Hey, everybody! I've missed you. I hope April is treating you well. Most Aprils are good to me, but there is the occasional frenemy out of this month. With that in mind, I'll give you this post that has been sitting on my hard drive, waiting for a read or two.
I make friends very easily.I'm sure that some of it is attributed with my view that we are all made of the same star material. Another part is that I am pretty darn charismatic. I can make people suprise smile. Those are those rare smiles that happen when others aren't expecting to flex those fantastic facial muscles. It gives me a great amount of pride to count another person as someone who likes me. For all of my anti-conformist views, I still feel the need to be liked by others.
I trust way too much. This is one of my biggest faults. It has taken it's toll on my life. There are situations that I would take back in my life. I thought I'd never have any regrets, but choosing the wrong friends is a lesson that I never wish I'd have had to learn first hand. I've had those I held close to me take my belongings, cheat with my women, and murder a family member. That final straw broke the poverbial camel's back so hard that I ended up going hermit for years. It suddenly became difficult to do anything in public, let alone make new friends. The stagnation eventually got to me, and I've poked my head out more frequently in time, but I still have a huge veil of screening that I hold in view while talking to everyone but my closest family.
So, lo-and-behold, I came to become a blogger. There's the social interaction that I had been lacking for the longest time. Almost everyone, save for the rare troll and flamer, has been genuinely positive. This outlet gives me opportunity to flex my friending muscle without all of the risks that come with physical befriending. You are my best friend. I do not joke when I say that.
Speaking of joking, I should include one in this dreary post. The clouds outside threaten rain and I've lost my last ten dollars, so it's going to take all I have to even figure out one joke. Original jokes are the only ones I like to tell. I'm reminded of many a comedian feud due to people creating the same punchlines, or sharing from each other. I think life can be so funny, that sometimes relatable comedy can cross lines of time and space. Really, I should wetten up this dry post. Let me get a wet rag, a bucket of KY jelly, and a stream of gleek, and we'll turn this motha around. Haha, just kidding. I have no jelly.
I've hit a stalemate with some of my sought assistance. I don't believe that there is as much help for me as I initially believed. I am thankful for what is there, but the system was not designed for people like me. I don't even know anyone else like me, so how would they know to prepare for me?
Hamster wheels and treadmills. Those come into my mind when I think of the word j-o-b. Before I end up getting hate comments from all of you that hold down a good nine-to-five gig, let me tell you that there are people of all types in this world. That includes the person who detests the ratrace so much that they withdraw from it, only to bring suffering and strife to their lives. That person is me, but it's not all suffering and strife. Every once in a while there are rays of light that come from the darkness to light the path I knew was there all along. We're all different, and not all of us have to have a job, career, or love of money. I have none of those right now, although I do have plans to go to college, it's got more to do with me doing what I love than the financial security that it brings.
Financial security scares me. With a padded bank account, I wouldn't be as hungry. I wouldn't struggle to think of ways to accept certain aspects of being poor. I would be complacent. I would accept life as it comes, instead of meeting the wind head-on. Leeway is not what I require. I need to be uncomfortable. The fine line between uncomfortable and downright miserable is what drives me to make this seemingly useless statement of individuality.
I've been keeping some stones in my pocket to help my dreams. I'm one of those that believe that dreams can help understand real life. This is a small portion of my last dream:
I'm standing in the middle of a yard in the suburbs. The sky is lightly spotted with fluffy clouds. Their wispy whiteness poofing out of the blue background. I feel a warmth come from my chest. This sensation is very familiar, although I don't remember ever having it before. In a few hearbeats, I figure out that this is the secret to flying. The warmth and tingling I feel eminating from within my chest is belief. A belief that encompasses my whole soul to the point of raising me from the earth's crust. As I ascend, I become very excited and tell myself aloud,
"This is a dream. I am flying in a dream."
With the utmost certainty, that thought is struck down with a belief that this IS reality, not a dream state. I fly upward, taking in the rushing air to my flared nostrils.
Was it a dream, or is the dream life a reality that we come back to every night?
The answer is right, no matter which one it is.
I'm off to find that ten dollars and hopefully have a night that helps my mood. I hope you all have a great weekend.
|Edit: Had to brighten this one up a bit.|