There is hair everywhere in my house. It's the women. Long beautiful haired that trails down to their waist, always kept pristine and in place on their heads. But when the hair comes out, and it does, clumps find their way into the old shower drain. For years, the tub would fill with unending bathwater as the open cap couldn't pull down the liquid past the mass of hair fast enough.
The world is not ending... At least not yet. Television, radio, and movies continuously hammer in the notion that space is limited and resources are scarce. Platitudes sang over and over about how we want to end world hunger with no method or procedure to achieve what seems like the impossible goal. There is a solution and it's far simpler than anyone cares to consider. Hope requires effort. We have to do it ourselves.
OH THE HORROR
You've all seen it. A group of young adults ride down the dirt road to free themselves from the responsibilities of civil living. This weekend they are going to party in the countryside! That is the basic premise to a number of horror films.
Black Book Hypnosis
February 24, 2017 I've never journaled before but considering how lousy things have been going I decided to try something new. Hoping to get some of these endless dark thoughts down in this little black book so I won't have to pick at the endless scabs crusting on my brain. Life is rough. I can't seem to do anything right. I yelled at my kids last night. Really yelled at them. The rage built up in me with volcanic pressure. It’s my son. He hasn’t been doing his homework assignments. Don’t get me wrong, I used to lie about my assignments too, but his response to being called out about his poor grades is to throw these terrible tantrums. Crying, screaming, slamming doors. And the words he says to his sisters and mother. It’s like he falls into these deep pits of thought, the way I do, and he’s trying to pull anyone and everyone with him. I couldn’t stand for it, so I yelled back. He stormed off and locked his door. This just pulled me in further and finally I erupted, punching through his door. He fell on the ground, cowering in the corner as I berated him for his bad behavior and his constant blaming of everyone but himself. Of course his mom stepped in, not to de-escalate the situation but to berate me too. It’s like, even though I’m trying to help, and my calm words fall on deaf ears, the only attention and respect I get in my own house comes at the cost of becoming a terrible monster. What am I supposed to do when the head and the body are so disconnected? The whole event was a horrible thing, I know. I shouldn’t have broken the door. Think I broke my hand too. My knuckles are bleeding and swollen. Today I’m going to go to the store and buy a new door. Something has to change. Life can’t keep going this way.
It should be fair to say we all grew up on TV sitcoms. Whether you caught the shows live, saw them as reruns, or picked up on the lingering nostalgia ingrained in pop-culture, those little TV waves have floated around without fear of cancelation long past the end of the show's lives.
Do Not Eat This Book
Dearest reader, Please forgive my forwardness. It has been a long and difficult recovery, one in which I almost did not endure. My bones are weak. My muscles tight from atrophy. Every nerve ending surging with endless sparks of painful energy. And I have no one to blame but myself. Except, maybe Aubrey.