Things can turn so quickly. One day your flying high (pun intended) and the next day you're burning in flames. Am I really such a nasty person? Why so few friends? I've never had a lot of friends, and I blame my misanthropy. You know, it's hard to like people when you just plain hate people in general.
I'm always surprised how people can so easily disappoint. I have "friends" that never call, and then when I call them they say, "Oh, I've been leaving you messages." And somehow all those messages just disappear from my phone. One friend used to use the excuse that he never wrote my number down, and he always had to look up an old phone bill to find my number. Really? And these are also friends who never take a moment to read my blog (no worries there,) but they're all upset if you don't catch their band's latest gig, or read some cheesy horror story they scribbled down. I've always been a good listener to my own detriment.
Like tonight: I could really use a friend, but my "friends" out here pretty much cut me off after my new relationship and marriage. Actually, they started distancing themselves when I adopted a child. Since they are childless, I guess they figured we wouldn't have anything in common anymore. The fact is we really didn't have anything in common in the first place.
Living is sometimes such a lonely existence. It seems I'm constantly being misunderstood, misinterpreted, and just plain missed ("Oh, I didn't see you there.) Not much different from high school. A loner then, and a loner now (even if I crave companionship, somehow I always end up feeling alone.)
I'd just love a vacation from this nowhere job I'm stuck in. I love books, and love talking about books, but $10.50 an hour is just not a living wage. But at fifty, I'm not likely to find anything else for the rest of my misbegotten life. Sad to think. Sometimes I convince myself that I have value, and then I have to walk to work in the pouring rain, to a place where no one is happy with their shit wages. It's like walking into a tomb sometimes, or a somewhat subdued lunatic asylum. It's depressing, damn it!
So, I will return into myself. I am the only one that understands my brain (like you with yours) and sometimes it's just easier to close up shop and stop offending others with opinions and ideas. There used to be a saying when I was a kid: Children are to be seen and not heard. I was the oldest, and I got the most severe punishment to set an example. My dad's favorite weapon was the razor strap, but sometimes he got in the mood to go up to his shop and get a shingle. Fun stuff! Now he barely remembers being such a disciplinarian. With those harsh punishments, one might think that I was a problem child, but I was actually a quiet and studious child...with no friends. Oh, I had one friend starting from 6th grade on, but he is a little high maintenance. He's one of those guys, who will tell you all about his woes and then just before hanging up, he'll ask how I'm doing.
Friends...it's not the TV show. Everybody looks at fantasy relationships and friendships and think that they're modeling reality. Hell, even reality shows don't model reality. It's all just an illusion. Friends are hard to find and harder to keep. Lovers? Don't even get me started. I never, never would have seen myself getting married for a third time. Society gave it's approval (after we paid the appropriate fees, and filled out all the paperwork.) So, I'm in another society structured relationship, trying my best to keep it together. It's never easy. My goal has always been to be accepted for who I am, but sometimes even I have a hard time with that.
So look at this nice long blog post. I guess I just need to suffer more in order to write. I've always believed that great art can only come from suffering. And isn't that a Buddhist adage: Better Life Through Suffering. The only drawback is that my significant other(s) can't really deal with my suffering. I would have made a great monk if they only had atheist monks.