"Oh, what a world! What a world!" Those are the words spoken by the Wicked Witch of the West, as she lay melting on her castle floor. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust, and witch to water. Today I mirror the words of the wicked witch, "What a world! What a world!" There is stress within my mushy brain, and when I try and restrain my stress and anger during my waking hours, they invade my sleep. I have fallen out of bed a couple of times in the past few months. I also have a tendency to physically lash out in my sleep, as if I'm doing battle with demons. These are new symptoms now accompanying my age-old insanity.
Work is the doldrums, but with annoying gnats as supervisors. It's true that life sucks, then you die...but you've got to work a series of shitty jobs first. My creativity has never served me well. It's kept me entertained during my years of loneliness, but it has never gotten me a decent job. Lately, the fact that I am thirty years older than any of my co-workers has been more apparent. I am starting to feel like an old man, who garners no respect from his co-workers, or peers. I have been in the small world of independent bookstores for over 15 years now. Say what you will about large evil corporations, but at least there is a fairly large pool of folks to choose from when it comes to hanging out.
I am still planning to do a camping trip at the end of this month. I always need the getaway with space and solitude, but now more than ever. It's no fun to clench your jaws so tightly during the night that your jaw aches the next day and you're only able to chew on one side. Stress should not be allowed to follow me into my dreams, but stress heeds no laws and has or restrictions.
I sit on my deck and try and decipher all the layers of noise that add to my stress, and I lose count. I put on my ear buds and turn up the music to drown out the city noises, but only add another louder layer of noise to the mix. The stars above are one of my only consolations, and they're shining down on me from the past, before the dust of my ancestors had even coalesced into something warm and human.
Sometimes I avoid writing blog posts, because I feel like I'm mining the same old ground, but whether anyone out there sees it, or can relate in any way is not usually known to me. So, I write because I want to write. I put down my thoughts in an attempt to shake them from their synaptic perch in my agitated mind. I'm attempting to at least clear out some emotional debris and organize what is left of my synapses into some semblance of contentment.