A picture says it all…
Looking myself in the mirror gets harder everyday. Anxiety siezes my soul and suffocates my lungs. It feels like an invisible python coiled around my chest.
It’s called lies and regrets; remorse and hatred; more love for others than for myself; its called wanting to walk until my feet are sore and blistered and I can walk no more.
The last fourteen years of my life have not been easy. However, they are not void of good times. But I figured I would have been further along in life than what I am. Proportionate to my salary, I am in debt up to my eyeballs, and nothing to show for it. I don’t own my own house, my marriage feels like it is in a perpetual state of purgatory, and my boys can’t speak a word-not even daddy, I love you!
Some days, it feels damn near impossible to lift my chin off my chest. I just want to be left alone. People I work with don’t know my life’s struggles. Working with a bunch of gosspis, I have learned to keep certain things private. Being here, I don’t want to talk to anyone.
To them, I just want to be another shadow moving down the hall.
Working in a nursing home, a society dominated by women, I have learned a very fine process of keeping to myself. Now, I am not saying that men don’t gossip or say things we shouldn’t, because we do. However, men do it because we don’t think before we speak. Women do it, as one aid told me, because women see other women as competition.
Why they see each other as competition, I have no i-fucking-dea! I have seen women bitch about another woman and turn around and say, “I don’t gossip” or “if you have a problem with me, bring it to me”. I have seen women blast other women, while at the same time, claiming that they are tired of the drama.
I have had compliments on how calm, cool and collected I can be, of how I look like I am just taking a walk in the park; a storm can be raging and there I am, a stout oak tree in the midst of the wind. I have seen women I work with, that I know for a fact have trash talked one another behind each other’s backs, but when they are face-to-face, they act like best friends. It is sickening!!!
Like I told a male aid I sometimes work with, I don’t know what it is-maybe it’s because there are men around (roosters in the hen house), but the wome like to prop themselves up to be bigger and badder than what they are. They don’t take no shit off anyone! They always seem ready to whoop someone’s ass! Oh, and they’re just a bitch!
Really? You’re just a bitch? You’re proud of this? You’re proud that you can go to work, jump someone’s ass for possibly no reason at all, not knowing what they have going on in their lives, and you’re proud of this? Granted, I have had men tell me that they are an ass and I give them the same time of day I do these women:
I have one nurse, in her sixties and an ass kisser, that will purposely try to get an aid in trouble. I don’t talk to her. I stay away from her. She can kiss my ass!
And the communication in nursing homes is atrocious! I think I have figured out why.
When women are home with their men and they have a problem, they brood. One wire is connected to another wire; one track drifts off to another track; one thought begets another. Soon, men, you will find that you are facing charges of high treason for actions you can no longer recall!
Women the longer you sit there and try to have a us figure it out, the less of a shit we give. As Waylon Jennings once said: my shive-a-gitter’s broke! And thus it goes in the medical field. Women naturally assume that other women know what they are thinking! Fucking wrong!
With that being said, there are some things that men can do better and some things that women can do better. By and large, men are men, and women are women. However, each person is their own individual. Reason being, I guess, that I am not with the “norm” and don’t regard sex with the highest prority.
Be that as it may, there is something I want to get off my chest.
Women like to talk. A lot. They want to talk about their day, their feelings and emotions and they cannot understand why a man doesn’t want to talk about his. Women like detail.
Whereas men, unless we are politicians, our statements are simple and to the point. Men, you can ask your wife for a cup of coffee or for her to pass the butter, and get a thirty minute conversation out of it. No, honey, I just want to melt it down so I can dip my hand into it and go to the bathroom and masturbate.
One pastor illustrated it best when he said that men’s minds are segregated up into boxes. And each box has it’s own function for everything in his life. When a man wants to relax and shut down, he goes to the box that has absolutely nothing in it. This is why men don’t like discussing their feelings. This is why we can sit and relax and clockout for the day.
However, with women’s brains, everything is interconnected, as I previously stated. Women cannot fathom how we can sit there and think not a single solitary fucking thing! Even when we are watching football or our favorite sport, our one-dimensional minds are trained on that game. Reason being why, when women notice this, they try to distract us and gain our attention.
AND THEN THEY GET PISSED WHEN WE ARE WATCHING OUR FAVORITE FUCKING TEAM PLAY!!!
Women, if you are reading this, I wouldn’t feel so proud that your minds are multi-dimensional and you like to talk more. It just means that you like to argue more. Like I have told people at work, “experts” write more books about women than they do men (don’t fact check me on this), because they are hoping that by some miracle, they will be able comprehend even what they are writing.
Three times in the last two days, I have asked simple, basic things of my wife and gotten an argument. When I first started out as a nurses aid, it was like pulling teeth just to get my wife to hang up my scrubs, rather than fold them, crumple them and let them get all wrinkled.
One time a few years ago, we were at my in-laws and we had taken along some of my boys’ favorite movies. One of my boys had taken a DVD out and laid it playing side down. I had our youngest-then a baby-fast asleep in my arms in a chair. I asked my wife to pick up the DVD and put it in to play. Right in front of her family, I got a fucking argument out of it!
Had it not been for a woman I absolutely detest, I was close to exploding. Goddamn it! Stop fucking arguing with me and pick up the goddamn DVD!!!
And each and every time, I get “sorry”.
Whatever. You’re a woman. You can’t help it!
Til we meet again,
If only I was young again
I could see the places I have seen
I could be the places that I have been
I could hug the ones that have passed
I could hold onto those who are dear
If only I was young again
Now, I want to begin this by saying that no one is perfect. We have all slipped up and said something that has hurt someone’s feelings. And even though we don’t like to admit it, we have all been sucked into that treacherous vacuum called gossip.
This not what I would call a bully. This is human nature. Unless, of course, you gossip to hurt someone’s feelings. Then you are a bully by default.
No, I am talking about the ones that say they are a bitch or an asshole because they think they possess the right. I am talking about the cowards that cause physical harm, put people down, or are just downright nasty. You do this because of fear, ignorance and insecurity. You do this because it makes you feel empowered-makes you feel better about yourself.
Here in the United States, it is expected that one person will have a completely different belief system than another. That is what makes us, as what John F. Kennedy called, a free and open society.
But I’m not talking about people with religious beliefs, political beliefs (these are protected under the First Amendment for ALL belief systems), I am talking about the everyday nasty people! The fucking cowards!
Do you know what a bully is? A complete and total waste of oxygen! They are a living desgrace to mankind! What a bully needs to do is go to the hardware store, buy some rope to tie a noose, find a tall tree with a big, sturdy limb, and hang themselves from it! Sure there will be people that will miss you that share your same twisted view.
However, in the long run, the world will be a much better place once you cease to exist!
I hate days like this. Broke, feeling restless and bored; bored and restless.
As I walk through the Grave Yard and count the number of regrets I have, I am astounded at their number. Headstones have sunk into the earth, toppled over or stand as tall as a monolythic pillar-bodies laid to rest, but their ghosts still remain. Sinister markers that have turned black against the back-drop of the fading light.
He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.
-Stephen King, It
So many things that I wish I could do over, or never had done in the first place. I lower the brim of my hat over my brow and turn the collar of my coat up to protect against the cold wind. I’m going home. Today, like so many days, I feel as though my life has been a waste.
Not long ago, a friend told me that he would check me into a mental health clinic if he had to. That may come sooner than I expected.
Welcome to the Grave Yard. Come take a walk with me.
It’s warmer today. In the fifties. The snow is melting, which is a good thing. Now I can read the date and the event on the headstones. So many memories-days dead and gone. You should hear the ghosts at night. Good ole Scrooge would be scared shitless.
Do you see that grove of trees over yonder? What? No. It isn’t that far. Oh, him? Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.
Anyway, do you see that grove of trees? I am planning on clearing it out to make more space. Ah, here we are! A fresh one. The veterans should have fun with the newbie. I don’t know what they do. Just that I am glad that they do when I am not here. For all I know, I might want to join in.
Fucked Up Merry Christmas
December 25, 2016
Hell‘s Engraving does nice work, huh? Yeah, yesterday wasn’t a fun day for me. You know how my boys are autistic, right? Well, for years we have struggled to get them to open Christmas gifts.
It’s kind of how they are in school-gotta do a lot of hand-over-hand with them, or open their gifts on your own. Kind of takes the wind out of your sails. At any rate, ever since my dad died, I have had a difficult time in finding that Christmas Spirit. It’s weird, actually. In a way, when he died and with all the pictures and CD’s we put in his coffin with him, he seemed to take his spirit of Christmas with him.
So, anyway, back to my boys. Over the years, I have come to regard wrapping my boys’ Christmas gifts as redundant. I mean, when you give a child a package wrapped in shiny, pretty paper, aren’t they suppose to tear it to shreds? My boys have no problem in tearing everything else to shreds. Why not wrapping paper.
I didn’t sleep well on Christmas Eve night and the presents didn’t get wrapped. Christmas morning came and I was passed out on the couch. The next thing I know, my wife is yelling and cussing at me for not wrapping the presents.
Excuse me. Aren’t there two of us here? Since when was the blame put off on me?
And the rest is history. It is amazing at how destructive a few minutes of arguing can be to a day. Especially, when one is asleep and can hardly understand what the fuck the other is talking about. To say the least, the day was gone after that. When she does that sort of shit (arguing about something petty or wakes me up in a nasty way, it makes me so angry, I could punch her). She wanted to have sex that night, but I cannot seperate hurt from sexual arousal.
What’s what? Oh, that headstone. Come on. Let’s go have a look.
A Thanksgiving Gone to Hell
Some asshole came out here one night when I wasn’t here and filed off the dates on some of the headstones. This is one of them. His tracks ended somewhere over there. I saw a missing persons flyer in town a few days later. Authorities found his body down by the creek that runs along the border to the Grave Yard shortly after that. He had been mutilated.
Who him? Well, judging by the dried blood I found around his mouth, I would say that he’s the one that did it. One hell of a good watch dog-or whatever he is. Don’t stare at him. Drives him nuts.
I had come home that morning from work a little snippy. And I will be honest, my apology wasn’t the most genuine sounding. After that, I went to bed. Got woke up later on the day to hearing the bedroom door bang open and the words wake the fuck up! Oh, I was awake after that alright. As you can imagine, a visious arguement followed.
I didn’t eat a single bite of that food. Because I am stubborn that way. Of course, she feels bad for it, but look at the graves. The days are dead and gone.
Well, its getting close to dark. I would be heading out, if I were you. He will follow you to the gates but that’s as far as he goes. Just a word of caution:
– Graveyard Night