Today, I’m okay.

I’m okay with continuing without her in my life. After all, what else really changes?

I read something terrifying today. Something I had written. About a prior breakup. And home ownership. About keeping “those bloody dreams at bay.”

Really? Really.

Reading it made me recall my mindset of that time. Work. Make money. Own a home.

Make my dad proud. Lawn mowing and all.

Today, I am no longer employable. I see too much. I see the flaws in the system. And I can’t fake it.

I need the dreams. I need to realize them. Make money.

My dad’s gone. My mom’s gone. My girl’s as good as gone. No one is coming to save me.

No one is coming to stop me, either.

Honestly, I don’t know what she’s thinking. She has a lot going on—all of which I’m fully aware of. She doesn’t believe. Everything is either black or white. There are no shades of grey. No path from there to here.

So, it is time. Time for me to go. To proceed with life. With or without her.

Will I be sad? Yes. For a while. A long while. Yet, I learned long ago we cannot make others do anything. If she doesn’t believe she can join me on this adventure, I cannot convince her.

Well, here we are.

Life. And silence. Enjoying the sunrise. Working on myself again. Kicking a li’l ass. Magnificence in the mundane. One breath at a time.

And with fewer distractions. For now, I don’t want anyone else. For now.

What i'm listening to:

Out the Window
Kehlani
Out the Window

For the last decade, I’ve watched less and less television.

Honestly, real life is far more interesting.

Seeing someone who isn’t quite on the same journey… adjusts that slightly.

One thing she enjoys is watching Grey’s Anatomy together in bed.

I get it. It’s an interesting show. At least it was in the beginning. Before it got more and more dramatic. But I digress.

Typical formula. You love a character. Character becomes a dumbass. You hate a character. Character grows. You love a character again. Everyone is sleeping with everyone. Everyone is talking about everyone. Drama. More drama.

Except one. One character on this program has stood out to me. Because he doesn’t talk about others. It’s a boundary of his. If we all had this boundary, the world would be a better place. And more interesting, albeit in different ways. He still goes in and out of becoming a dumbass, but this quality redeems him.

“It’s not my story to tell.”

There is value in being able to trust someone. Even if it is only one person.

I know this is part of her fascination with me. I am her McDreamy.

She can remove her masks. She can rest easy with me. She can share with me. Anything.

And she knows it.

Do we really ever learn? Anything? Really change?

Evolve?

Things stay the same. We love each other. We deceive each other. We deceive ourselves.

Life is hard. And it’s exorbitant. And we try to deceive ourselves about that too.

We seek to understand. Everything. But there is nothing to understand.

Just because we are aware of our own lives—this separates us from most of nature—doesn’t mean nature gives a shit about us. It plants this narrative that we can affect nature.

Yet, ultimately, we cannot. Stand up to that approaching tornado. Show it who’s boss.

And we lie. Lord, how we lie. Maybe truth is a fantasy.

I read something profound the other day.

Most “relationship problems” aren’t problems. They’re symptoms of one disease. Dishonesty.

For several generations, we’ve been taught to help others. To protect others. To take care of them before we even take care of ourselves.

We fall in and out of love. Do we really? What even is “love?” The contact of two chemical substances? Where if there is any reaction, both are transformed?

Or is it simply... manipulation?

Sometimes, it’s instant. That girl. Who talks to you with her eyes. The two of you have a conversation no one else can hear.

Her touch. It isn’t electric, as the poets would make you believe. It’s grounding. The energy saves you instead of elating you.

Although, there are those moments too.

But there’s our pasts. Our lifestyles. Consequences of decisions we made in the past. Not necessarily good nor bad, but influencing nonetheless.

“Lord, I wish I was stupid. They seem so happy.”

Indeed, the less aware seem to have fewer problems with life. They love easier. They figure things out as they go without worrying about “that dreadful mistake.” Is this what school has taught us? What isn’t right, must be wrong. And if you can’t get it right, you’re fired. Canceled. Alone.

This isn’t learning. This is prison. No wonder we’ve all learned to be helpless. We can’t seem to evade the electric shocks, so we just lie down. We let the shocks penetrate us as we lie asleep.

We let life wash over us, unable to do a thing. Why bother? Does anything we do matter? Anecdotal evidence suggests... no.

At least we have relief from this helplessness. A magical chemical that washes away the lies. The deceit. The pain. A truth serum that allows us to show someone how we really feel. To make decisions we’ve avoided. To lure us into adventure we might, otherwise, have overlooked. Real. Psychological. Sexual.

And we crave the attention. We all crave the attention of someone who doesn’t match that expectation. And we’ll settle for someone who gives us that level of attention, but at a price. Our hearts? Our souls? Our love? Yes. Just for the thrill. The hit.

Does she love me? Or does she just want something from me?

Is this even a fair question? We all want something from someone. We are all getting to know each other.

Other people make it all worthwhile, yet can also take everything away. The price of billions of people learning to live together and never learning that you can never make anyone do anything.

Hence the dishonesty. The lies. The numbness.

Can you imagine a technology that reveals one’s secrets upon death? Not dissimilar to the HR department and upper management taking three weeks to scour an employee’s computer upon termination, is this a true glimpse inside a person’s soul?

The shadows. The abyss. The lies we tell ourselves, because we so desperately want them to be true. To be validated. The attention. The adoration.

The love.

I don’t know the answer. I suppose none of us do. So, nothing will ever really change. The system we have constructed to control people will continue to ruin lives. As individuals we will care less and less. We’ll isolate from the world and slowly go insane. If we’re lucky, we’ll isolate with someone we love—if love even exists.

We cannot thrive alone. We cannot help ourselves to destroy each others lives to meet our own ends. There is always a reason to end it. After all, it all ends. Another lie we tell, is that immortality—legacy—is achievable.

All we crave is that reason to be here.

I’ll say goodbye to love
No one ever cared if I should live or die
Time and time again the chance for love has passed me by
And all I know of love
Is how to live without it
I just can’t seem to find it

So I’ve made my mind up
I must live my life alone
And though it’s not the easy way
I guess I’ve always known
I’d say goodbye to love

There are no tomorrows for this heart of mine
Surely time will lose these bitter memories
And I’ll find that there is someone to believe in
And to live for something I could live for

All the years of useless search
Have finally reached an end
Loneliness and empty days will be my only friend
From this day love is forgotten
I’ll go on as best I can

What lies in the future
Is a mystery to us all
No one can predict the wheel of fortune as it falls
There may come a time when I will see that I’ve been wrong
But for now this is my song

And it’s goodbye to love
I’ll say goodbye to love

What i'm listening to:

Goodbye to Love
The Carpenters
A Song for You

What did we do before the internet?

I suppose we believed people a lot more.

Yesterday, someone spent three minutes trying to convince me that Woody Allen had died.

This morning, upon waking, I was curious. Enter Google.

Spoiler: as of the time of this post, he’s still with us.

My hobby: Walk up beside someone and say, “All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die.”

My, the looks I get. Mostly, WTF looks. And a lot of confusion.

Is this funny? I think it’s hilarious. Apparently, I am the only one. Even friends who have heard of Sheryl Crow, and are familiar with the song, give a blank stare.

Yet, the sentiment is true.

Sigh. All I want to do is have a little fun before I die…

What i'm listening to:

All I Wanna Do
Sheryl Crow
Tuesday Night Music Club

Men are entering a new phase. Love me right, or leave me alone. No in between.

No more confusion. No mixed signals. No half effort connections. Clarity or nothing.

You either bring peace. Respect. Consistency. Or you bring distance.

Because “almost” love drains more than loneliness ever will.

Hot and cold? Gone. Uncertain energy? Gone. Emotional games? Dead.

Men are done negotiating for basic standards. What’s simple should be natural. Not forced.

If it feels like work just to feel secure, it’s not love. It’s maintenance.

Love me right, or don’t be around me at all. I’m not here for confusion anymore.

Currently, I am driving cars as a second job. It doesn’t pay well, but my coworkers are interesting and I get to drive automobiles I might never get a chance to drive otherwise.

That Maserati was a sweet ride. Never even turned on the stereo… just listened to that motor hum. Beautiful music.

Plus, I’ve been able to do some accidental research on what kind of car I’d get next. One list for if money was no object, the other a bit more practical.

Yes, I’d get a Saab, for the right price. And I can’t believe anyone would get $20,000 for a 1979 Volkswagen Beetle. Convertible or not. Collectible or not. Am I even prepared for this world?

Nor can I believe anyone would pay money for a Jeep (that’s not a Cherokee) as a daily driver. And don’t get me started on those Toyota Tacoma girl trucks. What a horrible ride on the pavement!

The Jeep Grand Cherokee, on the other hand? Yes, please.

Also, it’s an interesting look back into time capsules. Decisions auto makers made—for right or wrong.

Last week, I drove a 2011 Nissan Armada. A comfortable cross between a minivan and an SUV. Except… there was no way to play my own music.

Looking back at 2011. Smartphones were still relatively new, yet iPods were a decade old. My 2009 Hyundai even offered a USB port tied into the aux of the stereo… although I did need a special dongle that utilized both the USB and the 1/4” aux jack in order to make an Apple device work. But I digress…

This Nissan I was assigned the other day offered some innovations. It was a nice sounding Bose system. Of course, given the era, there was a CD player. There was a DVD slot as well, plus a fold down screen in the back seat for the kiddies.

There was a compact flash slot. That was something I hadn’t seen offered in a car before. Many of them have SD card slots, but CF was… different.

If memory serves, Bluetooth was not yet ready for prime time. I could connect my phone to Bluetooth to make and receive calls, but for music playback? Forget it.

And there was a 1/4” aux jack. Arguably the best way to attach an external device at that time.

“Do you have an aux cord?” I no longer do. Thanks, Apple.

My big surprise was the lack of a USB port. If there was one in the vehicle, I never found it. Kind of surprising.

It’s like, in their effort to be innovative, they backed all of the wrong ponies.

Sony Betamax, anyone?

So, I rode in silence. For ninety minutes. Not really a big deal. Definitely preferable to FM, given the state of modern mass media.

A nice ride, yet one I’d likely pass over unless the Google showed me some modern connections through a stock system I was missing in my brief journey with this vehicle.

I want to hack my brain.

No. That’s not quite it. I’ve been doing that.

Plus, that won’t alleviate the pain. So much pain.

Pain is good, right? It keeps us aware. Thinking less.

Feeling. More. MOAR.

The pain isn’t quite in the brain either. It’s lower. In the neck.

I know what you’re thinking. Haha. Cliché.

Base of the skull, actually, so a li’l higher than the neck. That spot where she’ll swoon if you grip during an embrace.

Yes. That’s the spot.

Hack is the correct word, however. No, not with trending psychology. Avoid this.

With a fucking machete. Just a tap. Then another. Then several. Give it a reason to hurt. And likely discover I’ve passed a point of no return. And made quite a mess.

Eventually, the pain will stop. No? Perhaps she’s right... perhaps I need to get this checked out.

Would anyone notice if I built a guillotine in the courtyard?

Sometimes, the pain feels too close. Like today. Today—I just need to sleep the rest of the day away. Little life hack I learned—sleep on it. It actually works.