That Might Have Been A Little Over The Top...

I don't know if you read what I wrote yesterday, but it came from a pretty dark place. I've been there myself. From time to time, I feel the need to go back for a little bit. Not quite sure why that is, but its a thing.

So here I sit watching a bunch of nerdy chuckleheads playing poker on TV. Yes, I've fallen that far, I'm actually watching people playing cards on TV.

In any case, I wanted to say that you don't need to worry. I mean feel free if that's the kind of thing you like to do. I mean some people are worriers. But make no mistake. While there have been some thoughts had. Maybe thoughts that most would say I shouldn't be having...they were had nonetheless.

I don't think that having suicidal or homicidal thoughts is really that big of a deal. I think the problem lies in there being really no way, other than self reporting, for anyone to differentiate between thoughts and plans.

Plans would mean you set down and figured out how many guns and bullets you need and where to get them if you don't have them already and where you were going to stand and all that stuff. Maybe followed by a dry run or a practice if you will, or maybe a rehearsal to use the parlance I learned in the Army. We rehearsed most of our missions, if we had time. What is that other than practicing to kill someone. They gave me medals for that. If I did the same thing here, I'm headed to a padded room.

I haven't broken with reality. I haven't lost my will to live. On the contrary, I think its all the more solidified. Given the fact that like the word contrary, I am a contrarian and if I think for one minute that there are people in the world that would like to see me out of the picture that is all the reason that I need to stay in it and increase my profile if you will. Basically, I am too big of an asshole to want to kill myself.

A Local Man...

A local man was shot in the head last night. Police are unsure of the cause of the shooting. Currently the CSI crew is working on figuring out whether he shot himself or if one of his many fans came and did the honors for him. No note was found, but the man did have tears streaking down his cheeks leading the investigators to speculate it was self inflicted. A large cache of VA prescription medications were found in the man's apartment.

No one has come forward to claim the body as yet. Police are working to find the next of kin. Which is to say, they are looking for someone who legally has to take this dead fuck off their hands so they don't have to bury him in a cheap grave on the county plot. It may be cheap, but that shit is still expensive to the taxpayers.

His funeral was attended by a smattering of old friends and a few old enemies who just wanted to make sure it was him that was getting put in the ground. A few tears were shed, a few chuckles and a couple evil grins,  but for the most part it was business as usual again before the first shovel full of dirt hit the top of that pine refrigerator box the county was good enough to purchase for him.

His life was fairly unremarkable. His landlord said he paid the rent on time, but he needed to get the clean up crew in the apartment to get that bitch rented out again. The family will not be getting the security deposit back. Time marches on...

He did manage to leave his children a couple life insurance policies. A parting gift from a father not worth his salt. The insurance agent joked, "consider it 18 years of child support paid in full"

Oh don't worry about me. I'm just trying to find out how deep my darkness goes. If you thought I was talking about myself, rest assured I am not. I wouldn't give any mother fucker on earth the satisfaction. I am going to live to a ripe old age and die alone, but not miserable. Or maybe I'll get lucky and find a way to go out in a blaze of glory...not likely, but its possible.

In any case, if I ever come up with a bullet in my head, make no mistake about it, someone else put it there. I choose life.

Oh How I Love It So...

Everyday at one point or another I'll stare out into space and somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I can smell it. I can smell the dust, I can smell the nasty shit farts of all the GI's belting out the last remnants the steak and lobster we had at Salerno the other night. I can hear that low guttural hum coming from the patrol fueling back up next to the LZ.

I can feel the sweat rolling down my back. I can smell the cigarettes and piss emanating through the back door as I do believe that the only place in society today where smoking is not only tolerated, but accepted and even encouraged is in the military. Plus, the piss tubes are behind the "barracks", or the KBR Quonset huts that have contained our beds for the past few months.
I can feel the 550 cord tied around my wrist. Left over remnant of an overzealous platoon daddy who liked to take weapons while a motherfucker was sleeping.

I can feel the dust. Yeah, I'm back to the dust again. That god damned dust again. It gets into everything. Its on the sheets. Its on the floor...along with the funny looking skid mark left over from the lone 7.62 round that came crashing through the roof the other night. It never lets up, the dust. It is constantly rubbing your hands raw. Rubbing your face until its smooth, well except for the permanent layer of dust that is caked on your face...and everything else for that matter.

I hear the emmy award winning conversation coming from somewhere a few bunks down pertaining to the cost of butt sex in Bagram.
The fucking dust again. Its between my teeth now. So much so that every time I close my mouth I can feel and hear the fucking dust crunching between my teeth. I take a bottle of water from under the rack and swish it around in my mouth trying to get it out of there. Which only succeeds in relocating the bulk of the dust from my mouth to my stomach. I'm going to be shitting dust covered turds for a  year.

Then someone says something to me. Or the phone rings. Or some such shit. And I'm back. Back here. Watching some nonsensical TV show, or flogging the dolphin, or smoking a cigarette while the old bag across the street looks at me like I'm the devil himself. I can't help but wink at her.

Then a little bit of me feels a little twinge of guilt. What the fuck am I feeling guilty about? Hell if I know. For the life of me I still can't figure that one out. But the fact remains, I miss it. I miss it, because oh how I love it so...

Kids Today....

How many times throughout your life have you heard that phrase? Kids today. Normally it is used derisively against whoever the "kid" is. Also, have you noticed that people are real fluid in their definitions of kid vs adult, old vs young when it comes to themselves. Just an observation I'm not sure where it fits into this but its been on my mind so there it is.

Its especially true of those of the population my age and younger. I'm 41 and for the sake of argument I could probably be representative of most people up to age 45. Then those kids younger than me. Millennial I believe they're called. But it seems like no one at the older end of that generation wants to be associated with them. Have you noticed that? Its not all of them. Just the old ones. You know the ones who were almost in the previous generation but missed it by a year or two on the cut off?

Also, who the hell picks the dates on these generations? I can't figure out what they use as the criteria. A major event? Just a random date. A epoch distance from one fixed point in time? Fucked if I know.

For the sake of today's diatribe we're going to use the above chart. Why? The incredibly scientific method of it was the first one I saw when I googled "define the generations", and surprisingly enough it fits very nicely with my view of myself and the world. (Define confirmation bias) Plus its the Pew Research Center. I've heard of them before.

But I want to talk about the people who were born between say 1981-1985. These people are now 34-38 years old. I've got a lot of friends in this age group. One night at a bar with my brother someone was talking about this shit and he got real defensive about not being a millenial. He had no interest in being one. Which I suppose I can understand, at least from where I sit the vast majority of press on millenials is negative. But it doesn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out that this is the never ending story. Every generation thinks the one that came before and the one that comes after are shit. The only generation that's worth a damn is the one you're in. Except them guys that fought WWII they're exempt from all this shit, cuz everyone knows they're the best...except for the fact that the baby boomers are 100% all their fault. 

But I still didn't know what to do with the whole, "I hate my own generation" thing. I suppose since I'm a generation Xer, it doesn't faze me all that much. I mean they've made TV shows about my childhood now (The Goldbergs) and the consensus is that my childhood pretty much rocked. *I have some issues with that, but on the whole for the generation its true. 

Plus, we're the generation who were the last to live when there wasn't a computer in every fucking pocket. The machines didn't run my life from jump street. I mean they do now, but it didn't start off that way. I wonder if there's a certain amount of intergenerational jealousy because we actually know what its like to live in a world without smart phones? Maybe I'm nuts. Or I'm trying to justify my own feelings of superiority. Could be, but it doesn't change the fact that at least in my experience those kids born 1981-1985 are the only people who will argue with you about what generation they're in. I've rambled long enough. Looking back, I really need to start structuring my posts some kind of way. This stream of consciousness shit is exhausting...

Why Am I Always Stuck..Or Am I A Fraud....

I've been wondering why I always feel stuck. This has been a recurring theme with me over the years. I mean, I never quite feel like I'm progressing towards my goals the way I should be, or at the speed that I feel I should be.

Does anyone? Yes, I'm certain of it. There's a small subset of people out there who get up each morning and do the things that they want to do and get the things done that they need to get done and move forward in their lives at a formidable pace. They have to be out there...I know because I'm typing this on a computer hooked to the internet through a VPN that is pretending my computer is in Sydney, Australia. I mean if that's not proof enough I don't know what is.

So, they exist. We know this. All human progress has rested on their very capable shoulders. Now here I am thinking that I don't belong where I'm at and that I have no business being who I am and doing what I do. By that I mean, I have what some might call a fraud issue. I keep thinking that I'm a fraud. I suppose at some level I know that I'm not. I mean I put in the time to get where I am. I did the work. I learned what I needed to learn. But there's always this nagging feeling inside that I don't belong. That something is going to come up that shows everyone around me that I am not good enough for this. That they made a mistake elevating me to this position. I don't have the goods to bring home the bacon.

I'm a father. I'm a veteran. I'm an educated man. Partially anyway. I've made it to a point at work where I'm listened to. My opinion is respected. My words are heeded. And for the life of me I cannot figure out why anyone would listen to me for anything at all...

I suppose that's where my fraud trouble comes in. I cannot understand how I got here. I sometimes think that its all a joke. That Drew Carey is going to walk around the corner and I'll find out that I've been a really bad reality TV show for the past 12 years. Hell, the past 41 years.

But we all know that's bullshit. Not to say that you can't make it being a fraud, I mean what's the guy's name from "Catch Me If You Can"? That son of a bitch faked his way through almost everything. So its not like it can't be done, but I do know that I'm not smart enough to have faked it. Not for this long anyway.

Like so many of us, I think I run into my issues when I start comparing myself to the few instead of either not comparing myself to anyone but my former self, or at least comparing myself to the unwashed masses as opposed to the small sliver of exceptional people who are the subject of my comparisons.

So and so graduated from Harvard at 11, I can barely find Harvard on a map. So and so was the worlds youngest billionaire, I can barely keep my checking account in the black. So and so won the olympic whatever the fuck, and I get winded running up the stairs.

Maybe I should be happy I graduated from a college. Maybe not one that is known the world over, but it had books and professors. Maybe I should be happy I've got an income. I may not have bankers throwing hookers through my bedroom window for business, but when I need something I can get it. I won't win any Olympic medals in this lifetime, but maybe I should be happy that my legs work to get my fat ass up the stairs in the first place, and be glad I'm winded as opposed to all those poor bastards who have breathed their last wind.

Like so much, its all a matter of perspective....