Month: October 2017

Love?

Jesus, well, this is late, isn’t it? Sorry, folks, was busy with stuff. Can you blame me?

Oh, boy, what are we writing about tonight? College? Work? Nah–I’m kind of getting tired of those things; instead, let’s talk about something that’s been on my mind for a while.

Love.

Fun topic, you could say, even an intelligent topic.

God, what do I say about love? That it can hurt? That it strikes you when you least expect it?

To say those things would be, I think, to state the obvious. Hell yes, it can hurt. Love can rip you apart twelve thousand times, and still be able to pack enough of a punch to send you groaning back to the beginning; however, that’s not to say it can’t also feel great, feel fulfilling.

I had an experience with love once, true as it could be, I suppose. It was that kind of love that brings you to an understanding of yourself, of what you want most out of life–it brought me peace and conflict and heartbreak, all in the same roll of the dice.

See, I didn’t love this girl at first; no, it progressed over time, like all things do. My first impression of her was–well, how do I explain it? uh, impressed and, at the same time, intimidated. Funny how those two can parallel one another, yet still be relevant to a whole.

Yeah, the love didn’t come into play until I got to know the girl, what kind of a person she was–how she inspired me to do better, to be better. By then, I was, as they say, head over feet, or did I screw that up?

She became a person I looked forward to seeing everyday, the someone we all strive to impress by being the best of ourselves, when, really, we probably look like a fool chicken flapping his feathers in the wind of his own turmoil.

I worked at it harder than I have most things in my life; and, in so doing, I do believe I grew into a better person. Out of all the mess, the craziness, I look back on now, there is at least that consolation: I changed, not into someone else entirely, but into myself.

As you can see, to say this love switched a couple things around in me is a bit of an understatement. It did bring me out of a self-contained shell, for a while; and it did open me up to new opportunities in socializing, and life in general. I’ve even gone so far as to talk about it, briefly, in a few posts.

‘Course, if you read those, it will be immediately obvious how deep I was within those waters; at times, I misjudged the deepness, fell short of the ledge on which to hoist myself out of the whirlpool, and I swirled, it seemed, endlessly.

The whirlpool didn’t come about until the latter stages, when I noticed the cracks in the walls I had spent months building, so I could sit back and revel in such a fascinating discovery: love? an event I had thought impossible for me? how could a girl feel the same for me?

The answer, then, was that she did not feel the same way.

I remember how angry I was, and how selfish I thought myself to be. This new world of emotions had opened wide its door, all of its contents spilling over me; what else was there to do but roll around in them and feel sick, right?

Wrong.

I told myself: whatever you think about yourself now is nothing compared to what you truly are. To deny yourself the truth of you, would be to deny all that you have accomplished, all that you have lost, all that you have done, in this life so far.

It helped, a little, but what struck out to me was…how my feelings never changed.

You’d think there’d be differences in mindset, but, I honestly believe that there are sometimes those certain people of whom, when you see them for the first time, or the thirtieth, your impression of them is never altered.

Maybe that’s poetic.

Maybe it’s bullshit.

Truth is, I can’t answer any of those questions. I don’t understand the tiniest piece of it.

So, can I claim to have loved someone if those feelings are yet buried?

The world is a confusing place, my friends.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

 

When Should You Stop Trick Or Treating?

Is there a finite rule to this? If so, I have never heard of it; in fact, I think of it as more of a guideline than a rule.

That’s what people always say, isn’t it?

Well, I mean, they’re not wrong. Not saying that

Ah, trick or treating, what a fun way to spend the spookiest night of the year. You run yourself ragged chasing down rumors of king-sized candy bars, give yourself a stomachache, and close out the night puking in the toilet.

No? Is that not what you guys do?

Huh.

Though I have spent my life on the safe “treat” side of the equation, I confess an admiration to those who dare to “trick,” and possibly be the fodder for the chainsaw-wielding maniac living just a few blocks off Sanity Avenue. Yeah. Throw your toilet paper. Your ass’ll be regretting it later.

The biggest argument here, I think, is whether or not there comes a time when trick or treating is restricted to those of a certain age. Is it 15, or 23? Nine, perhaps six? Are we inhumane enough to deny a bubbly five year old the pleasures of receiving a nutritious Nature Valley bar on their first Halloween?

My fellow people, I do believe we all know the answer to this question.

And if any of would care to share it, I would love to hear. Seriously. I have no idea.

I have stopped trick or treating as of last year. Why? ‘Cause I walk around enough as is, what with being a dishwasher all weekend, and walking three miles to and from classes on the UCCS campus. My legs are friggin tired, dudes. All I want to do is watch Stranger Things and eat candy in my kickin’ Halloween costume.

So, that said, there is no bias on this side. I am slowly progressing into the Boring-Adults Who-Don’t-Want-To-Go-To-The-Door-With-Their-Siblings-On-Halloween stage of my life; yes, I know, how dreadfully tragic.

Personally, though, from the standpoint of someone who has experienced the thrill of the hunt, I do not think there should be any age limits on trick or treaters, elder or toddler.

We only have one life on this world, so why not spend it doing what you love?

Get out there and break a leg–for some of you older individuals, be careful; I don’t know, dress up as Robo-Cop, or something, get some bionic knees–and remember, it’s all in the journey…

…Unless your journey is comprised of four and a half miles of gravel road.

Then you can say screw it and join me on the couch.

I’ll even save you a bowl of candy.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

P.S: Probably gonna drop to one post a week, due to the stress of college and work and my third novel, so…yeah. Peace out.

 

 

The Return of the Halloween Stereotypes!

Yo, yo, yo, everybody! I couldn’t stay away from you guys for long without feeling lonely…

Hey, didya know tomorrow’s Friday the 13th? Didya also know I can’t write a post on Friday the 13th because I’m working all night? Yep. Making money sucks.

Any who, just like last year, I hereby present to you the infamous Halloween Stereotypes:

The Halloween Music Fanatic: Just as there are White Christmas fans, so are there Monster Mash fans. These weirdos listen to loops of I Was A Teenage Frankenstein in one ear, while, in the other ear, they are jamming out to Nightmare On My Street–a classic by the Fresh Prince.

Identifiable by these traits:

  • Vacant stares
  • Are constantly humming creepy tunes
  • Hang orange and black lights as their haunted jukebox plays
  • Headphones–lots of headphones

The Candy Thief: What’s that you say? Why, yes, this does apply to parents; but they deserve their own list of stereotypes. These miscreants steal bite sized goodies out from under your green painted nose–then, they eat it in front of you! MUAAAAAHHHHAAAA!

Identifiable by these traits:

  • Briefcases in which to stow their stash
  • Sunglasses–at night
  • Sucky costumes
  • Rampant acne
  • Compulsive drooling

The Store Wh–I mean–

The Store Bore: Ever known one of those people who loves to go to Wal-Mart in October to see the Halloween section? How about a person who visits the costly costume stores working out of rented Circuit Cities? At least a few, right? Or not–hell, even I fall into this category.

Identifiable by these traits:

  • Drains the gas every weekend
  • Has money which burns literal holes in their pockets
  • Becomes bored within fifteen minutes of visiting their favorite store
  • Wants to buy the animatronics way out of their price range

Well, that’s six so far, only twenty-five left to go…

Heh. That’s a lot.

I wonder if I’m that creative?

Think daily,

A Southpaw

 

 

 

Flying With the Drunk Butterflies

As of late, I have been stressed.

This is all thanks to college and work and my third novel–not to mention, the amount of people telling me I need to be social, and the tumultuous roller coaster ride of becoming an effective adult.

Hang on…let me take a breath…

Okay.

I admit that I’m not as good at managing it sometimes, but I suppose everyone can have their imperfections…at least I hope so. If not, then I’ve been a friggin’ android all my life; yeah, get to referencing some Blade Runner, a movie I haven’t seen yet…

Yay?

What’s made it easier? Well, butterflies, of course–the Cinderella of the Ugly Step Moths.

Now you’re thinking:

Butterflies. Duh! Who would not have thought of them?

Answer: Normal People, otherwise known as, Not The Weirdo Talking About Blade Runner and Butterflies.

Other-Otherwise, not you guys, ’cause if you were normal, you would have switched off your computer or tablet or phone the minute this post popped up in your feed.

OtherOther-Otherwise, we’re all weirdos.

Yay?

Right, butterflies. They’ve appeared in swarms recently. Dunno whether it’s the cold weather, or that the Moths have finally struck down Butterfly City in a great and terrible flap of their mildewed wings.

I don’t mind the swarms; in fact, I rather love how the butterflies seem to swarm me in my “downer” moments, brightening me instantaneously!

On the college campus, during the mile and a quarter walk from class to my car, these butterflies float from flower to flower, springing to the air as I pass beside them. They flutter up to my face, say hello–maybe prepare to take a little butterfly poopsie on my glasses–and are gone before I can blink three times…or is it four?

When I run through the fields behind our neighborhood, it’s as if the butterflies are practicing a chorus line. A voice races to mind, “Presenting, for one night only, The Winged Rockettes–ah, damn, they already copyrighted that.

I almost apologize for screwing with their routines, but then I remember the butterflies are the ones screwing with my routine. But is it purposeful? Or are the butterflies drunk out of their minds on sweet, sweet nectar?

Right now, I’m imagining Dennis the Menace as a moth, and the Cranky Old Man as a walking butterfly. Gee, the things your mind’ll create, am I right, guys? What? No, I’m far from drunk, just buzzed is all…

To the point of this wayward post: amid their flighty antics, the butterflies are inadvertently bringing relief to this ofttimes treadmill of a life. Not to sound weird, but their swarms seem to suck out all the negativity and stress from my mind, and kick their dark asses to the curb.

Maybe the butterflies will enroll in WWE after Broadway?

Think daily,

A Southpaw

 

 

 

 

What Has Become Of The World?

I woke up late today. Had gotten in at 11:00 the night before, exhausted from work; and so I slept until about 9:00.

When I woke up, the first thing I did was reach for my phone, which was lying beside my bed, and I looked at the screen to see a News update. The tagline that caught my attention was–Worst Mass Shooting in U.S History.

I studied it. Las Vegas? Monterey Bay? Why would someone want attack Las Vegas?

So, confused, I went upstairs and switched on the news; of course, the events were breaking on every local and national news channel. The information piled up, and the overall feeling I received was grim.

50 or more people killed, and at least 500 more injured. One shooter, aiming from a window on the 32nd floor.

A thought came to me: University of Texas.

That tragedy happened before I was born, but I knew enough about it to draw eerie parallels between both of these incidents.

I thought, “What if this guy’s like Charles Whitman? What if his life just went to complete shit, and all he could think to do was take out his frustrations on these hundreds of innocent lives?”

What if?

For close to thirty minutes, I watched the live coverage, listening to the reports of the concert goers, most of them barely able to talk; and when they were, it was through tears.

A report that hit me was from a woman who claimed she had had a feeling that something was going to happen at the concert.

How dark must our society have become that when we attend these large public events, one of our primary fears is, “What if there’s a shooter?” or “What if I, or someone I know, dies here tonight?”

Fear is now unfortunately an integral aspect of living life.

I mean, hell, I go to some concerts, even circuses, and I just get this ominous feeling.

However, just because we’re afraid doesn’t mean we have to let the fear win.

I think, as humans, we can overcome anything. We’ve survived God knows how many horrors this world has thrown our way–and yet…we always find a way to come out on top and persevere.

We are Americans, after all. That’s gotta count for something.

The best remedy to any tragedy, I think, is to let it out–let your emotions, your griefs, be heard, because as long as that sadness–that total obliteration of knowing what’s going to happen next–is pent up inside you, then it will never stop haunting you.

To those affected by the events in Las Vegas, the previous night might not ever stop being as real as it is to you right now, and that’s okay–so long as you yourself are okay, and are persevering amid darkness.

Stay strong, America.

Think daily,

A Southpaw