishment, a secret masochist... Hell, if I know. Also, the rebel base is on Yavin IV. If I am going to cave to the social media gods, I might as well bow to the Galactic Empire, too. Good, Cosmic Wie, good! If I were a criminal, which I'm not, I'd be a smart criminal. I'd be like Mike, a smooth criminal. Not like these dummies I keep reading about. The geniuses breaking traffic laws while driving a car full of drugs? I'm not a crook, haroooo! But if I were, I'd say obey the little laws if you're going to be breaking the big laws. Then there was that prison guard who got caught smuggling drugs and contraband while accepting payments to an online service tied to her name. I would be a cash only criminal. None of that cash would ever touch my bank account. I'd use it for groceries and gas. Maybe some fast food. I'd hide the rest. I wouldn't steal from working folks. But I'd totally rip off any political groups, fundraising for BS. If they were feeding the poor, that would be one thing. But when they're lining the pockets of crooked politicians, I'd rob them blind with no guilt at all. I'd be Jesse Freaking James. I'd be Captain Wie of the Seven Seas, Yarrrrrr! Alas, I'm not. Sadly. No cool kickass crime spree for me. That is all. Clean cup move down! Some people's expectations look like a list of demands. Even the person with the kindest heart, the truest empathy, and the greatest of intentions ain't no mind reader. Nor are they minesweepers. Expecting them to always read your mind and navigate your minefield ain't no kind of love I ever heard of. It's exploitation. Jumping through flaming hoops just to prove yourself again and again, ain't no kind of life. It's straight up living in fear and never feeling safe with anyone. There's just no winning in a situation like that. And it ain't love. See, unless the robot revolution has happened, the other one involved is most likely going to be a human being, complete with their own feelings and needs. To have what you're looking for, you've got to be what you're looking for. You've got to understand the real person behind the role. As they say, I'll be in your story if you'll be in my story. It only makes sense. Otherwise, there ain't no solution until the robot revolution. 'Twas one of those Double Devil Jay-Single Angel Jay sort of moments. And this one was a doozey, I'll tell ya whut! You see, today, I learned that you'd be surprised at who listens to The Snoop D, O, Double G. See, this cutie pie was straight up playing (I wanna 'love' you) and not the radio edit. Devil Jay: "What the flark are you waiting for? Tell her the feeling is mutual, baby!" Or maybe, "I've been wanting to say that to you for years!" (Your place or mine?) (Name the place and name the time!) Devil Jay: "Say it! "Say it!" Angel: "You better not!" And no. Silent Bob wouldn't think it would be a good idea this time, either. So, needless to say, I listened to the angel. But, damn, it was as tempting as saying "Polo" in response to "Marco." Lead me not into temptation because I'm way too good at finding it myself. If I had an ego, an unrealistically high opinion of myself, I would think she did that on purpose. But I'm sure it was just timing. I'm not taking the chance. I don't really wanna both be fired and put on a list. But hey, I learned something today. Sooooo. There ya go. Know Ya Know Something, Haroooo!!!! Isn't that right, Agnew? Errrrr! Now I think a nice clean cup move down would be in order. Before I really get myself in trouble. Quick! Play some hold music!
(In the style of Michael McDonald)
I keep forgetting
Why I walked in the room.
I keep forgetting
Where l left the keys to my car.
I keep forgetting
When my refill was due
I keep forgetting
I keep forgetting
Oh why?
What the hell is going on?
Oh why?
How the hell did I get home?
I keep forgetting
I keep forgetting.
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