Late December journaling

One day I get an idea in mind and aim to work in that direction going forward; the next my mind reasons it’s way out of it or grows dim or disappointed over other life events that have a special knack for upsetting any equilibrium I might establish for a minute.

Been doing a lot of thinking lately and won’t bore people with all the details, but I’ve come to realize that there is a Nazi that resides in my own mind. (Used to refer to it as being like a bossy wife, but it’s bigger and more problematic now.) Probably has something to do with why I take such an anti-authority position toward the outer world, seeing as how this already feels like living with a jerk inside my head. It’s mean and ruthless and complains constantly and is never satisfied. It’s loud and impossible to ignore for long, plus insensitive and overbearing and always is accompanied with a laundry list of expectations, some of which just aren’t realistically likely to ever be fulfilled.

That “Nazi” apparently morphed out of the “gremlins” that customarily took up residence within my noggin. Among them one recognizes the voices of people of the past and words that were once spoken or inferred. Mean chatter that can bring a person down if you can’t find a way to combat it. I’ve tried for several years to drown mine, but, come to find out, gremlins are perfectly content with being saturated with alcohol. More fun for them. Then they get to run loose while the inhibitions are lowered and aid me in making an ass of myself. What fun. Gain enough memories of those nights or of awkward situations and you start to realize you’re not doing a good job of controlling these little beasts and, in fact, they are controlling you.

Or me. Since this is just me journaling here.

And now this Nazi arose, and it’s a mean bitch. Not just about sowing seeds of doubt and fucking up decent ambitions, no, it’s demanding some measure of order. And part of me gets it. Greater order here in this ship does sound necessary about now, but it goes too far. It embodies ALL SORTS of expectations, demands, reprimands, deadlines and goals (some of which I don’t even want or need and would be better off avoiding), and just basically is a hard-ass. But maybe I am in need of an internal hard-ass if I can get it to be reasonable. Throwing societal expectations in my face every chance it gets isn’t helping, not when I already comprehend that I am a neurotic living among a bunch of other neurotics out in society who don’t know a whole lot more than I do about where to go from here at this present moment and who struggle with anxiety as a result. Some of society’s expectations are stupid — truly some are. Because we’ll get screwed in the process of trying to do the supposed “right” thing. Some others are just not for me, like buying a house or birthing and raising kids — not because I’m hell-bent on rejecting a “traditional” path but simply because those lifestyle choices aren’t correct for anything I wish to do with my life. If I somehow manage to win a lottery I might buy a house, but otherwise it’s just not realistic or a smart investment for someone like me. More of a liability than anything else. And kids…not all are cut out to be parents. The earlier we recognize that about ourselves, the better. Still doesn’t stop that internal Nazi from repeatedly reminding me that I have a biological clock that’s ticking down on that window of opportunity. It’s a jerk like that.

Pressure, pressure, pressure. Pressure to be nice. To appear pretty. To come across as being sound of mind.  lol  Whatever that means. People think you’re crazy if you don’t like football. They think you’re the one with a problem if you’re not interested in going Black Friday shopping with them. And they especially don’t like it if you tell on yourself too openly while out in public. Maybe because it reminds them of their own sins and problems — we all have them. But the word is we’re supposed to keep “TMI” under wraps. Better to unload it on those closest to us, seeing as how they just love that shit. Or we should just bottle everything up inside and go through our little journeys on our own, like little isolated atoms all spread out and careful not to bump into the next (except where it feels good).

The pressure to grow up, to somehow gain some sense of mastery over oneself and to figure out how to contribute something of greater value. I get it, and yet a part of me doesn’t want to. That latter part prefers to seek comfort and a routine and to not push boundaries (at least not important ones) where shit might implode or go nuclear or where my little life otherwise might be irreversibly altered or come unhinged. But it’s content taking stupid or unnecessary risks from time to time that just may provide the same outcome, albeit in a far more destructive fashion.

And the more I learn, the more I realize this is ALL just part of the human condition. Welcome to it. There’s no escape. No way out. No matrix to make out clearly and point to. Just humanity and its stupid, reckless, ideal-wrecking, trial-and-error smorgasbord. Nothing more and nothing less.

There are countless ways to waste one’s life. The wasting of time is a big part of it, and that tends to be determined by our priorities. And there are our verbally-stated priorities and those we actually give precedence to in day-to-day living — not one and the same usually. I often wonder if life isn’t much easier for those who profess being all about having fun. Seen too many of them crash and burn over time that I shouldn’t remain envious.

I’ve self-indulged enough for one evening.

Bring on 2016…

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