tcr! diaries - podcast

Well over half the conversations I have are all words. Personal and professional. All reading and responding. I want to say there is no voice in them but each author has their own in black and white. It’s still all words though. Nothing verbal. The only emotions are the ones I assign based on how I know the sender.

I try hard to read everything personal I get as really great news. At the very least I try not to assume those words sent to me and meant for me are negative. When I get a text or an email I take the words literally unless I know the other person is joking.

I’ve said most of that before. Playing games complicates life and I want less complication.

Words can be tricky, though. I do my best when I get a suspect message to pause and see the sender as a whole human being. Just take a minute before I get trigger-finger happy with a response. That pause helps defuse any bomb I think I might be holding. Believe it or not I’ve misread and misunderstood words before and then jumped to nasty conclusions and ended up looking like an ass.

My point is that I do my best to imagine the sender sending cheery communications and that in turn keeps me on positive path when I reply.

...

In somewhat related news, Biz Stone (one of the founders of Twitter) said[1] a few years back that he was “operating under the assumption” that everybody liked him. I enjoyed reading that because for much of my life I assumed that at least half of everyone was out to get me.[2]

Treating people as if they liked me and as if I liked them did wonders for my relationships. Watch someone’s face light up when you tell[3] them that you’re excited to see them.

After I altered my interactions with people, they in turn started treating me with love and respect. They started being excited to see me as well. And I got to let go of pretty much all of my paranoia.

It’s always good for me to remember that “acting as if” can and will fundamentally change who I am. And also that I’m never going to be able to “will” away paranoia and friends. I need to find a positive behavior to practice instead of trying to force myself to give up a negative one.

...

And so then what started me writing this correspondence to you guys is this other guy I traded work emails with for years. And because I knew he could be a jerk in person I assumed most of what he wrote to be jerky as well. The communications were an exercise in combat. Mental conflicts that were simply exhausting. I ended up dreading each time I got a notification ding.

Now some time has passed and I’ve gotten a little separation and I wonder what our conversations would’ve been like if I just pretended that everything he wrote came from a good place. I’m 99% sure that it didn’t just because I knew how he could be back that, but every now and then I “pontificate” how the dynamics would’ve change if I would’ve simply changed my point of view.

Read and responded to everything he sent like we were working toward the same goal. Maybe even that his words were “really great news.”

If instead of seeing him as hostile, I just saw him as a person who liked me. If instead of reading his words as angry, I read them as happy. Regardless of his intent.

I was hesitant to do that when I had the chance. Even though I think it’s a worthy cause, I also think there’s a damn good chance I’d have just come across as sarcastic or snide.

It’s too late for me to have a better relationship with that guy now but it’s not too late for me to interpret every new email or message I get as simply delightful.

What if I operate under the assumption that all communications I get are good? 🤔

What if I operate under the assumption that all people are good by default? 🤔

Well, let’s not get too crazy here.

#relationships #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

theguardian.com/technology/../biz-stone-twitter ↑

Well, that’s not true. It was more that I simply didn’t trust them. ↑

Mean it, too. Don’t just say it. ↑

  View original  

And then there was that one time when myself and two older friends were drinking and carrying on, using too many drugs, and just driving around out in the country.

And then they decided they wanted to rob a house.

Being younger I went along with their plans because that’s what I usually did. Everybody I knew, everybody that I got high with in the early 90s was older. Sometimes a lot older.

And I went along with them because a- it was generally fun being up to no good and b- I liked that they invited me along. Even if I was always somebody’s little brother.

I wanted in, I wanted to be part of the adventure. I wanted to be part of a revolution but there was none around. Being up to no good was as close as I could get in rural Iowa to being a revolutionary.

The two I was with that particular night were a couple and I was just along for the ride. Sometimes I would end up in the backseat of somebody’s car and that was totally fine by me. Going anywhere, doing anything, getting high and not being me.

When we got to the house, for whatever reason the lady decided to park in the driveway. It didn’t strike me as odd at first since we were out in the middle of nowhere and it was well past midnight. And I was lit.

As we sat there in the dark, they immediately started bickering about how we were going to actually break into the house.

Basement window? Backdoor? Garage?

After we sat there for 10 or 15 minutes the reality of the situation started became all too apparent. There I was manning the backseat of a beatdown car in the driveway of a house we were about to rob while two methheads couldn’t agree on the best way in.

I could see this adventure playing out only one way. And it involved me going to jail. Again. But this time it wouldn’t be for something trivial like public intox.

Playing it cool, I leaned up and put my arms on their bench seat and said, “this is a bad idea.”

They were drug addicts so much more than me, way worse than I ever was. Robbing the house was gonna give them drug money and I certainly didn’t think they’d pay much attention to my meager protest. I was always somebody’s little brother after all.

But in the few moments that followed my B&E objection they changed their mind. A glimmer of reasonable moonlight broke through their teeth grinding addiction. And then she started the car.

And we then left.

As ridiculous as this story is, it’s also one of the few times where I felt like an equal among that group of people. I felt like that my voice not only counted but was it taken seriously and then acted on.

I felt like a peer in the revolution.

#photos #rebellion #diariespodcast

  View original  

For much of my life I’ve been internally combustible and physically uncomfortable. I felt ill and under and unequipped just being human. Even trying to be human. Too much shit gurgling in my stomach. Never ending mallet beating my heart. Intestines put on backwards and inside out. My thoughts whirling and jerking back and forth by some restless, mechanical bull.

I’m melodramatic, I know.

But when I found drugs and alcohol as a teenager that fixed me, that calmed the bomb and made life tolerable, comfortable. The whole reason why I drank as much and as hard as I did was because drinking brought me relief. And not only that but it took me to a place of adventure, a place I was fond of, a place without restraints. A feeling inside and out that nothing mattered, nothing could touch me, and I just didn’t give a fuck. If it was sunny outside then that was perfect and if it were raining then that was fucking awesome, too.

Of course being alcoholic there always comes a point where the watered down solution becomes a problem in itself. Becomes more of a problem than the anxiety I was trying to do away with.

And then when I did stop drinking the pressures of everyday life were back. More painful than ever. I didn’t have many skills to deal with them and oh boy, did the mechanical bull launch full throttle again. The first year and two I was sober I felt the craziest that I ever had my whole life. Like every nerve in my body was exposed, every sight a cause for alarm.

Am I going to be able to drive all the way home? I can’t even fucking think straight.

And every sound twice as loud.

Why is everyone talking through a megaphone?

In related news, it feels like there’s been ringing in my ears since I was nine.

Freshly sober my anxiety would have me up at 4:30 in the morning, pounding down the coffees. Other times I’d be up well past midnight, smoking cigarette[1] after cigarette. Day and night making my combustion worse by not sleeping and pumping more toxins into my system.

In the here-and-now, even well into sobriety, when I’m uncomfortable my go-to reaction is to fix how I feel. Reach for cigarettes that aren’t there. Look for something outside of me to soothe the unrest within. Something, anything to take away the worry, the doubt, the paranoia. Unplug the melodramatic bull.

After I got back into 12-step recovery one of the most valuable tools that I learned was the cosmic pause. To take an interlude. To stop. For a moment. To breathe.

And also to learn how to feel my feelings, especially the uncomfortable ones. I’m sure I’ve quoted Tony before when he said, “those that make it are the ones who learn how to be uncomfortable.”

My last divorce was certainly uncomfortable and plenty difficult for everybody involved. Every time I would get a text message from my ex-wife my heart would race and I felt like I was holding a bomb. My hands would shake as I was pummeled with nervous, dizzy emotion. And it would all happen in an instant. Maybe kinda like a panic attack. :)

Then of course I would immediately read/react/reply, and the text messages would explode with overflowing wells of anger. Puke and shit everywhere. It was the same story with my first ex-wife except we’d actually be calling each other all frenzy-like since cell phones weren’t an everyday thing.

And then somewhere along the way the cosmos gave me some insight.

I didn’t have to respond to someone’s messages[2] right away. I didn’t even have to read them right when my phone popped up an alert. Hell, I didn’t have to read them at all if I didn’t want to. Fucking spiritual revelation.

When I get in those kind of tense situations where I’m feeling nervous or unsure I do my best to simply pause. Accept that whatever I’m feeling is how I’m supposed to be feeling at that very moment. And then say a little prayer, sometimes a big one, and ask the cosmos for direction. I breathe out and imagine I’m exhaling the anxiety. Blow it out like the smoke that used to give me so much comfort.

On a side note, imagine taking a drag off a cigarette and then never blowing out the smoke. That choking feeling, that suffocation is how I feel when I only hold on to my emotions and don’t process them.

Anyways, absolutely not doing anything when I’m in a mess is almost always the right thing to do. I’m not good at reacting under pressure. Even more so when there’s barbed history. I usually make the situation worse if I act on that first impulse. I can easily freak out and go some place emotionally I don’t like being. So I pause and ride my emotional, mechanical bull until it powers down. Afterward the feelings subside, if not pass altogether, and then I’m able to make sound decisions with a clear mind.

My solution is always divine. No amount of material things will ever fix me.[3] I need to reconnect with the cosmic spirit if I want peace. By letting the cosmos care for and guide me I don’t have to take on the burden of trying to fix myself, trying to manage my anxiety. Control whatever situation I’m in or even control how I’m feeling. I can just let go and know that the answers will come so long as I allow myself to be a complete human being. With uncomfortable feelings and all.

And back to that “holding a bomb” feeling.

The funny thing is I know now most of that was pretty much all about me. My gears grinding and circuits working overtime. My heart would beat so fast and there I was the one holding the mallet.

Mechanical bull up in my head, glaring eyes of red, snorting steam they said.

I can’t speak for my ex-wives or anybody else but it wouldn’t surprise me if both felt just as nervous as I did when they reached out to me. My behaviors and responses were unpredictable. At best. And divorces are messy, too. Emotions high. Feelings hurt. That in itself is reason enough for anybody to slow way the fuck down.

Most of my messages in the here-and-now are light and nonchalant. I’m overall calm. I don’t feel the mechanical bull winding up and bashing me around when certain people message me. I do my best to stay consistently plugged into the cosmos and walk that spiritual path. When I am and when I do, I’m not as eager to race ahead and react to fear, perceived or not.[4] If I stay ahead of the anxiety game I’m less likely to lose when it’s time to play.

When I’m plugged in nothing can touch me either. I’m on that spiritual journey and get a text message bomb, then it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Other people can behave badly and I don’t give a fuck. And that feeling of being okay is what I was after the whole time I was drinking. I was trying to get okay. I just made the mistake of using man-made fixes.

Physically uncomfortable and internally combustible. Life doesn’t have to be that way. More importantly, life’s not supposed to be like that.

I needed a better way to live. My solution has been always divine but there were things that I could certainly do.

So when I stopped chugging coffees after 8 pm was when I started closing my eyes and falling asleep come bedtime. When I stopped taking things so damn personal, when I stopped seeing people as threats was when I finally was able to relax and life wasn’t so loud anymore.

When I stopped analyzing and scrutinizing every detail and started trusting in the greater good of my fellow humans was when l started building meaningful, long term relationships.

When I stopped worrying about getting hurt was when I was finally able to love you guys.

When I stopped using quick fixes for the major problems was when I started to heal.

And then when I realized that most of what I thought was important in life was irrelevant, when I finally let everything go was when I was finally set free.

#anxiety #alcoholism #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

“I never knew I had anxiety. I just knew I needed another cigarette.” I don’t know who said that on NPR but I was all like “YES” when I heard it. ↑

Text-based conversation is possibly one of the worst things that has happened to modern communication. It lets people write things that they would never get away with saying to another person face-to-face. ↑

Just to throw this out there, some people need medication. I’m not saying that everybody can get by on a spiritual solution alone. But for me much of my anxiety was driven by how I lived my life. ↑

“...we are our very worst selves in fear. We are the most dangerous to ourselves and to each other.” -Brené Brown ↑

  View original  

When I was a kid living in a little town in Iowa, our neighborhood, our street, our house they all felt like home to me. I always felt secure, always felt like I belonged. My life was feature complete on that block.

I’m sure it was because that house on Allison Avenue in Ottumwa was the only place I’d ever lived, the only home I’d ever known. That street just a single block long was the center of my whole universe.

A group of us kids would ride our bikes over to Mowery, maybe around McKinley, always down the Johnson ramp, and across Albia Road to Dairy Queen. Sometimes Pamida instead. If that name doesn’t ring a bell, think department store akin to K-mart.

And my mom made dinner every night and when I sat down to eat with her, my dad, and sister nothing was ever missing. The dinner table always felt full.

Since then I’ve lived in more places than I can count. Lived on both coasts and in plenty of places in between. The only time I feel that same sense of home I did as a kid is when Maggie and I are out riding our bikes.

I don’t know what it is about fixed-gears and neighborhood streets but they ring a bicycle bell with my emotions. I’m taken back to Allison, taken back to something much more than simple deja-vu. It sounds corny but it feels as if my spirit transcends space and time and part of me is there on the avenue again.

And yes, I absolutely feel a sense of family when Maggie and I are eating dinner but then again something is always missing. I feel a separation, a loss. I feel incomplete. Because my mom, dad, and sister aren’t there.

On Allison we always ate in the kitchen because we didn’t have a dining room. Maggie and I have a dining room now but we always eat in the kitchen. Because kitchens feel more like home.

I wonder if my mom felt the same way, missing her mom and dad, longing for her brothers when she was making us dinner in Ottumwa. Remembering the times around her kitchen table with her childhood family out on the farm just south of town.

I wonder if I feel like my dad did when he was making dinner for Angie and I. When we were a little bit older and the three of us lived together on Casper.

And I also wonder if Maggie will feel the same after she grows up, when she’s making dinner for her kids. Remember that one year she and I watched every episode of Lost while we ate the dinner I made for us.

“You can’t go home” the book title famously says. I’ve driven down Allison Avenue a few times as an adult, wanting to revisit the old neighborhood and all. I was hoping to feel something each time I went, recapture a little childhood magic but I only felt a distant connection to a fading past. And what's more, I felt out of place. That neighborhood isn’t mine anymore.

My memories from the 70s are so much more powerful than actually being there. Part of me wishes I could go back but I’d have to time travel I suppose.

[...school night interlude, including showers and homework...]

I had a minor revelation after getting my earlier thoughts out in the open and letting them simmer for a bit. I almost always write to process something and what I’ve found tonight is that memories are what make places feel like home.

Maggie learned to ride her bike behind our garage in the alley. We were out there for a couple of hours and she was so close. So close, so many times but it just wasn’t happening. She was wearing down and I wanted her to keep trying. She and I both knew she almost had it. There’ll be a certain electricity when you’re on the verge of becoming more than what you have been. When you’re on the verge of flying to greater heights.

And then she got enough momentum. She let go and trusted her body. She found her balance. And then she was off riding two wheels by herself.

Fixed-gear bike, too. Because they’re bad ass.

#photos #mommaj #bikes #diariespodcast

What a guy!! What a writer! What a beautiful tribute to your parents!!! ❤️

  View original  

I think all that jive about “not caring what other people think” is mostly bullshit.

When I puff out my chest and chant the “I don’t care what they think“ mantra, it feels like I’m just giving myself a free pass to act like an asshole. And really I’m probably doing something I shouldn’t be doing or just did something I shouldn’t have done.

Like that time you all know and love when I went into Jewel at quarter to eight in the morning with bloodshot eyes, looking like I’d only slept for a few hours. Because I had. And then walked up to the checkout lady with 2 pints of beer in my basket, all standoffish. Temperamental and dramatic and inwardly screaming, “Judge me all you want. I don’t give a fuck!”

Yeah, that was just a cover up for the shame I felt for buying beer before the day had even started. It had nothing to do with legitimately not caring about what the lady in Jewel thought.

When the “I don’t give a fuck what they think” comes out of my mouth or I’m all emotionally rambunctious up in my head most likely I’m up to no good. In one way or another. Maybe I haven’t actually done anything yet. Maybe my motives aren’t in the right place or my emotions aren’t pure. Whatever it is something is off.

I’m not trying to sound preachy but whatever. I probably am.

I don’t care what the neighbors think about the pink Christmas lights hanging in my kitchen window year round. However, this example of “not caring” never crossed my mind until I started exploring this apathetic path. If you will. I never thought about what they think let alone bothered to care what they think. I honestly didn’t think about the pink lights because I honestly don’t care.

That’s when “not caring” is not bullshit: when I have zero thought and zero emotional investment.

Truly not worrying about what people think of me and the things I like, that all comes from a place of calm and confidence and not one of bolstered and shouting egos. Not one of loud arrogance.

I do what I want and so long as I’m not stepping on someone else’s toes then I don’t give a fuck. Don’t give a fuck enough to not even think about giving a fuck. If that makes sense.

I do care what people think about me. I care about my family and friends’ opinions because what they think is important. It counts. It matters.

If my friends think I’m being an asshole or if a stranger looks at me like I’m being a jerk, there’s something wrong with what I’m doing. Like if I say something in front of a server at a restaurant and an honest-to-god worried look comes across their face then I have wonder to myself, “Oh. I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe I shouldn’t say that again.”[1]

Being a jerk is something I’m never trying to do these days but I’m only human and sometimes I don’t realize I’m being an ass. This is why what other people think is important. I look for guidance from the people that I trust in my life when I’m uncertain.

I look to and count on my peers calling me out because I’m so wrapped up in me most of the time that I have a hard time seeing what’s going on. More importantly what’s going wrong.

If I have something in my teeth I know that somebody will tell me. Man, is hearing that rough, too. Saying it isn’t any fun either. Being either person in that situation can be uncomfortable. And then of course Maggie showed me how to handle all of that. A few weeks ago I told her that something was in her teeth after dinner. She said “thank you” and then went and got a toothpick.[2] That’s the end of the story. And also an excellent example of what “not caring” is really all about.

This might sound self-deprecating but I fucked up a good chunk of my life because I didn’t care what people close to me thought and I just did whatever I wanted. That didn’t work out so well. Hence two divorces.

In the here and now I pay close attention to what people near and dear to me say. When people give me their feedback I do my best to listen and take it seriously. If they say that I’m fucking up then I probably am. And then I do my best to course correct. Because I don’t want to fuck up my life anymore.

Also, and this is important: I look for the good in people and automatically assume that when they give me feedback it’s coming from a good place.[3] I don’t take what my friends say as an attack. Why the hell would my friends attack me? Friends don’t attack.

Opening myself up to criticism, taking that with as much grace and humility as I can muster, and then appreciating the growing bond with that other person is a big part of the meaning of life to me. Friendships will absolutely flourish when I allow myself to be a whole human being in front of my friends. And even more, when my friends see that I took their suggestions, they’ll know that they count to me. They’ll get to be somebody, too. Our friendship will be balanced. Equal parts them and equal parts me.

I don’t know about you guys but I admire and respect the hell out of my friends and family. I care deeply about them and their opinions. I legitimately do care what they think about me.

And the last thing I want to say about this whole “not caring what people think” bullshit is that most people don’t think about me. At all. Because I’m not that important. If I’m out in public chances are other people don’t even see me. And that's not because I'm a ninja.

One more thing. I've never written an “abstract” before.

#advancedsoul #zerofucksgiven #diariespodcast

Well my first reaction is “what the fuck are you looking at?“ because I’m me. ↑

Life doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. I’ll never understand why we as adults make life so hard. ↑

Sara clued me in to that. “Coming from a good place” are her words, not mine. ↑

  View original  

I have a sign but they keep coming back. I need you to intimidate them, get them away from my doorbell, and off my porch. For good. For permanently. I want you to make them feel like the Hindus did when holy-roller Robertson said they were all demonic.

I need you to channel that Christian snobbery. That elitism those grade school girls threw at me when I was just a kid. When they told me I was going to hell. Because I wasn’t saved. And they most certainly were going to heaven. Because they were. They were gonna see their grandparents and everything. 😞

Anyways… Yes, you can and should shock them with the wonders of the United Nations, and the allures of provocative dress, and the miracles of blood transfusions. No, you cannot literally shock them with anything. That means no tasers. Realistically...real electricity is out of the question. Just fry them with your egotistical, religious superiority. Make fun of the number 1914.

Continue with belittlement of their public preachings, their doctrines, their holy translations. I’ll have 3-4 mint Watch Tower mini-magazines. They’re reprints but they won’t know. Rip them in half like the Jesus muscle men do who impress each other by tearing up bibles. For the kids, ya know. If you can do it with your teeth and biceps, kudos my friend.

Maybe tell them how much better your religious views are than theirs. Stuff like that. You don’t need to back this up with facts — remember it’s all about attitude and condemnation. Judgement is now and forever has been your ally.

You’ll be standing behind my glass front door so you should be loud. Be a little freak show or whatever. Think: TELEVANGELICAL. That slap the forehead with the palm and be healed in the name of Jesus, that’s your tone. Bring the self-proclaimed doomsday. Bring a script or ad-lib, either is fine but you won’t be allowed to actually hold the script. It’d diminish your performance for gods sake. Don’t break the glass, either. I don’t wanna be mopping up sanctified blood before Halloween.

I’ll have a tackle box loaded with eyeshadow and lipstick if you’d like to go for a Tammy Faye look. I’m in the midst of an eBay bidding war for an authentic Bakker replica wig. I’m on a limited budget so don’t hold your breath. You can, however, hold your breath for up to two minutes before Jehovah's arrival. For psychotic-comedic effect. Don’t pass out. If you do, I’ll simply roll you out on to the porch and who knows what will happen when the restorationists get here.

But check this out: I’ll have a white Megaphone Speaker PA Bullhorn with fresh batteries standing by if you need it for your final push. If you bite, lick, or drool on it — you buy it. Don't do it. I'm not even kidding.

This isn’t funny, holy wars never are, but it is a paying gig. $25 up front and $25 after you’ve sent them scampering back to Warwick. I’ll watch for them in my neighborhood and Snapchat you when I see a short sleeve and tie with a backpack. You’ll hustle on over and come in through the back because rumor has it they spook easily and can smell opposition.

Yes, there’ll be a short audition when you come for the initial deposit. I reserve the right to capture your performance with my iPhone's camera. No, it won’t be uploaded to the YouTube unless you're into that.

Serious inquires only. Don't contact me if you can't recite the goriest parts of Jobs’ plague.

Bonus: if you convert them to Christianity the wig and tackle box are yours. You can also put a sign in my front yard come December, one of them “Jesus is the reason for the season" guys. 🎄

If you’re a Jehovah’s Witness, I’m sorry it’s came to this. I’ve run out of options.

#helpwanted #religiousnews #bullhorn #diariespodcast

  View original  

It’s easy to be of the mindset that how people behave is their business and I shouldn’t let it affect me. But that’s a level of spiritual enlightenment most likely I’ll never reach. Setting such a high bar for myself always makes me feel like I’m coming up short. I shouldn’t go around expecting myself to be more than I actually am, do more than I actually can.

When I try and stop things from bugging me I tend to act/react twice as bad. The situation tends to ratchet up because I’m suppressing natural emotion. Not allowing myself to feel all of god’s given emotions is the never the right thing to do.

Not long ago I was pretty agitated with somebody and I’m sure it showed. But I don’t give a fuck. People throw tantrums and I’ll scoff in their general direction.

I think the real goal in situations like this, when others are behaving badly is to strive for simply not acting badly myself. Morons will always get on my nerves. I’m not immune to another’s stupidity but if I mind my proverbial Ps and Qs all will be right in the cosmos.

And when all is said and done I a- get to experience all my emotions, good or bad and b- don’t have any fences to mend. Then I get on with my life.

In related news... acting tough, walking around with your chest puffed out just makes you look like an asshole.

#advancedsoul #protip #relationships #diariespodcast

  View original  

Continuing with the black and white musical theme, I spent a couple months of this portion of the pandemic adding electronic music to a trimmed down 1936 Russian space opera movie. If you like stop animation and CCCP rockets and ambient techno beats, this is for you.

In the year 1946, the Soviet space program is undergoing turmoil. Professor Sedikh, who is planning to lead the first manned exploration to the Moon, is denounced by his rival Professor Karin as being too old and too mentally unstable for the mission.

This journey clocks in around 12 minutes 33 seconds and sure, listening to the audio-only version is grand, it's not as grand as the video-and-audio coupling. The music more closely follows the movie scenes whereas with my previous black and white work I wrote the music first and adapted the footage to the melodies.

Note: the film appears to have various name, hence the various link titles.

I’ve also been growing my beard so I can build and fly my own space rocket #128.

🔭 🎹 🚀

#fromrussia #cosmos #diariespodcast #diariesvideo

That’s really cool 😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎

Thank you so much! 🪐

The music with that space crew just waiting to brought to life in glorious B&W. 😎

Thanks! Took a couple months to put it together 🎹

This is a lot of fun, it makes me feel like I’m playing a video game but I have no control

this must be what my little brother felt like when I gave him the second controller and told him “you can be Tails”

Haha!

  View original  

Friends. Family. Total strangers. I don’t consider himself an arrogant person.

One evening, however, when I was running “who do I have to blow” late, I was pulled over. You may have heard this policeman story before. It was many years ago so don’t get too excited.

Anyways, when the officer walked up to my driver’s side window, I flicked my cigarette down toward his lazily shined shoes. I didn’t consciously do this, had no intention of being jerky, no intention of premeditated arrogance. It just happened.

I got a ticket for “disposing of flammable materials from a vehicle” that day. I never paid it.

We all have moments of belligerence I suppose.

And then there was that one time in high school when I was walking home by myself. A guy I was friends with drove past in his little red VW. I gave him the bird as he went by. Again, I don’t know why I did. It just happened.

When I saw him the next day at school he asked me why I had flipped him off. Feeling somewhat on the spot and held accountable for what I’d done, I told him it was because I was walking and he was not.

He then said to me, “you should’ve asked me for a ride” in a gentle, veritable kinda way. Instead of ratcheting the conversation up with more arrogance, he extended his hand in friendship.

Bill was a legitimately good guy. A better person than I was at the time for sure. We weren’t close friends but I still considered him my friend. And knowing Bill made me want to be somebody like him. Helped me realize that it’s okay to not only ask for what I need but also for what I want, what I’d like. Because friends do things for each other. Just because they’re friends.

Being a jerk by default never did me any favors. Granted in high school I didn’t really know how to do any better but in the here-and-now I’m grateful for those little interactions that helped me learn.

In that brief conversation before class started, Bill taught me that conflicts can be short circuited with friendly compassion.

I regret not getting to know more people in high school. I was too wrapped up in me and my chaos to make that happen. But looking back now as I drive to work, I’m sure there was a whole lot more Breakfast Club there that I didn’t even know about.

I’m in the math club, uh, the Latin, and the physics club... physics club.

#confessional #trafficnews #advancedsoul #diariespodcast

  View original  

So one time when I was “quit smoking” I was headed up to see my dentist in Elgin. Don’t ask me for a referral. He’s long since retired and is probably off riding a mule in the Grand Canyon these days.

He actually rode a mule there once. A mule by the name of Travis. I heard that story every time I went to see him.

Anyway, whatever stop smoking aid I was using that day wasn’t working. I had a little panic attack and that quickly turned into full blown, terror frenzy.

I stopped and charged into the nearest gas station, drooling at the mouth, doing sign language, knocking over kids and racks of maps. After I got a pack of cigarettes in my hands, I tore into them like a bear after honey, ripping open a beehive regardless of consequences.[1]

I had one in my mouth before even getting outside the gas station. I lit one up in the cool Autumn air and felt the fabulous serenity now. The world made sense. The radio station tuned in. I was a little light headed but the pleasure sensors were firing on all 12 cylinders.

A few minutes later as the smoking cigarette was winding down, the self-disgust was winding up. That “smoking again” love/hate kinda thing. Shaking my head I stubbed the cigarette out and headed back up toward that mule riding dentist.

Driving along Highway 31 and the smoking guilt got to be too much. I remembered what a client had said to me once.

You’re a vegetarian but you smoke??[2]

I stopped at another gas station and threw the pack of 19 cigarettes in the closest garbage can. Then I roared away in the Cube like a bear shot in the neck with a goat tranquilizer.

[...Interlude of tooth song and dance...]

While driving back home the fiery nicotine addiction kicked back in. My body was withdrawing and my mind going berserk. When I get in this spot, frantic desperation will kick my ass every single time.

Yes, of course, I did stop back at that second gas station and did dug the 19 pack back outta the trash.[3] I was literally digging in the garbage can. Of a public place. In broad daylight. In a smoke finding delirium. With my mouth half numb from all the dentistry prodding and poking.

People were looking at me like I was a red-assed baboon, masturbating[4] at the zoo while baring his teeth as a warning.

Keep the children away from him!

If you’ve ever committed this act of communal cigarette larceny you’re not alone.

Peeps, that’s the end of this story. Happy Wednesday!

#smokersunite #socialproblems #diariespodcast

Please note: a bear’s thick coat protects them from being stung. They have little consequence for their actions. ↑

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of disappointment. ↑

Addicts know no shame. Nicotine is one of the most powerful drugs, chemicals, bitches I’ve ever encountered. ↑

Please note: I was fully dressed. ↑

I have radiation therapy I don’t want to be one of those older then I am Fuckers still smoking I start on the 27th!

Good luck!!

Nicotine is at the top of the list of addictive drugs.

I believe it.

Hmmmmm?!. I was just talking to someone this afternoon @ how I quit. How weird? My phone ( or you ) must be listening to me again. 😂

He eavesdrops on everybody!

I know people who quit shooting meth and quit drinking whisky who can’t quit smoking. Oddly enough, I don’t have first hand experience with this drug. I never met a drug I didn’t like with the exception of tobacco. I must be allergic to it. Another…See More

I remember Goth Sean Penn but I don’t remember the tobacco interlude. I’ll have to research.

Smoking is definitely an ash-y, cough-y type of love affair. Talking (and smelling) like Tom Waits is a requirement.

  View original