It must surely break..

Okay, it's been ages, I get that. Let's just go right into it all, shall we?

Let's see. When was the last time I had a 'real' post..hmmm.. That's probably around April-May or so. I just really haven't had the urge to strut my stuff in the written world, as I'm sure you well know. That's pretty much been business as usual on this blog of late. If I'm not making a point to tell that I can't write, I do a semi-bs post about nothingness..or a fun but fluff Balderdash one(which, in that, has been sometime between..)

Okay then. Down to it.


Collectcollectcollect thoughts.


May of last year:

Still working at book warehouse..not too bad, a little tedious in doing the same thing over and again. The morning hours were becoming something of a standard, although I did still struggle with them after nearly a year and change. I am not, have not been, nor will I ever be a morning person. People seem to enjoy telling you that as you age, the idea of waking early to "savor" the day and make a buck becomes more important, and in turn, an at least tolerable experience.

I'm not taken in with that train of thought. I'm 30, and mornings are still crap and unnecessary to me. That's not going to change. You are who you are, and whatever personality traits you have won't change. Habits may, but you are you. I'm a night owl.

Okay, so there's that. Working like a champ, finding written treasures daily (a blessing and a curse in truth...more curse these days but more on that in a few.), making a decent chunk of change every week, and notwithstanding the usual company wank-offs (this change and that change, and don't do it this way, and so on..), it was going pretty well. The job itself was a level of consistency that I hadn't experienced in quite a while, and for that I was grateful for it.

It made me feel like..dare I say.. a grownup. And for once, I didn't shun the sensation. Went with it, and prospered.

Okay. There's April-May. In May, I get a call out of the blue about my biological father, whom I haven't had any contact whatsoever with for the better part of my formative years and most of my adult life. And so, he's dying and wants to see his "boys" before he shuffles off this mortal coil. Dilemma is the best word to describe it. Yes, I'm all for the clear conscience and high ideas of reconciliation before your end. Good. You want to feel like you did right by those you've wronged, made amends for the scummery you enacted.

Right. But...why the "draw nearer to me" after all these years? I battled with that one. We have/had nothing to say to each other. If anything, I've always felt that he had one son, and I wasn't it. But whatever. Fine. I'd go back home and let the sleeping dogs lie for him. I'm unfortunately someone who finds it very hard to forget pain. It lingers. Yeah, nearly 20 years later, and I remember all too well the darkness. But again, part of me understood the closure bit, and I went along with it. Everyone deserves a little bit of grace, no matter who or what they were.

And for me, I figured I too could use a door to shut and get on with my life. That wasn't to be. He passed before that could happen. Even so, I went home, did the brave face routine, found my breaking point at the parlor, and eventually tried to forgive the best I could.

I meant to write about it here after it happened, but I lost the nerve. Sometimes when it's all there in print, it forces you to see it clearly. After a time, I stopped caring...pushed it to the back of my head, not wanting any more association with it. I don't do well with things that push me to consider harder than I prefer. That's one of those. I feel cheated...

 That's been hard to admit.


 I didn't get a chance to yell, to release the horror story, to verbally vomit the hardened anger that smoldered for far too long. When I did 'confront' him, all that was left was sadness...regrets...a balloon inside that lazily let out air before wilting. And to compound that was this unfortunate noticing of how much I looked like him. His death mask seemed a mirror of myself aged forward 30 years. And I hated it so much. It brought back 1990 in detail. Disowned and told I'm not his kid. Looking at that face was a last bitter laugh.

So there's that.


Okay, flash forward to November. Still working at warehouse.. People are being entirely too standoffish lately. Something big was going to happen, but everyone in upper management was being real hush-hush. Little things at first. "No need for the safety meeting this month guys.." and "We're making weekends mandatory until further notice.." Hmmm.. To milk as much as you possibly can until you rip the rug out from under us? Right right.

Then out of the blue, in the conference room. Your services are no longer required, SLC. Here's your severance. Have a nice life.

Or..

As I heard it :

Eff you very much. Nevermind that you took this plant and made it shine across the company board, or that your consistency was the very thing that made us want to send more export to your plant. Oh, right, we had to keep pushing that back because you were so incredibly efficient, completing your shipments a full month and a half before the other plants. Right. Yes. Suck it and get out.

Lovely.

No worries. Things actually worked better than they should have. Again, I felt my world changing (as it often quickly tends to..), and yet for one of the few times in my life, I was semi-prepared for it. Severance, savings, and unemployment funds kept me afloat. That, and the kindness of true friends..and their furry "kids".

That about brings us to date. New job landed in February. It's a better situation. Less money, yes, but back on the road to consistency. In a few months, full time will be attainable. For the time being, I'm pretty content. The only thing that's missing is the urge to write. I'm always riding that wave though. Either it comes and nags me until I can't stand it and must get the feelings out....or absolute nothingness. Just a full on blank with no immediacy to change. Stagnant, without aim, no creative heart and soul.

But it's there. The truth is even when I do these functional writings, it still counts. It's a half life of what I really want in terms of output and feeling, but any writing is more than I've been doing.

Just need to stop putting it on hold. Life happens, and I'm all about experiencing it when it happens. But it can't hurt to jot a note here and there too.