Here, have some random bits of genuine Doogle fodder. Who am I talking to? Myself, that’s who, ‘”Doogle” (if that really is your name) Dumbass!
Honestly, myself. The following diatribe consists of pieces of the gunk stuck to the back of my cerebral cortex that has needed a good chiseling for some time now. This blog entry is intended to chip away some of the chads dangling like annoying dingleberries. Read it only if you submit to the fact that there’s a lot of chaos rattling around in my head almost every second of the day; awake and asleep. Some of that chaos spilleth over here.
I haven’t written anything since March! That fact alone is just preposterous and completely unworthy of respect. I fart in its general direction! There was a long period in my life where I wrote daily, and even carried a monogrammed leather journal with me everywhere I went. It didn’t matter that the book bag I used for my journal had the Jesus fish pinned to the side. Nope, didn’t matter. The important thing was scribbling my daily thoughts & journeys into some form of recorded media for… I dunno… someone to someday read and perhaps consider it an entertaining read, at the very least. At the very most I could only hope to have my words recreated posthumously for a 3-part Lifetime movie starring Dave Matthews as a much less buff version of myself.
Once upon a time, the space between my ears was less of a vacuum, and more of corn feed silo. I shit you not! I felt creative all the time, throughout the day, constantly contemplating brilliant endeavors which never seemed to lack in artsy-fartsy zest and unrealistic aspirations. What happened to that shit? Where did it go? It’s fucking sunk in between the couch cushions of this ridiculously shaped sectional couch I’m always planting my ass on, that’s where. There’s a corn silo between my ears — what do you really expect?
So, now what? This blog, that’s what.
Looking back over the past 12 months (putting aside the sarcasm for the following 9 words), this year has actually been very good to me.
On one hand I have masturbation… (LOL, couldn’t resist).
On the other hand I have this fabulous roller coaster ride of ups and downs; mandatory to be ridden when “finding oneself” as a middle-aged father of four. This is the longest I’ve ever been, for lack of a more specific word, “single”, since exiting the womb almost 40 years ago. In the beginning I was scared to take the plunge back into bachelorhood for fear that I’d lost the skills required to survive without someone to “call my own”, someone to pretzel up with at night, someone with whom you could accidentally fart around and it wouldn’t be a major catastrophe. On a peculiar side note, in the beginning God also created gigantic illuminating light bulbs to place over your head showcasing when you’ve received a supreme bright idea. My bright idea throughout 2012 was to dive face first into changing my routine from moping around about how weird it was to be alone, to getting off the couch, getting outside, and getting back on the ol’ camel. I’m too young to wither away quite yet. Nobody HAS to have someone in their life to “complete” them, I’ve convinced myself. If you’ve got a few rock solid friendships, an accepting and loving family, and constantly evolving into the next better generation of the person you want to be, that’s truly the best you can hope for.
I seem to have that most of the time. Yay Team Me!
So, why can’t I write? I blame Facebook. By days’ end, I’ve had it up to my receding hairline with typing anything to anyone. 8 hours a day working in social media, the evening in social media, the weekend in social media; a social media virtual garden of freakishly entertaining, and seemingly infinite, ways to communicate with the world. It’s the realization that there are more like-minded people than you sometimes are able to comprehend, and it’s absolutely OK to feel the way you do because others empathize and flock together with you to share the experiences in a safe, virtual environment. How do you pull away from that? We’re tapped in, trapped in, and, in turn, it’s tapping me out. Type. Type. Type. Tyyyyppppppeeee. All day long I type. All night I type. I’m constantly poking my calloused fingertips onto either a set of keys or a touchscreen phone. Is there an internet addiction clinic in the house?! It’s sucking all my blogging abilities through my nose holes and out into oblivion! Make. It. Stop! LOL
Who are the heck are you talking to, dude?!
You seriously just ‘LOL’d yourself..?
Oh. Well goodnight, then…