And All That Could Have Been Pt. 1

I see the color of your eyes has turned to gray

I feel the wind is growing colder every day


[…]Sometimes, I hate the me that’s keeping me alive

Sometimes I dream that I’m awake, and it’s not so bad. Like a drug induced coma, I’ve allowed myself to fall through the cracks of some requiem for a Christian era. We’ve fought the battles on foreign shores, and drowned ourselves within the sea. We are all but adequate.

A cynics love poem pours from my lips. Sometimes we love those who help us grow, but other times those we love have us growing old. Am I the ager or the aged?

I must choose my words carefully for fear of over speaking.


“The right slot for your sacred key”

Bared on your tomb
I am a prayer for your loneliness
And would you ever soon
Come above unto me?
For once upon a time
From the binds of your holiness
I could always find
The right slot for your sacred key

I can’t sleep. I haven’t been getting much these last few days, weeks, months. Like a recurring nightmare, the dream of a sweeter time in my life keeps revealing itself, jolting me awake, leaving me with the realization how lonely I am. The greatest part of this scenario is I haven’t a single person to share this dream with. Nor would I if someone would offer to listen.

I used to think of a world in which I’m not a part. A scarier thought never crossed my mind. Not suicide, just a world in which I never existed. How much happier would people be if I never polluted their lives. If my indecision or inability to act never held them back from bigger and better.

I used to think of suicide, too. What a waste of life. At my weakest state, that seemed like the best solution for everything. I read a post by someone on Tumblr stating that suicide wasn’t a form of weakness. Her argument seemed sound, but it lacked everything. We only get one life, one shot to do something great. Even in the smallest way, we leave a mark that changes the world. Maybe not the whole world, but maybe someone’s world. And quitting before you even get a chance to start is possibly the most selfish thing. And selfishness is the sign of weakness. I should know.

I’m rambling. I know that there isn’t any linear way to describe depression. Fuck it. I’m out.





"Be silent, and sit down, for you are drunk, and this is the edge of the roof." –Rumi
“Be silent, and sit down, for you are drunk, and this is the edge of the roof.” –Rumi

An old friend visited me at work the other day. Someone I haven’t seen in a while, but it wasn’t as awkward as most reunions. Several years ago, I re-acquainted myself with a girl I crushed on. She never knew how I felt about her, so when I told her, it got silent. Understand, this was years after the fact. It still felt a little weird. Awkward silence. “Well, I should be going.” “Yeah. Yeah. Nice talking to you. We should do this again sometime.” “Yup. Just give me a call.” “Whenever you’re free, I am.” “Nice seeing you.” “Bye.” “Bye.” Haven’t heard from her since.

There are moments in life that are just awkward. I do my best to avoid such moments. When I see a family member at a store, I quickly duck behind the closest heavy-set man until they’ve passed. This has become increasingly harder as the years have proven I’ve become the proverbial heavy-set man to hide behind.

You say I went to school with you? Oh. Wow. That’s great man. How’s it been? Shit. I’m sorry, my phone is ringing. You didn’t hear it because it’s on silent. How did I know? Bitch, who you think you are? FBI? Do I need my Miranda Rights read?

I’m not a fast man, but ninja skills are acquired when I see an ex-girlfriend. Well, that one’s not true, because I’ve maintained a healthy, post-relationship with most of my ex-girlfriends (there aren’t that many).

The king of awkward moments came tonight, though. And it didn’t involve me. In fact, I don’t consider it all that awkward. Earlier, Jyg’s mother was getting ready to go out with some friends. Apparently, someone was setting her up with a friend of hers. Long story short, I get a text message. Sometimes living in a small city has its perks. You can tell a story about a friend, and the person who’s listening will perk up and say, “Hey, I know that guy.” And it’s a little bizarre. Like having dwarfs throwing pickles at you or having midgets kick you in the shins. Other times, it’s receiving a text message with the words, “It’s your brother.”

G’nite everybody! [Exits stage right]



I don’t drink, but I’m one angry drunk. Someone once told me that drinking is a lot like not getting enough sleep. Sleep deprivation can bring out the same demons that alcohol can, only it’s less fun (which, I believe, is a matter of opinion). Take for example, I want to believe that I had more fun chatting with my friend Grace on Facebook ’til one-in-the-morning than I might have drinking. Because I, you know, had to go into work this morning.

Someone also once told me that staring at a computer screen before you decide to hit the sack can cause your mind to believe it’s day time, or some shit like that. Basically, you’re tired, but you mind wants to play. So after hopping off Facebook last night, I couldn’t sleep. And it’s not a complaint. I’d do it all over again because I got to get some things off my chest that I haven’t (due to censorship and pride) been able to say online and at work, respectively.

However, the lack of sleep (and the inability to call in sick) left me grumpy at work. Something that both Mike and Angela picked up right away. Angela told me to drink my coffee for the both of us (she’s given up her two main sources of caffeine), so that my nerves wouldn’t be wound up. Fat chance, though. I never told you about Brittney, have I?

See Brittney was a gift from Workforce to alleviate my stress. When Ms. Lopez left us, the books were taking longer to shelve because there was only me. Stress built up. My coworkers did help me after a bit, realizing how broken I was becoming. But Brittney arrived and things were supposed to go back to normal, like when Ms. Lopez was there. And for a short period, it did. A very short period. Like an hour.

She lodged a complaint against the department because we don’t do anything but sit around. That day, however, we managed to read the shelves (me), decorate the department (Angela), finish the puppet show (Mike), get the A-stand set up (Ruben), decorate the glass shelves and display books (Michael and Angela), and shelve a cart (me) all before her lazy ass did one thing. She believes (and maybe it’s our fault) that she’s staff that she’s capable of doing the things we do when we’re not shelving. And while we do recruit her when she’s needed, she’s not supposed to anything but book/shelf related duties. She also stated she hated taking orders from us that Alexa played favorites because she spoke to us (we’re her staff that’s what she does). It left me pretty fucking annoyed.

This week has been one annoyance from Brittney after another. Starting with her inability to comprehend or complete a task. When we get carts, we get what’s on the cart. Sometimes we’ll divide up the sections (nonfiction, fiction, and easys) and head off. But most of the time, we get what we get, sort them, and shelve them. No. She’d rather do the easys because all she has to do is sit on her fat ass and roll. And even that is too much work for her. The other day, Michael and I divided two carts and sorted them. One nonfiction and one easy. A complete cart of easy was waiting for her. I told her that she didn’t need to sort them because they were in order already. Her reply was, “I’m not taking the whole cart,” as if that were an insane, impossible task to perform. Alexa told her she didn’t want her breaking the carts into smaller parts. Mike told her to take the whole cart. Angela told her that it would be easier to take the whole cart. The entire day at work was spent telling her to take the whole cart. She broke them up in sets of twenty and took an hour to do each set.

Today, Mike, Angela, she, and I shelved books. She dumped most of her cart on Mike because she was in the mindset that we were “dividing and conquering,” though her conquering skills need work. Mike managed to finish his cart of nonfiction; Angela managed the same. I managed to finish my cart of nonfiction, fiction, and easy. All three of us were done before she even dented her cart of easy books. I started reading the shelves while Mike and Angela started opening the new supplies that came in and taking inventory. Britteny? Hovered. I gritted my teeth. I wanted to bark at her that the easy shelves needed reading (according to Angela, Brittney stated she’d done six Thursday and another six Friday, which, of course was bullshit). After a while, I found myself leaving wherever she parked herself. I couldn’t be near her. I kept seeing red. I just imagine taking all the pent up anger I felt and smashing her shitty face with it (not literally, it’s NEVER okay to hit a girl, no matter how fucking annoying she is). I purposely let it slip that she was annoying me to another department worker because Brittney goes there after lunch. I’m hoping that word slips that she’s pissing me off by her inability to do anything but exist.

I don’t mind volunteers who slack off, because they’re not getting paid. But Brittney’s getting at least eight bucks and hour to piss me off. And that, my dear readers, is uncool.


“Count the bodies like sheep…”

"Veins rhymes with rains but you can only see one of them." --Gregory Sherl, Monogamy Songs
“Veins rhymes with rains but you can only see one of them.” –Gregory Sherl, Monogamy Songs

Age isn’t for the weak, it’s been said. I’m no stranger to weakness, but I can say that I’ve never been afraid of growing old. Useless, maybe. Dying, once

Today, [redacted] state that I accompany [redacted] to [redacted] in order to help with the shopping. Why is it that [redacted] always feels that stealing people from [redacted]’s department is perfectly fine? And when our work isn’t up to par, we’re blamed for not doing anything.

On the way to [redacted], [redacted] flips through the radio looking for a Christian station. I chuckle which quickly turns to a gulp when the realization sets in. She’s not joking. We’re  going to listen to Christian music all the way to [redacted]. She states in a couple of years that I’ll be listening to it, as well. Only if, in a couple of years, the hand of this deity known as God parts the skies and bitch slaps me. Otherwise, I will continue not to cripple myself with a crutch of a higher power when there are answers that need seeking.

And why is it so hard to believe that Agnostics and Atheists exist? She tells me that she needed a lot of light in her life. I bite back the urge to suggest the investment of a flashlight. Or, at the very least, a book lamp

As of late, I’ve been especially unnerved at work. With the nuisance (more on her later, perhaps) and Grace’s termination, the last thing I need is someone stating that if I accept their imaginary friend into my life, I’ll somehow be happier. I’ve traveled down that path and I felt nothing. Besides, my religion is my son. My religion is making sure that I mold him into a freethinking, open-minded individual. And should he seek a higher power, then so be it. I won’t let my beliefs poison his like so many believers do with their children, raising little clones who can’t answer the simple question of why the are religious with anything but, “Well, I was raised this way.” So was I, and shackles of ignorance are easily broken.

Not to say those who are religious are ignorant. But if you don’t know why you’re a Catholic, Baptist, Mormon, Jew, etc., then you are. Sorry.

I have this short story I wrote a few years ago sitting somewhere in a box. I remember the first lines because it was a prompt piece that I wrote for a class, or for fun. On the day he was fired, Gilbert left his home through the back door. It goes one to describe his boss as  a flank of a man. A shitty head of hair–the tendrils of a squid sucked into a vortex. The slits of lizard eyes secured behind wire frames.

Considering the whole thing, I think predicted that I would meet [redacted] and grow to abhor him. Fancy that.


“Running with [Redacted]”


To Grace. Maybe. I haven’t written this post yet, so I have no idea which tangent I will spin off on. Just in case I start talking about something that has nothing to do with the original topic, like say my cat, know that my original intent was about today’s (yesterday’s) shitty occurrence.


Disclaimer: As per a certain [redacted] issued to my the [redacted] I must state that I speak for myself and only myself. In no way does my thoughts expressed here are the opinions of [redacted] (even though they should bed). [Redacted] is in no way affiliated with this blog, nor do I represent [redacted] in anyway (even though I should because [redacted] needs a sensible person on board to wipe the [explicative deleted] that has hit fan and smeared itself across the pretty white walls of [redacted]’s naivette. In no way should the reader of this post or this blog take heart to what the writer states. In no way should the reader or [redacted] take this blog seriously. In no way should you build a religion out of anything stated here. In no way should you worship me as an idol. In no way should previous statements defer you from sending my your money.


So another one bites the dust. Because of [redacted]’s cunning bully-ism, [redacted] has managed to usher another useful employee out the door in order to toot [redacted]’s own horn. And the thing I don’t get is that no one question’s [redacted]’s decision. No actual investigation went into [redacted]’s accusations. The fact that [redacted] is firing people like Donald Trump or Mitt Romney, makes me question the loyalty [redacted] has to its employees for fairness.


Two employees fired months apart, not even lasting the [redacted]. Not one eyebrow was lifted? Is it because [redacted] is “family?” Because I thought we were all a part of this “family.” At least that’s what I came to understand. Apparently, we’re only family as far as we behave ourselves. Any sign of progression is frowned upon. A different angle of looking things should be kept to yourself.


There’s this saying about taming a wild horse. I’m sure I’ll Bush it up if I even attempt to quote it. But it goes something like this – to tame a wild horse, one must break its spirit. I’m assuming that’s what [redacted]’s plan was. Only some spirits aren’t that easily broken. Those are the spirits that should be running the show, or at least be part of the influential committee.


There will come a time when the gears start straining under the pressure and the machine will fall apart. And those manning the machine will have to answer for their mishandling. Until that time, I will continue to approach this whole situation with caution because…


This sort of reminds me of the time I worked for [redacted], actually. I quit before the [redacted] was over because of their mismanagement of the [redacted] and the abuse shoveled to their employees. It took all I had not to toss that money bag in the air that day and tell the fat ass, motherfucker to go fuck himself in his chunky ass. Took all I had not to swing at him. I was an angrier person then. I still am, but I hide it better. I’ll have to start looking for another job.

Luna’s cute, by the way. She thinks that she can come into the house whenever she chooses to. She lost that freedom when she decided that being just an indoor cat is overrated. She’s at the door stating that she’s starving.

Luna, you just finished eating ten minutes ago.

Oh she knows. She just don’t care.