....and it's all down hill from here.
Ok, it sounded good momentarily. Like a good opening line or something. Not so sure about that right at this second. Not sure what my point was in the first place.
Have you ever noticed I don't necessarily have a point? There's no point tonight either.
I have been taking these hormone supplements the last few weeks. I am not sure they are working, but one of the possible side effects is that my voice could deepen and beard growth could develop. My voice is already deep, so you might be hard pressed to tell if there was any subtle change or not. My beard however should be something you could tell a difference in pretty easily. I already shave. No big deal there. I don't think I am noticing any difference in the beard department either.
Anyway, this stuff I am taking is supposed to give you back your strength. Apparently somewhere along the way as menopause waltzed through my life and left me hormone-less, I lost my physical strength. Things that had been so simple for me to lift and carry have become burdens for which I must reach out to others to help me with. This might not bother other people, but I have tended to be rather self sufficient for most of my life. For whatever my reasons, I have chosen to do most things by myself, seldom asking for help and then only when it was absolutely necessary.
These last few years have been a nightmare for someone like myself. Someone so used to going it alone, being such a loner, being the one who was always there for others. I find it almost impossible to ask for help. Having this self image of total self sufficiency, this weakening of my physical self has been more than I can comprehend. Hence the hormone supplements. I want my old self back. I keep telling myself I am still far too young to have lost so much strength.
If you have followed along in this journal over the last two years, you might recall the story of my second grade teacher Mrs. Carpenter and my hermit story. When Mrs. Carpenter asked us kids to get up and tell the class what our ambitions in life were (what we wanted to be when we grew up), I said I wanted to be a hermit. You know, if a 7 year old said they wanted to be a hermit to me, I would be amazed at the fact they even knew what a hermit was and could use that particular noun in context to a life goal. I would think the child brilliant. But hey, that's just me. Mrs. Carpenter got exceedingly pissed off at me for saying that in her class. But it was my truth at that exact moment.
To this day, it's actually been a goal of mine. To be left alone by a world that is pretty fucked up. My desire to not live in a world and with other beings who are cold and cruel. As you can see, I have not succeeded very well in obtaining this goal. Although part of my desire to live in the place I live in is based on my need to get as close to that goal as possible.
By the age of 7, I was seriously entertaining thoughts of suicide. Intertwined in my fantasies of living alone and far away from the cruelty of other humans, were thoughts of death, the ultimate escape from their cruelty. It seemed the ultimate to me at the time anyway. I had elaborate plans on how my death would occur. As you can see, I failed miserably with those goals just as I failed in my goal to become a self sufficient hermit.
I have always held people far away from me, never really letting anyone in completely. I assume that most people do something similar. I don't know because I do not live in their heads. I am just assuming this because I am assuming that we as humans truly do not feel all that different from one another. I could be wrong about that too. I don't know because, once again, I don't live inside other's heads and hearts.
I've spent a lot of time talking with other people over the years about their perceptions of life and how they felt as children growing up. I have come to the conclusion that most people grew up thinking they were artists and that they had some deep creative purpose in life that they needed to express in some way. This is either true of all of mankind, or else I only hang around extremely creative and artistic people. I dunno, I have known a lot of people in all kinds of walks of life. I have yet to meet anyone who said that as a child all they ever wanted to be was a garbage collector because they felt they would have some since of fulfillment in doing that.
Among other things, and aside from being a hermit, one of the things I wanted to do when I grew up was be a composer. I realized that this wasn't going to happen when, at age 8 and in the middle of piano lessons, I discovered that music was basically math you could listen to. Mathematics, unfortunately, was always my weakest point. I was certainly way less than brilliant. There was always something in the way my brain processed mathematical problems that never added up (pun intended). I always felt on the precipe of comprehension, like I was on the verge of an epiphany or even a mental orgasm, but I never quite got "it". I would get so close and then the brain would shut down and I would lose whatever I almost was about to understand.
I remember sitting there at my music teacher's piano and silently crying to myself as she told me I would never be able to learn to play the piano or to read music until I learned to comprehend fractions. I fooled her. I would listen to a musical piece and then sit there for hours at the piano trying to pick it out, note by note until I had it down. I could not read the music, at least not the time signatures, but I could read the notes and knew where they were placed on the keyboard. The only way I had of placing the note value correctly was to listen to how someone else played the piece. And then I played it back exactly as I had heard it played.
I did the same thing on the guitar. I would listen to something and then pick it out, cord by cord until I could reproduce the piece. Consequently, I was never a very good musician. I seldom learned anyone else's work after a while. I finally wrote and played only my own compositions. It was easier that way. It was the only way to still make music. Which, for whatever reasons, I felt compelled to do.
I was also pretty bad at English. Much to the chagrin of my mother who had a masters in English. It's funny (as in odd) that now I would rather write words than music. For all the things I composed musically, without the words, the melodies have no real home. It was always the poetry of my songs which made them special in any way. Still I wish I could compose. Anything, I am not picky at this point.
As you can see, this whole post has absolutely no point and is going no where. So that tells me that it is over now, as I have absolutely nothing left to say. That and I am tired of typing at the moment.
You've been patient. Thank you for your time, please come again.
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