I thought I would have passed out after the initial "Hello Again" blog, but.......this elder flower liquor not nearly as strong as I thought it was going to be. About to move forward to Crown. I mean, how much can you expect from a flower anyway? So...I went on a date tonight. It's weird. You go out with someone. Absolutely nothing wrong with the date itself. Girl wants to kiss you at the end of the night. But I don't want to. It's as if that simple gesture of kissing someone goodnight implicates more than I'm capable of giving. (Pause for drink refreshment) Crown and Soho Lychee with a generous splash of ginger ale. (And three amazingly good Girl Scout Thin Mints from my freezer, I may move forward to Samoas if this does not end soon). I'm so fucked. I've set the bar so high. But I can't help it. If you've had a diamond on your finger, would you ever settle for a cubic zirconia? I'm still waiting to be blown away. Like that first moment when you meet someone and you catch your breath. You are so overwhelmed. Has happened to me five times in life (Including elementary school, for whatever that is worth). Still holding out for that moment. I don't know if that's reasonable. But that moment of pure, unadulterated happiness that you feel when you are so connected.... I think it's worth waiting for. Maybe I'm just not desperate enough yet..I don't know....what to say???? what to say???????????????? We settle for so much less. And yet the irony is that so much of us end of fucked in these horrible relationships. Am I being waaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy too idealistic about this whole process??? Is it just time to settle? Pick a reasonable decent human being to be the mother of your children. I can't do it....I can't do it..........
Ok...
I promise to write more. I am not speaking to you.....I am speaking to me. There is great potential here. I have so much to say...But I've held back for so long............I am making a commitment to this post. I shall no longer neglect you, DayofTheDog. I had a dog for like three days this past year. His name was Hunter. I could never get on board. I gave him back. I felt like a horrible doggy parent. One day, I will get married, have children, a white picket fence, all so I can have a doggy. Fair exchange I'd say.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Hello Again
Has it been so long? At this rate I'll have enough material for a book in like 40 years or so. Went through some of my old blogs. Was totally aghast at some of my spelling errors. I feel I have advance atrophy of my brain for my age. If you have any idea what that means you'll understand it's completely related to Goose and Tonic. Although, I must say, St. Germaines, the Elder Flower plucked from the base of the Swiss Alps has supplanted Goose on the list of local toxins. Do you ever realize that people write stuff that is so inside that absolutely none of the outside world reading it has any fucking idea what it is that you are talking about. I mean, I read God of Small Things. Had no clue for most of the book what she was talking about. But isn't that the way it is now? You make some completely abstract remarks about life and b/c no one has any idea what you are talking about you are immune to criticism. OK, so I digress. The previous few blogs on life were made listening to Cat Power. Must say, super depressing chick but definitely appropriate for the moment. New blog, new music. Listening to the Handsome Furs. Radio Kaliningrad. Montreal band. Truly amazing. I shazaamed that song at Urban Outfitters. Must say. Urban Outfitters is the new frontier for good, new, dope music. Just walk in there, pull out your I Phone, shazaam that motherfucker, hit the russians on gomusic, and you've got yourself a new album.
Ok so where is this leading? Always felt that if I wrote a page a day I would have enough for an amazing cool autobiography within a year or so. Um, are you really allowed to have an autobiography at the age of thirty-three; probably not. I have started painting. As I've mentioned in other literary venues, while my art is nothing to look at now I do hope it is worth a significant amount once I've passed. There are so many moments in life that I think the epitome of happiness is dancing by yourself in your own home, listening to the tunes that make life go by. All of the bullshit goes away. You're just living. Totally connected with yourself and life . You smile for no one else. Just for yourself. You smirk. You are the only one that understands your own personal inside joke. It's very Kevin Bacon Footloose of us, no?
Ok, so this blog post is the throwing down of the gauntlet that I will continue to blog post.......
Ok so where is this leading? Always felt that if I wrote a page a day I would have enough for an amazing cool autobiography within a year or so. Um, are you really allowed to have an autobiography at the age of thirty-three; probably not. I have started painting. As I've mentioned in other literary venues, while my art is nothing to look at now I do hope it is worth a significant amount once I've passed. There are so many moments in life that I think the epitome of happiness is dancing by yourself in your own home, listening to the tunes that make life go by. All of the bullshit goes away. You're just living. Totally connected with yourself and life . You smile for no one else. Just for yourself. You smirk. You are the only one that understands your own personal inside joke. It's very Kevin Bacon Footloose of us, no?
Ok, so this blog post is the throwing down of the gauntlet that I will continue to blog post.......
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
I'm back at it again
Let's try this again. I don't have as much anger I think as my previous attempts. Maybe it's the SSRI's. But you know, aren't we at our most prized when we fluctuate through out emotional lability. No real highs, no real lows, makes for a somewhat muted existence, No? Didn't Chevy stop being funny after quitting coke. I've always thought I was funny. You have to establish a niche as a child and go with it. It's the identity you carry. So I was the funny kid. Now whatever niche you choose is irrevocably attached to some sense of trying to fit in. There are definitely less stellar identities to assume. The stupid kid. The fat kid. The stupid fat kid.
So how much of our identities remain with us based on those early formative years? Some argue we can't move on without addressing the inner, pained child within. Not that we were all fat, or stupid, or abused by our uncle. Just the day to day life stuff about growing up as a kid trying to make it without shitting in your pants (pre-k through 2nd), going to the middle school semiformal (6th - 8th), getting your first kiss/handjob/laid (9th -12th). Delay all of those by four years and you would get a fairly accurate time line of my maturation process.
So then there is over the top funny, and then there's the genius of dark, muted comedy (think Rushmore). The gem of a silently deadly unexpected quip from the stoic not funny but unexpectedly funny guy. A lack of quantity more than made up for by the sheer quality of prized interjections. The ones where the funny guy is annoyed for not thinking of it. And then he goes home and replays the image in his head, while taking a shower, expect in this case he's the unexpectedly not funny guy making the darkly funny comments. Think...Brown Recluse.
So how much of our identities remain with us based on those early formative years? Some argue we can't move on without addressing the inner, pained child within. Not that we were all fat, or stupid, or abused by our uncle. Just the day to day life stuff about growing up as a kid trying to make it without shitting in your pants (pre-k through 2nd), going to the middle school semiformal (6th - 8th), getting your first kiss/handjob/laid (9th -12th). Delay all of those by four years and you would get a fairly accurate time line of my maturation process.
So then there is over the top funny, and then there's the genius of dark, muted comedy (think Rushmore). The gem of a silently deadly unexpected quip from the stoic not funny but unexpectedly funny guy. A lack of quantity more than made up for by the sheer quality of prized interjections. The ones where the funny guy is annoyed for not thinking of it. And then he goes home and replays the image in his head, while taking a shower, expect in this case he's the unexpectedly not funny guy making the darkly funny comments. Think...Brown Recluse.
Friday, June 1, 2007
New Temporary Voice
Amazing concert last night. Saw Damien Rice live. First album definitely better than the second, but he is an altogether amazing performer. Just got off work. Didn't suck so much. Didn't care as much. Practiced more malpractice. An altogether good day. So wicked insomnia yesterday. Took some of my secret indian stash of benzodiazepines. In India, as in most other countries, you can got to the pharmacy counter (small interlude as I just went searching through my stash of medicines like a junkie lookie for a benzo fix--if I fail to finish this particular monologue just make the assumption that I am sweating, shaking, possibly seizing in a small corner of my apartment as I withdraw--no drugs left) and just ask for what you want. I came back with Klonopin, valium, ativan. No percocet or other opiates. Indians, it would seem, do not take lightly to muscle spasms, but seeemingly, are more allowing to let you writhe in abject pain. I digress.
Lets reexamine the meaning of life, or lack of. Premise is very important. Why am I doing what I am doing? Is my subversive, subconscious benefit ultimately the motivation for all of my actions or can I commit to a truly sacrificial act (or an approximation thereof) for the sake of some other. Why is that we make great compromises for people that we feel are unworthy of such acts. Is it a secret desire to be noticed? loved? thought of? by that person, be it your parents, your siblings, or your significant other? Do I truly give because I genuinely want happiness for another? Or is the real valuation in how the act makes me feel, versus how it makes someone else feel? I'm meandering. This is clearly a topic better addressed on a different level, in a different mind set, on different medication.
Surely don't stay long
I'm missing you now.
It's like I told you
I'm over you somehow
Before I close the door
I need to hear you say goodbye.
Baby won't you change your mind?
Have you every looked back at photos and looked at your past? How distant does it seem? Did it ever really occur? You miss it a bit, but it seems like distant, faint memory. Doesn't hold the same relevance. Old loves, desires, hopes. For better or worse, no longer so relevant. You move forward. You have new loves, desires, hopes. Do you realize that is true at this very moment? The very real, important issues to us now. The reasons we hurt, we struggle, we endure, we hope. How important will they be down the road? You won't even remember them. So then why give such a big flying fuck about what happens today, tomorrow or even the immeadiate future, because it really won't matter much at all in the not too distant future. I really mean that in a good way. Old photos...
Lets reexamine the meaning of life, or lack of. Premise is very important. Why am I doing what I am doing? Is my subversive, subconscious benefit ultimately the motivation for all of my actions or can I commit to a truly sacrificial act (or an approximation thereof) for the sake of some other. Why is that we make great compromises for people that we feel are unworthy of such acts. Is it a secret desire to be noticed? loved? thought of? by that person, be it your parents, your siblings, or your significant other? Do I truly give because I genuinely want happiness for another? Or is the real valuation in how the act makes me feel, versus how it makes someone else feel? I'm meandering. This is clearly a topic better addressed on a different level, in a different mind set, on different medication.
Surely don't stay long
I'm missing you now.
It's like I told you
I'm over you somehow
Before I close the door
I need to hear you say goodbye.
Baby won't you change your mind?
Have you every looked back at photos and looked at your past? How distant does it seem? Did it ever really occur? You miss it a bit, but it seems like distant, faint memory. Doesn't hold the same relevance. Old loves, desires, hopes. For better or worse, no longer so relevant. You move forward. You have new loves, desires, hopes. Do you realize that is true at this very moment? The very real, important issues to us now. The reasons we hurt, we struggle, we endure, we hope. How important will they be down the road? You won't even remember them. So then why give such a big flying fuck about what happens today, tomorrow or even the immeadiate future, because it really won't matter much at all in the not too distant future. I really mean that in a good way. Old photos...
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Second
This has been a complete weekend of debauchery. I shall apologize for any spelling errors in advance. I am listening to Mazzy Star, Halah. Today we shall discuss insecurity and karmic energies. Namely my insecurity and the reason why I took a big debit out of my karma account. Lets start with the latter. I saw a girl that I had recognized from town while away on vacation. In a narcotic, inebriated, smoke filled haze, I asked her if she knew a friend of mine. She said she did, he was a great guy. And he is a great guy. "He told me he tagged you in the ass," I said, "and that it was really good. I mean this only in the nicest way possible." She was offended. I was quite serious. I think it made her more offended. My friend would have thought this was completely funny. He did, as a matter of fact, tag her in the ass. That night ended with me stealing an inflatable dinosaur out of some hotel guest's garage. Actually, I had also stolen an inflatable lobster from their garage the night before. Some poor four year old is probably crying right now. And yet this was supposed to be a great weekend. I'm driving back home Monday, thinking, is that all it is? You go out and party for a weekend with you best friends, and actually have an amazing time. Yet it feels so unworthwhile in a way. It is very empty out there. So how do we define a meaningful existence. On paper it seems like a great trip.
I was having lunch with a friend and he had an epiphany in therapy. We talked about the need to seek the approval of others. That in needing to seek approval we are covering up our own sense of inadequacy, or our own worthlessness. But I'm taking this further. Seeking approval falls underneath the broader canopy of seeking validation. Why are we significant? Would we be missed? The need for extrinsic validation to define ourselves as being necessary. I want an amazingly beautiful girl on my arm to feel that I am attractive. I need a succcessful carreer to prove that I am intelligent. Either looking for extrinsic validation to prove why I am worthy, or to prove why someone else fucked up by not recognizing that in the first place. Their loss. But never intrinsic validation for my own sense of self, irrespective of others. Is that the basis for self-esteem? Seems ruthless. But is that what separates those with a high sense of confidence and belief in themselves from the have-nots? That they do not need (or need as much) belief from others about themselves. Seems to work that way sometimes. The less interested we are in someone the more intrigued they are about the fact that we have no interest in them. But only if they are already insecure. How do these concepts get instilled in us? The transition from youthful simplicity to overanalysis of self just to make the self somewhat functional. I do believe this occurs at a very young age.
I was having lunch with a friend and he had an epiphany in therapy. We talked about the need to seek the approval of others. That in needing to seek approval we are covering up our own sense of inadequacy, or our own worthlessness. But I'm taking this further. Seeking approval falls underneath the broader canopy of seeking validation. Why are we significant? Would we be missed? The need for extrinsic validation to define ourselves as being necessary. I want an amazingly beautiful girl on my arm to feel that I am attractive. I need a succcessful carreer to prove that I am intelligent. Either looking for extrinsic validation to prove why I am worthy, or to prove why someone else fucked up by not recognizing that in the first place. Their loss. But never intrinsic validation for my own sense of self, irrespective of others. Is that the basis for self-esteem? Seems ruthless. But is that what separates those with a high sense of confidence and belief in themselves from the have-nots? That they do not need (or need as much) belief from others about themselves. Seems to work that way sometimes. The less interested we are in someone the more intrigued they are about the fact that we have no interest in them. But only if they are already insecure. How do these concepts get instilled in us? The transition from youthful simplicity to overanalysis of self just to make the self somewhat functional. I do believe this occurs at a very young age.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
My virgin blog
This is my official entrance into this universe. I have, for the past five years, spent my life in an alternate universe. A very hateful place. It is made up of many other people. We fight against them, they fight against us. It is a fight for survival. Everyday you go to work and they try to suck every meager essence of your soul leaving you a dry shell of what you thought you might be. You go in with wide eyed expectations, thinking grand things, expecting grand things. Ultimately it is a tale of survival. They constantly try to hurt you. You hurt them back. But you are supposedly the savior. But what are you truly saving. I prolong death.
So you've reached a moral paradox. You train to take care of people but the training itself teaches you to stop caring. You must in order to care for yourself. Is there any beauty in it? There certainly is a beauty in the end process. The moment you walk into a room, and say, ma'am, your husband has died. Can that be considered beautiful. If it was right. The moment was perfect. It was peaceful. You stand on the edge of this great precipice and you jump. Expect, you don't. Two minutes later you're pulling a condom out of some woman's vagina. She's very annoyed and says that the speculum is too big. You look over at her extremely tall and well built companion and state you've been using the same size speculum for years. Go figure. I do provide actually decent care. I'm just too jaded to hold your hand in the process. Ironically, hand holders that provide crappy care do better in the judicial sector than non-hand holders who provide excellent care. I think I fall somewhere in the middle. So let's lighten this up just a bit. For my climbing buddy's (we stopped climbing a while ago but these are insignificant details) fiance. Anecdotes from the ER....(with a bit of Cat Power influence)
My first day in the ED. Amazing. I saw a person come in complete arrest. Totally gorked. DOA. Tube in his mouth. Very profound experience. Makes you step back. Now I realize it bills a level five, about ninety dolllars. Decent cheese. Same month. Older man walks in the door. Has had a seizure. tongue is cut, deeply. Very time consuming, no one wants to deal. So send the med student in with no knowledge of anything. Oral surgeon walks by an hour later, "Are you done suturing this guy's tongue." No, I respond, can't really seem to stop the bleeding in order to get started. "How much blood has he lost?" Not much, maybe that big jar full...this is apparently a jar that apparently holds enought to fall into the category of not small, not medium, but big enought to go, "Oh shit" roll this homeboy to the trauma bay....Sir, can you stick your tongue out for me? Just a little bit more. You take a big ass needle and you stick it in their pumping away. How much lidocaine can you get in beofore he figures out he just got fucked. Then you cauterize. Nothing special. The smell of burning flesh is actually not bad. It's actually attractive, in a very non pervasive sort of way. Everyone enjoys waking up to the smell of napalm in the morning. I sew up his tongue. It's kind of shaped like a snake, forked. I fuck it up. The two ends do not meet. He's got a little flap on one side. My first time suturing, in my defense. We ask him to stick his tongue out again. He does. We promptly take some shears and slice his tongue in half again. This time it takes much longer but I do an excellent job. He is so happy, but slightly worried. Why we ask? Doctor, doctor? Yes sir? Doctor, doctor? Yes, what it is sir? Doctor, DOCTOR? YES, SIR, WHAT IS IT? Doctor, can I still eat pussy. Yes sir, you can. Everything works just fine. He is sixty five years old. God bless your desire to give unto others....
Could this have possibly led me down the road to depression, narcotic addiction, and completely lacking in empathy. No, I argue. You must absolutely possess these traits in order to get accepted into the medical profession. If you don't, they will either weed you out or instill in you a strong sense of cynicism. When do I truly feel satisfied? What particular moments redeem everything else? you ask? PARONYCHIA...small localized pocket of pus on the side of the proximal finger nail. Numb up the finger. Slide a very sharp scalpel blade underneath the cuticle. Very smooth. Pus just falls right out. Immeadiate results. Immediate satisfaction.
"NO NARCOTICS FOR YOU" I feel like the ER soup nazi. Just done with it. By the way if you happen to be some amazing cool person, and attractive, or simply one of my friends, the aforementioned phrase does not apply to you. I would never allow you to suffer in pain. It is simply abhorrent. By the way, I would like some samples of at least everything that I write for you. I think that's fair...
So you've reached a moral paradox. You train to take care of people but the training itself teaches you to stop caring. You must in order to care for yourself. Is there any beauty in it? There certainly is a beauty in the end process. The moment you walk into a room, and say, ma'am, your husband has died. Can that be considered beautiful. If it was right. The moment was perfect. It was peaceful. You stand on the edge of this great precipice and you jump. Expect, you don't. Two minutes later you're pulling a condom out of some woman's vagina. She's very annoyed and says that the speculum is too big. You look over at her extremely tall and well built companion and state you've been using the same size speculum for years. Go figure. I do provide actually decent care. I'm just too jaded to hold your hand in the process. Ironically, hand holders that provide crappy care do better in the judicial sector than non-hand holders who provide excellent care. I think I fall somewhere in the middle. So let's lighten this up just a bit. For my climbing buddy's (we stopped climbing a while ago but these are insignificant details) fiance. Anecdotes from the ER....(with a bit of Cat Power influence)
My first day in the ED. Amazing. I saw a person come in complete arrest. Totally gorked. DOA. Tube in his mouth. Very profound experience. Makes you step back. Now I realize it bills a level five, about ninety dolllars. Decent cheese. Same month. Older man walks in the door. Has had a seizure. tongue is cut, deeply. Very time consuming, no one wants to deal. So send the med student in with no knowledge of anything. Oral surgeon walks by an hour later, "Are you done suturing this guy's tongue." No, I respond, can't really seem to stop the bleeding in order to get started. "How much blood has he lost?" Not much, maybe that big jar full...this is apparently a jar that apparently holds enought to fall into the category of not small, not medium, but big enought to go, "Oh shit" roll this homeboy to the trauma bay....Sir, can you stick your tongue out for me? Just a little bit more. You take a big ass needle and you stick it in their pumping away. How much lidocaine can you get in beofore he figures out he just got fucked. Then you cauterize. Nothing special. The smell of burning flesh is actually not bad. It's actually attractive, in a very non pervasive sort of way. Everyone enjoys waking up to the smell of napalm in the morning. I sew up his tongue. It's kind of shaped like a snake, forked. I fuck it up. The two ends do not meet. He's got a little flap on one side. My first time suturing, in my defense. We ask him to stick his tongue out again. He does. We promptly take some shears and slice his tongue in half again. This time it takes much longer but I do an excellent job. He is so happy, but slightly worried. Why we ask? Doctor, doctor? Yes sir? Doctor, doctor? Yes, what it is sir? Doctor, DOCTOR? YES, SIR, WHAT IS IT? Doctor, can I still eat pussy. Yes sir, you can. Everything works just fine. He is sixty five years old. God bless your desire to give unto others....
Could this have possibly led me down the road to depression, narcotic addiction, and completely lacking in empathy. No, I argue. You must absolutely possess these traits in order to get accepted into the medical profession. If you don't, they will either weed you out or instill in you a strong sense of cynicism. When do I truly feel satisfied? What particular moments redeem everything else? you ask? PARONYCHIA...small localized pocket of pus on the side of the proximal finger nail. Numb up the finger. Slide a very sharp scalpel blade underneath the cuticle. Very smooth. Pus just falls right out. Immeadiate results. Immediate satisfaction.
"NO NARCOTICS FOR YOU" I feel like the ER soup nazi. Just done with it. By the way if you happen to be some amazing cool person, and attractive, or simply one of my friends, the aforementioned phrase does not apply to you. I would never allow you to suffer in pain. It is simply abhorrent. By the way, I would like some samples of at least everything that I write for you. I think that's fair...
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