I didn’t think I made enough money to have one of those.
More bad things are happening to me. It’s like I’m electromagnetic. When the bad things aren’t my fault or choice, and they arrive in bunches, and they are piled on top of a lifetime of making bad things happen on purpose, it’s enough for a man to stand in his backyard and talk to the moon this August 20, 2013.
I’m raging against the machine. I’m a 42 year-old rebel without a cause. No, strike that, I have a cause. I’m determined to right all social wrongs. What does that mean? How is that translated? Easy: I am not acting appropriately in public. Or private. I’m just not acting appropriately anywhere. And there is a fun way I can be inappropriate, a sly, playful wink and a nod and we’re all in on the fun little joke of inappropriate humor.
But then I think I’m Lenny Bruce, only an unfunny version: an embittered dry drunk social commentator that, instead of being clever, is hateful. Every joke has an edge, every edge has a cut. I may as well stand on a street corner screaming and crying.
So, yeah mid-life crisis, right? Like a true alcoholic, mine runs counter-intuitive to the hoi polloi sports cars and younger wives. I’m not acquiring new things or trading in old people: I’m simply slowly destroying and burning to the ground everything and everyone I love.
See, when the bad things happen that I have no control over, there comes a certain level of peace. It’s a hassle, an inconvenience. But it’s random, and I can respect that. I can stay right-sized handling the phone calls and paperwork and hoping for the best.
But with the bad things that are my doing and choosing? No peace is achieved when they accumulate. It’s a month’s worth of Sunday papers in your driveway: no way I’m reading through them all. And the neighbors are starting to notice the pile.
Today: stop treating the stuff I cause like the stuff I don’t. Then, just stop causing stuff.