I know what I feel, and what I feel about myself is anger & self-loathing, and I recall the taste of a rifle barrel on my tongue & the sadness of death constantly lurking around me. For that reason I hate myself – I try & I fail time & time again. I see it honestly: I’ve never wanted to teach, just to write. I spent my weekend at a small lakeside house in the Hill Country at the invitation of teacher friends and I felt lonely and gross. Smiling was easy enough for me, as was having a few drinks, making a breakfast feast, washing dishes & taking my beloved dog for a few long walks.
I see the clothing I wear coming out of the Big & Tall (nee – fat & wide) section of clothing stores. My fantasy of myself is being where I was at 25 – smaller, lithe, fast, able to sprint, jump, grasp & fuck like a demon. I know that was over 15 years ago & several wives & a few crushed dreams ago, but that is my hope. If I have children & a family sometime soon I may not live long enough to enjoy them or to be able to see their fruition.
Maybe this will be my last chance – to publish, to dream, to build, to hope. Many friends support & love me for what & who I am, but I can’t give them all I feel inside myself. And I want to give them my warmth, my skin … my body. I don’t like the Fat Albert body I possess currently, and I dislike my lack of confidence and the overwhelming fear coursing through my nerves & veins.
TLC’s website has a program called “I Can Make You Thin with Paul McKenna”, a hypnotist from the UK, and I am gonna try his program to see if this helps me lose weight and to manage it & to feel confident again. Skull-crunching is not allowed, nor are Battle Royale type programs for education even though that’s the only way systems of learning can be conducted with children learning that there IS a value to what they’re given by their teachers. That way they don’t fuck with teachers trying to do some amazing work, but unable to because the brats are assholes with an agenda: fuck up the class.
Maybe I’m in the wrong profession, but until I can get out of it comfortably to keep writing & staying on-line with my friends & not bothering with the world around me. Granted a life like a hermit is rarely sought, and somehow my reclusive idyllic peace will be wrecked by some shitbag of a dickhead, but I have to try. I can’t go through life with my dreams in a sack, waiting for something to happen.
Am I an emotional eater? Or just a pussy? Am I being angry with the life I’ve lead, or the life I should have lead? Have all my chances slipped away or do I need to find a new path to my dreams?
Harry got up
Dressed all in black
Went down to the station
And he never came back
They found his clothing
Scattered somewhere down the track
And he won't be down on Wall Street
in the morning
He had a home
The love of a girl
But men get lost sometimes
As years unfurl
One day he crossed some line
And he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesn't matter anymore
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
Things can get pretty strange
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
Lying here in the darkness
I hear the sirens wail
Somebody going to emergency
Somebody's going to jail
If you find somebody to love in this world
You better hang on tooth and nail
The wolf is always at the door
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
Things can get a little strange
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
And in these days
When darkness falls early
And people rush home
To the ones they love
You better take a fool's advice
And take care of your own
One day they're here;
Next day they're gone
I pulled my coat around my shoulders
And took a walk down through the park
The leaves were falling around me
The groaning city in the gathering dark
On some solitary rock
A desperate lover left his mark,
"Baby, I've changed. Please come back."
What the head makes cloudy
The heart makes very clear
The days were so much brighter
In the time when she was here
But I know there's somebody somewhere
Make these dark clouds disappear
Until that day, I have to believe
I believe, I believe
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
You can get out of the rain
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
Lyrics – New York Minute – Don Henley
Okay, enough bitching for tonight.
More hope later. I’ll try the techniques – I’ll keep you all informed.
Adios … ~j~
No comments:
Post a Comment