NBrad'sWords’ blog

At this moment I look at myself a realize what a burden I must be to my friends. They are good to put up with me, or at least they appear as if they are. What do they think of me, what do they say of me to each other, how do they describe me to other people?

I am 27. At this age I should have accomplished something with my life by now right?

I am sitting at my desk eating week old unsealed Loaded Baked Potato Pringles because I spent my last thirty dollars on beer last night when I know that I shouldn't have. My last thirty, and yesterday was payday, my account was two hundred and fifty dollars delinquent. Paycheck to paycheck, week to week. The very definition of instability. It isn't as if I don't make enough money, I make more than my parents. In your footsteps, booze and women.

It is the Fourth of July, my buddy Dillon is having a cookout that Roro has told me about.
    "I will come pick you up if you like."
What a good friend, he has offered to pick me up. Big deal you may say, that  what friends do, they give you rides. Roro lives three minutes from the cookout, if that, myself, fifteen or twenty. The registration on my truck is expired, I have no car insurance, my oil is thousands of miles overdue and the scrim on my driver front tire is showing, and I have no money. What is keeping him from slapping the shit out of me?

I am fully cognizant of my situation and surroundings.

My friends are better people than I am.

    There it is again, that old familiar itch. The sensation comes upon me whenever I sit down at my computer to type a paper for school. Lately I have been able to suppress the feeling and mood; I have been able to drive through the distraction. Why is it back today? Senioritis? Hangover? I would have to assume that it is my general disposition of procrastination. There are simply better things that I would rather be doing...

    Sing it to me Frank. (sidebar, I am listening to Frank) "that mood indigo"- In The Wee Small Hours, get it, one of my favorite of his albums.

    F-it. I am going to do it. I have already missed work because I drank to much last night (apologies to those it may concern for last night, you know who you are), the hangover is fueling my mood for creativity and not academic  writing. I am going to blow off my  paper, pull out all my Frank LPs, put some water on the pot, sit myself infront of my computer and spend the day writing and reading and listening to Frank. And why shouldn't I, I mean I am only trying to graduate, what if I blow off this paper? The Weather is to nice (rainy) to waste on writing a film review for my senior thesis class.

    I have my lady laying on the bed (Merv), water and espresso on my shelf and a dart board on my wall, what else could I need right now that Frank can not provide for my soul?

    These are the days I love to spend at my Father’s house. It is 9:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning and no one in the house is awake but me. No on is up and no one will be up for another two hours. In fact on most days here this is a common occurrence at this house. It is relaxing here, I do not feel as pressured as I do in my hometown. I can go at my own pace at whatever it is I am doing. No pressure, no responsibility, I do not have to uphold the illusion here.

    I moved up here last year from the town I grew up in because I couldn’t take my life in my hometown anymore. Could it have been because I had lived there for far too many years, too many breathes. Maybe I had to leave because I was doing the same thing that I had for years: job, social life, love life and extra curricular (drinking) activities. It was the same process of repetition and I didn’t feel as though I could escape the cycle of my life if I were to stay.  

    Soon I have to return to the town of my upbringing, to the town of my creation. Return. Here I feel that I have the freedom, the leeway to do as I please. I am a slave to the division of my time: work, school, my expected social life. If I want to shut myself in my room for a while, if I want to be by myself for a night, why is that odd? Why is that questioned? I prefer time to myself sometimes. Social obligations sometimes wear me down. Others I know feel the same; why do they not act. The pressure of social obligation, the fear of offence keeps you from your desires?  

    I would rather be here. I would rather be anywhere else that where I am. New beginnings allow you the rare chance to define yourself in anyway you choose. You are able to drop the baggage of your previous life and form a life closer to the person that you are now. That person you are now may be the person you have always been. Or, that person you are may be someone different than whom you used to be. A new beginning is a new chapter, a progressive chapter. Why prolong this chapter longer than needs to be written. Press ENTER, press TAB, start a new paragraph. Start a new chapter. Your new chapter may not be as exciting or suspenseful as the chapters before…but…

Back to my life, back to the grind, back to what and where I was before.

One day.

    The problem with having a lack of self-confidence and a need to express the thoughts inside your head is your fears and shortcomings won’t allow you to express yourself in the way that you know you can. Pick up a pen and write down what your thoughts are. Write down what your opinions are, your feelings and emotions. Nothing could be the more simple, right?

    I know what I want and what I can say. In the shower, walking to class, as I lay half asleep on my desk, I can sit and stare into the rain for hours, thinking. Knowing. I know my emotions and I know myself. Why will I not allow myself to take a larger step? Why do I allow self-doubt to hold me back?  
I need to finish school then I can afford myself the time. Bullshit. Cop-out. Scapegoat. You are afraid and you do not believe. Spend your time as you will, as long as it is a mode of your personal progress.

Finish a sentence, finish a thought... finish.

    Is it really worth it? At what point in my life will I actually stop playing sports to conserve the health of my body? My knees are already going bad; bursitis in one, chronic aching in the others. In the mornings each knees plays it's own melody in the morning production of " My Cracking Joints". A composition forcefully produced by your current writer. When will I give in? Does this make me old, or rather older? I am, "not as young as I used to be", right? I am out of shape now, but still in better shape than my friends.
    One solution will be to quit my job. However I enjoy the physicality from time to time. I see my friends everyday I go to work. But the reality? Slowly, work is breaking down my body, "it is a young man's game". Bullshit.
    Bullshit? What else am I to convince myself of as I sit on my floor and write this while I ice down my knee? Trying in vain to reduce the swelling that will no doubt be there again later this week or next. Writing in between icings because the temperature of the ice is to distracting as I try to read about the tumultuous year of 1968 in western Europe at one in the morning.
    The rant could continue and it may, considering of course I go for another interval of icing. But as it stands I am forced  to stop. Twenty minutes on , twenty minutes off, and onto Russia and eastern Europe in the 1960's.

    What is it about today?
    Is it my love life? No, I would have to have one first.
    Is it my social life? No, never been a problem there.
    Weather? It is a bowl of crap here, but that is no worse than usual.
    What is it about today that brings about a long sigh?
    Every once and a while reality tends to give you a nudge. Just a small nudge. That is all it usually takes. A small enough nudge to let you know where you are.
    That. That right there. That can bring a long sigh. That small nudge.
    It is not a sad sigh, nor angry. No smile.
   
    Only understanding.

    Thursday. It is only Thursday and I am already freaking out about all my mid-terms that are on Tuesday. Maybe not freaking out, my brand of freaking out surfaces in a completely different form than that of most persons. I don't begin to stress, but rather the exact opposite. What could the opposite be you ask, well that would be a complete lack of interest. I know. I do not care right now, i do not care that I have 3 mid-terms and a paper due next week. I wonder if this form of reaction is common?

    And I wonder why I am a pessimist. Remember when dating was simple? Yeah, me neither. How did people become so insecure? At what point in our generation did Facebook and Myspace supersede face to face conversation? They became the supreme truthtellers and word of mouth became, well, lip service? Why would you rather make inferences about something you read on my Facebook page (which I check maybe twice a week),  than ask me  what you want to know? Does your insecurity really run that deep? Or have you simply become that reliant and dependent on social networking rather than physical communication?
    I am not an irrational person. I am as cautious as the next person, maybe even more so. I have plenty of faults and shortcomings and am more than willing to discuss them. So ask me. Really, ask. I would have told you. Told you anything you want to know. I am not sad, nor upset. What I am is completely confused.