I love to read and I love to write. The sad part is, I don’t get time to do either one. Just like when I am masturbating in the shower (I know you wanted to know that I choke-the-chicken when I am washing), writing takes me to another place in my mind. I close all the doors, and just concentrate.
I’ve tried the journal books. And even though I still use them once in a while, they aren’t exactly foolproof against the prying eyes of a nosy wife. I’ve tried the writing/journaling apps on my phone, but they don’t allow for the same level of intimacy with my writing. Granted, blogs are still part of the public domain and at times I still censor myself, there is that level anonymity that is unparalleled.
With a blog, we can divulge our biggest fears, hopes and dreams, we can write about our lives, a subject of our passions, or, we can write porn.
When I started the original Grave Yard, some of you may remember it, I contemplated on what to call myself. Then, it struck me! Like a meteor, red hot and falling from the sky, it hit me! Working security, at times, was boring and most of the time was as silent as the grave. Given the fact that I worked third shift, hence my name!
In a moment of rash panic, I deleted that blog. I regret it now. Even then, it felt as if a part if me had died. So many introspective musings, so many rants and fuck stories. I don’t know if I have it left in me to recreate it.
I work with mostly women and the elderly now. Despite the fact that it is a noble vocation, I miss the solitude of the guard shack; of pouring a hot cup of coffee and setting to leave my personal imprint on the information age.
It’s sad to see the old grow weary. They are in their nineties and wonder what more could God want with them. Those who are in their eighties and seventies, don’t want to reach ninety-much less a hundred. It almost seems like an injustice when a dementia or Alzheimer’s patient can’t recall the date, time, year or who is even visiting them. They grow depressed and frustrated, wondering what in the hell is happening to me?!
And that’s the thing about them-they may lose their minds, but they don’t lose their intelligence. They know something ain’t right! And like me, I imagine they wonder what happened to the dreams they once had.
It is said that the workforce in nursing homes is sorely needed. However, I ponder on how long that will last. With the way politicians try to swindle the American people out of money, while funding every Tom, Dick, and Harry and seeking out boogeymen to destroy, I can envision a day in this country when the elderly will be on the short list of life.
I think about the people I met during the Grave Yard’s tenure. I think of the bisexual guy out in Montana-I think it was-who had the wife that liked to put him down. I think of Mark and Nikki of Sluts and Soulmates and how their love affair came to an abrupt end. I think I could have used Mark’s advice last year. I wonder how they are doing? Have they moved on? Stayed in their own respective marriages? Are they blogging again?
Remember the Dark Room? It was written by a woman that had her own real-life personal blog and she stumbled upon my Revenge series, which sadly, never saw completion. Stephanie, I think was her name. It wasn’t long before she was writing on my blog and started her own erotica site. After a while, I saw that she wasn’t writing anymore on mine. Soon, I found out that not only had she deleted her personal site, but her erotica site, and each and every fuck story she wrote on my blog was gone!
I can hardly fault her for it. After her, there was another woman that wrote on my blog. She was a nurse and she told me in an email that guys “butts look awesome in scrubs.” Which leads me to wonder if any of my female counterparts have checked out my ass?!
Like I said, I deleted The Grave Yard in a rush of panic. I should have given that lady notice, but I didn’t. She later thanked me for the opportunity I gave her. Should either of these two ladies read this post, I hope to hear from them. At least, to know that they are okay.
I don’t know I would be open to adding another writer or not.
Ever feel like the things that God has allowed to enter your life to bring you strength and discipline are the very things that feel like they are tearing you down? You keep searching for a reason behind it all, but none can be found.
That’s the way I feel today. I miss the guard shack. The solitude. I miss taking a brief break from writing, grabbing my hot cup of coffee and stepping outside for a cigarette. Cold air meets my face and I am refreshed.
My mind is mired in the pit of depravity and despair.