I had this other blog, but I hated the format so I stopped posting in it. What I am doing here is bringing some of that blog over here now, So this is months old but here it is anyway:
Saturday, January 17, 2004 12:36 p.m.
This was actually a post from a couple of weeks ago. I had to delete it because I couldn't get it to edit it, so I am reposting the edited version here.
Sunday January 4th 2004
I am cheating on this time date thing. And now ask me if I care. I do not.
Ok, so I am getting drunk right now. Actually, lately that is not unusual. Seems that it has become a regular pass time. And actually, right now, I am drunk. Which btw, will make me more truthful in the long run. I do not lie when I am drunk, but I do make more typos that I have to correct.
Ok, so here is a secret about me. I feel incredibly uneducated when it comes to writing. My spelling is atrocious. After being online for over 7 years and trying to pretend I can spell, my vocabulary has shrunk dramatically. I cannot conjugate a verb or find a past participle. I am not even sure what a participle is, past or present. This is how truly stupid I am. I missed a hell of a lot while day dreaming in school.
Now some people might say, "I have no idea how to do any of those things either", but then I say, "Ah! But your Mother was not an English teacher and did not have a Masters in English either". What kind of a moron I really am was beaten into me over and over again. Sometimes literally. To the point that Mom's point was beaten home. I am as stupid as she said I was.
So this is not new under the sun, a lot of people think they are stupid. The problem is, I wish I was not stupid. Really stupid people do not know they are stupid (at least I think they don't). Which I guess makes me pseudo-stupid. I know I am stupid and wish I was not.
My IQ is barely 120. Well, at least it was in 1970 anyway. You know what I scored highest in? Right on, English comprehension. I actually had a genius IQ in English comprehension. But then I had that in 6th grade too. I had a college vocabulary then. Which made me seem brilliant, but I was not. Because when push came to shove I was mathmatically illiterate. When I was a kid in school and we had to take those fucking IQ tests, when it got to the math parts, I would just check whatever box felt good at the moment and say fuck it.
Think about it, belittle 13 year old me for a second. You already think you are for shit anyway and you already know that when they introduced "new math" in 5th grade that you just gave up and said "what the fuck" and now they want to test you on that shit... well, you can well imagine how my brain was thinking. Like, who really needs this shit and why should I even try, they have given up on me, so therefore, I am giving up on their fucking test and taking the easiy way out.
I am not sure what the last year they give you those standardized IQ tests are, but whatever grade they do that in, that was the grade that I said fuck it all to their tests and just started marking the test randomly. I started to do that and then as I was going along, I realized that I knew the correct answer to most of the shit presented to me. So I did answer some of them right. Funny, that was the last test and that was the one I got the 120 score on.
Ah, but this is just the alcohol talking. I am an alcoholic ya know. And I feel things so much more passionately drunk. No walls ya know? Like, hey, I am full of passion, but in person you would seldom see it or hear it out of me. Drunk is good and bad. Drunk, I tell you I love you and with a passion. Sober I tell you I love you as a person just for who you are. You don't get the incredible passionate part. I figure no one will get it or understand it, so I just shut up about passion.
Passion does not mean I want to marry you. Passion means that I see your whole being and worship it for all that it is. It doesn't mean I want to share life with you, or even fuck you for that matter (although I can bet you that if I am feeling passion for you personally that I am probably thinking I want to fuck you silly or I already am). No, passion means I am fucking getting my mental and emotional rocks off on you. But don't count on a life time committment. I already have one of those, so I am not in the market for another.
This is bordering esoteric, so therefore is now boring. So I guess I better get my ass to bed (well, actually that now cold bath Sue poured me).
Remember this, if I have fucked you within the last 4 years or so, I probably felt some passion for you eventually in some way. Depends on how many times I fucked you and what kind of mood I was in. At any rate, you were not just some cheap piece of ass. No one is to me. Everyone is a lesson and an experience that I will think about from time to time. There is one exception to this rule and it goes as follows: If the sex was good enough, I am going to miss it when it is gone and will want it again. If you turn out to be psychotic to the point that you effect my married life, you are history, no matter how good the sex. Unless you are Jane. In that case I will go insane trying to figure out why I got that emotionally involved with another human being. The sex was awesome, that I will never deny. Best sex ever in fact. Most everyone else rocked and I miss the sex we had.
And thank god for alcohol because without it, I would not be this blatantly honest.
Saturday, January 10, 2004 10:11 a.m.
You know how sometimes a slide show of images, those snap shots of moments or dreams or even of thoughts you might have had 30 years before come rushing like a train through your consciousness? They bombard you and haunt you while you try to remember what that image or thought ever had to do with the real world of here and now.
If you are like me, you will spend hours banging your head against figurative (and occasionally literal) walls, hoping to find the answer. What was that desolate road with scrub brush and palm trees? Where was that exactly? When was I ever there and why was I there?
I had this quick flash slide show a few moments ago. It was the usual stuff. Faces, some with names, some without, an inlet's jetty being mercilessly slammed with spray, a desolate sandy road, palmetto choked landscape as far as the eyes can see, the occasional line of palms, looking tired from the relentless sun.
I was thinking to myself about that road made of sand, trying to remember exactly where it was. I mean, I knew it was in central Florida somewhere, closer to the east coast than west. Somewhere not too terribly far from Brevard County, but still in Orange, maybe a tad closer to Chuluota, down the road a piece from Donna Pierce's ranch. I could be wrong here, it seems to me that we were driving around, heading east, looking for land, looking for some place to build dreams. We already had a home, a very beautiful one at that. Smack dab in the middle of a friggen swamp. It's not as if our 5 acres in hell wasn't enough, we just kept hoping to find a place we really loved.
I will probably never remember exactly where that stretch of sand and palmettos was located. I am probably totally wrong about it being not too terribly far from Donna Pierce's. I can't imagine us ever being at Donna's place for anything other than a JRT trial, so that would mean we would have had dogs with us, several and all of us would have been exhausted from the day. I can't imagine me saying yes to a land hunting excursion after a long day of running Jacks back and forth from event to event.
Sue would come closer to remembering than I. But I won't bother to ask her. She would wonder why I thought of it or even brought it up. And I frankly do not know why it surfaced. It was not a particularly nice area. It truly was desolate and I could tell from the lay of things that it would become a swamp in the rainy season. The few human dwellings were not particularly attractive either. An occasional cluster of dilapidated single wides, a double wide here and there, it's single lonely oak smothered in Spanish Moss, their personal five acre piece of heaven separated from the neighbor's with barbed wire.
I keep thinking that pensive is a good catch all word. It truly captures my thoughts and feelings of late. Pensively pondering snapshot vignettes of life. What a shame I cannot recall the exact day or place. No name to go with the face, no face to go with the name.
Twenty years ago I could have told you in detail down to the names of the types of birds sitting on the barbed wire fencing. Twenty years ago I could look at the picture in my mind, see the clock in the car and tell you the time of day it was, but mainly I could have told you where we were and within a day or two, when we were there.
I was thinking that when I was a child, as long as I had read the book associated with some subject's test, I could look in my mind and see the page and the answer. It was the reason I was good in geography. I need only see a map with it's human creation of divisions between one place to another. It was easy to see Germany (east and west as the case was in my youth) in my mind, read the words inscribed between the lines and then write them down. Even easier was the names of capitols and major cites and their locations. I saw them there, in my mind, just as they had been on the map.
I loved maps, I still do. I will still sit and study a map for hours. I especially love topographical maps. I find aerial photo maps of areas I know well to be the best fun. I love trying to figure out exactly where something is in relation to a major landmark. It's just something I enjoy, for the hell of it.
I live with two people who have ADD. One is 36, the other is five. All the Jacks have ADD, it's in their nature. It's why they bark at a leaf floating through the yard. I don't know why the 36 and five year old bark at passing leaves and passing cars, they just do. Vignettes of life, snapshots of worlds, imprisoned in a brain with synapses that misfire and present them up at the oddest of times. Snapshots, life, abundant life, all around, inside and out. Places in the soul, the mind, the spirit, light years or moments old.
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