I feel like I have an obligation to write in here. It’s like a need that has to get it’s jollies before I can even think to move on with my day. Yeah, my body hurts from doing some intense Modern dance last night, added to that traversing across the damned hills of Fullerton on my ghetto bike, plus my spontaneous desire to work out at the gym on campus in between classes. My body is a wreck, and I should probably get a bit more sleep before heading out today and getting the shit done, but I need my writing fix- so here I am.
Instead of a list of things I need to do before I hit the crapper, I’ll tell you a bit more about myself. I believe that making more of myself known might prove useful later in case someone researches whatever the hell happened in my life. Plus, it’s good to have some written testimony about your past- something your children could some day see and note the struggles you went through and how those trials brought you to where you are today. Add to that having people on here know a little bit more about you- stuff that not even your friends in real life know.
I have no real life friends on this site. Yet my readers know a bit more about me than I my real life friends would care to know.
With that, I’m a bit out of the loop as to what’s going on here. I have this desire to know what’s going on in California. There’s so much activity that it makes my head spin. I could send out a dozen resumes and get a dozen callbacks. I’ve had successes in employment and wages that even I look at and say, “How the hell did I do that?” And I gave it all up. I’ve had a company car, expenses paid for fuel, meals, supplies, and a living wage. Well, to be honest, the company eventually got rid of the fleet vehicle program, so I was left to driving my own vehicle around. And management really started to clamp down on expense reports, insomuch that it became more a hassle to report any expenditures than a perk. In the end, there was still a living wage. But who wants that when they’re unhappy with their job? Who wants to continue at the bottom while others were thriving at the top? Yet, I could sufficiently support myself and it was a beautiful thing for anyone that would be looking just to do that for the rest of their lives.
Just is the keyword here.
What was beautiful to some, was just plain ugly to me. Because I wasn’t looking just to be doing that for the remainder of my days. I wanted people to listen to me. I had something to say, and felt it was important enough to have an audience tend to my words. There was something burning inside of me, and even today after all my bodily energies are burnt out, there is still that other flame that continues to burn brightly.
What do I need to say? That I’ve fucked up? We all have. That I strayed from the path of religion? I’m sure a number of people share the same testimony. That I’ve made an ass of myself in the zeal of that religious pile, and got caught up in some bullshit that cost me everything? Not a lot of people can say that happened to them. Yet, I note that as much as I’ve screwed up my life, I’m still alive. I’m still breathing and doing things to make it. What it will ultimately be, only time will tell, but I’m sure it is much better looking than the more this humble abode in which I currently reside. And no, I’m not talking about my apartment currently- it’s more my lifestyle. I’m on that mac n’ cheese diet, with a sprinkle of carrots and broccoli on special occasion (minus that steak dinner if all goes well by the end of the week).
Ok- so even now I’m breaking down each sentence and discovering that there are subheadings and separate subjects that can be written about. I could write about the mac n’ cheese diet. I could write about the face of breathing, and making it. I could take about just doing that beautiful thing of having a sustainable life. I could take this thing apart and make an entire book from this entry alone. Yet, as time presses on and work beckons to me, I need to eventually put the keyboard to rest and set the screen to sleep.
I’m going to a Pin-Up show this Thursday and one of my dancer friends will be a Vixen performer. I guess it’s like burlesque. Which is funny, because I don’t see her in that way at all, even though a number of other dancers (women) have expressed their desire to kill for her body. Thing is, she’s a blonde with freckles. I’m a black haired dude with freckles, and the family on my dad’s side is so dispersed and likes to live it solo that we’ve lost track of them. A majority of that side of my family is in California, if I remember correctly. I just don’t know where exactly. Last time I remember seeing them, I was but a pup of maybe 12. I saw an uncle in San Francisco. Then when I was 13 I saw the other members- a religious lot. I vaguely remembered them because they were Pentecostal. But none of them looked like me. The only ones that looked even remotely near what my father looked like was my aunt.
And to the point of the Vixen show- the girl could damn well be related to me. Ya know when you look at someone like a cousin or a niece? Yeah, she has a great body- but nothing I can say I’m interested in. Let’s be honest, when it comes to real life, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have a model. I wouldn’t know what the hell to do. A freckled model? I’d freak out and get blood tests done to see how far off related she is to me. Cuz I look at this girl, and all I see is my aunt, maybe in her younger, better years.
Yeah, I need to work on getting things in order in my writing. I’m all over the place on this one. Please forgive my madness, I’m trying to find myself by pouring out on to the page- and sometimes it works, sometimes I come up short. Probably why I titled this “D-mented”. I really hope my kids don’t look at this shit. Hopefully they’ll look at the ones that are organized better.
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