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"War is a forge that gives us meaning."

Make your choice.

This is my primary public post. If you want to be added, just drop me a line here.
I don't post often and only occasionally of substance but I'm always around and glad to find new and interesting reads.


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Nothing like a good cry in the ole work truck before going into a job.

There's some solace in the fact that when I'm working, I can't dwell and be sad, I need too much of my brain to do the job. Which isn't something I could've relied on back on retail.

Small blessings I guess.

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Answered that, a good cathartic cry and some cussing. Now for a quick bite of whisky and it's time for bed.

Onward and upward.

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Now what?

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Evolution is a strange beast.

We're alive today because our genetic ancestors fought to survive.
But the vasty majority of those skills are now irrelevant.

In fact, most anything we can identify as disordered or broken in the modern world can be connected to behaviors that explain why our little puddle of genetics is still strapped to this giant mud ball.

"Social disorders" just mean people too wired for specialized skills to mesh well with the current machine.

It's like the hunter/gatherer interpretation of ADD. A successful skill-set gets hardwired for one environment and then the environment changes.

It's part of what makes me nervous about broad spectrum genetic modification.
And, I'm biased as a lefty, but I think it gives me a certain perspective.

On paper, there's no reason we exist.
Accident rates alone select against us, add in centuries of discrimination from yard stick wielding nuns to actual death penalties and we should've been weeded out faster than faggots. But we're still here and it's not just because we're magically good at finding g-spots.

Any truly successful organism keeps it's options open. Darwin never suggested strength, wit, or speed were paramount. He stressed fitness. If the environment changes, you need the potential to react. Lefties are a millennia invested reserve of genetic potential for an alternative to the primary.

I think the various "disorders" we focus on are a healthy mix of these "reserves" and some honest to god veterans of the trenches that are human interaction. Maybe broken, maybe just waiting for the right crisis.

AS I said, it's a strange beast. In many ways, it's one of the more penultimate expressions of the iterative nature of scientific inquiry. Evolution is almost the proof in the pudding of how science really and truly works. No idea, no plan, no technique is paramount.

Iteration, proof, and time.
That is truth.

The no good, very bad day.
Hell of a day. Just hell of a day.

Everything that could go wrong did. And it was raining, ALL day. Which I love. When I'm in it by choice, or for a quick streak, or best of all when I'm curled up with something/one warm and staring at it out the window.

I'm not proud to say that I struggled to hold onto my civility with every inch today. But I did. Even despite the FNG dogging me around and the nearly deaf husband pestering me for explanations every 5 minutes.

As I stumbled out of their house, 12 hours after I got there, apologizing profusely for bothering them all day, the wife calmly interjected that I'd been a sweetheart the whole time.

I don't know how. Really.

She missed a lot of quiet "fuckshitgoddamns" into my shoulder as I crawled, climbed, and stared blinking at yet another weird readout. But I kept it together.

And considering everything else in my mind, today should've snapped me. I was occasionally brusque with the FNG, but never nasty. Sad, tired, sore, wet, frustrated, and feeling about a mile back on the idiot train...and nobody else had to take the brunt of it.

I am, for obvious reasons, still not happy with how I cope with life, stress, and disappointment.

But this popped up on FB today:

And ten years ago, that kid would've lost his shit on all and sundry at half as much bullshit. Also, amusingly, with barely any of the actual pain to fuel his outbursts. Before Dad, Nikki, school, and a thousand other smaller wounds.

So I guess my point is that while I'm definitely not the man I want to be, yet. I do feel growth. I can see progress.

And that feeds hope.

And I need that, cause it's my thing.
My reason.

And that is something I can take pride in.

Quantum States
In some ways, it's probably for the better that all my anger burst forth on Tuesday. Rage and tears.

Cause now I just feel...empty. And heavy. Like there's a weight on my chest and dreams.

Not mad, not exactly sad, mostly just I...ache.

In some ways because I have nothing to define how I should be feeling. We weren't a thing. Some hugs, some stolen kisses, some beard fondling, head butts, and jokes. Maybe 45 total minutes around each other?

Yet she's in me, head and heart.

I'm going to just have to keep going as I am. Remind myself what I used to spend my days thinking about, before.

I'm not giving up. I'm not leaving.
And I'm definitely finishing the project. A month's effort already in, it deserves a finish.

I just know it can't be what I was hoping it could be right now. Not even the small portion I was expecting.

But then, the beauty of an unresolved melody is that it can't end because it hasn't started. It just waits, like the cat, alive AND dead until the right moment.

So I go on. And live. And wait, because maybe, just maybe it will...
AND maybe it won't.

And that...that I can live with.

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Don't know what to do.
What to say.
What to feel.

I guess I've been left.
If you can leave before something ever really starts, or as we say "resolves".

It was in slow-motion.
And there were bursts of hope.

But...this seems clear.


I have my music again and my voice.
I count myself lucky for those.

I won't be able to shake the conviction that we could've done well for each other.
And I don't want to.
Because that kind of hope is why I keep going.


I'll worry about her.
And wonder.
And miss.

But now I go.

Because that's the only thing I can think to do when actions have so repeatedly told me that's what is wanted.
But I'll worry.
And wonder.
And miss.

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Sitting at a light, focused on my many-fold weekend plans.
Suddenly, a flash of white, corner of my eye, distraction.

I glance over to see a handkerchief, a hand, an obscured face.

A dark haired old biddy with a large and hirsute husband at the wheel.
He's staring off into space and focused on his next turn.

I wonder at her napkin for a half-second, "Is her make-up running?"

And then it ploughs into the heart of me, she's sobbing.
Jaw quivering, glassy-eyed, staring into the distance and clearly just...broken.

And I can't handle it.

I don't know if it's the fact that I have zero context for her sadness or that I can do absolutely nothing to help her.
I can't fall back on those old pablum sayings or a pat on the back.
And I know, if I tried to get her attention and let her know she's not alone, it would just make it worse for her.

So, I'm sitting there, 3 feet away from somebody's grandma, watching her cry and desperately trying to fight my own tears and just feeling....EVERYTHING.