Wanna buy a soap box? It sits in a good spot, it's just no-one will listen to a word you say.
Introduction
First of all, sorry to all of you who have been waiting for another instalment of SF saturday. I messed up, things didn't get written and I let you down. Yes, there were good reason for it, yes some of them hurt, but all in all I would have liked to cheered both you and myself up a bit by actually finishing and posting the damned thing. As you may have guessed by the title this is also not another installment. A had to let of a little steam first and I don't really have anywhere else to leave it, so I'm dumping it here. It's not ment to offend, but seeing as how an average post get about 500 reads round here there's bound to be at least one person who doesn't like what I have to say. If that is you, again, I apologize. I don't aim to hurt, although sometimes the words I use still sting a bit. That been said. This is what fell out of my skull when things finally stopped swirling beyond my control. Now my point might be alittle vague. To be honest I'm not even sure I have one and I'll be damned, but I'm not gonna read my own stuff back to find it. That's why it's called a rant. Take it with two lumps of sugar or a grain of salt but this one's for all of you.
Bless your little souls.
Standing on the soapbox
I've just had a rough week-and-a-half of non-stop working. And I do mean non-stop. Get up at seven in the morning, go to work, back home by six, eat with the kids, put them to bed round seven in the evening and work some more. Some days I got to bed round midnight, some days it was lots later. I probaby don't need to draw you a diagram how little sleep I ended up having that week and how much I really did need, recovering from last years total lack of rest, but there it is. Because of that I had to neglect the things I love. My wife, our kids, my hobbies and friends, all of that. And it wasn't as if all of that was going swimingly as it was. My life needed some attention and at that moment I had even less time to spend on it than it needed to just stay on the same level. All I did all day was work. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. Parts of it are just down to making bad choices and having to see them through. I just wanted to draw you a small map of my current state of mind.
Now I have some time off. The kids are in bed, the wife is of to visit her parents and I am all alone. No work, but no idea what to do with myself either. I felt stranded and sad and a bit clueless so I decided I might spend some time sending emails to people I promised to write back several weeks ago. Try to restore some faith in my person, or at least let them know that, yes, I am a bastard for not mailling you, but I am still alive.
One note I sent pushed me down a spiral of things that happened when I was still in college and it got me steamed up about an old peeve again. It had nothing to do with person or the note mind you, both were lovely, it's just that big'old sack full of bad memories that my kind of person always carries around with 'm.
The thing is this: I really don't like the way people think of, talk about and deal with death. Not that of a stranger, not that of a loved one. Criminals and children, mothers and murderers, everyone deserves some kind thoughts and rest. Even if the though is "He's probably better of this way" or "I wished she looked this good when she was still alive". I know I'm a cynical smug little bastard. I know I'm broken and it'll take 'till forever to mend my broken wings, but I really can't stand all the sweetness and talk of heaven and angels and tears and sorrow. Things happen, people die, it sucks for us and that's all we cry for. Us. The pain and the fear and the not being able to cope with the sudden black hole that's been torn into the fabric of our everyday lives. Now before you go of in a flurry of selfrightious indignation, I would like to point out I am not in favour of a lot of the other common, less popular, ways of dealing with it either. I can't stand the self pittying emotional blackmail crap or the glorifying death-is-cool bollocks and I can stand the anger-hurts-less-than-pain routine even less. But that doesn't make the rest, the majority, right. You see, the thing that gets me most, the real crime, is that we are not tought, thru society or our parent, to accept our losses, to accept the pain and to deal with it. There is no patience or grace or love. We are tought to fear it or to turn to some higher being or to ignore, neglect or hide it. As always, when I'm online and I feel the urge to say anything I get a sinking feeling of utter futility. I don't think anyone will really read this, or if they do, care about a single word I have to say. I don't live under the delusion that my thoughts are that special anyway. But this time I just had to type all of this out and actually click the post button in stead of just cancel the whole damned thing. So if you read it, if you care, just say so. I would wholeheartedly like to be proven wrong. Oh, and if you think it's a crock of shit or you think I suck, say so to. Just have the decency to leave an, at least quasi-intellegent, argument adressing WHY you would think either. Or don't... but don't be surprised if I come after you with a vengeance either.
Signing of I need to at least have said this: I miss my dad. I missed him when he was still alive and now he's dead, whey-hey-what-a-big-surprise I still miss him. But at least he managed to go with dignity and grace, not kicking and screaming like a spoiled child. We all remember him joking and caring for those who would be left behind. And I think that we owe it to ourselves to remember the dead with love in our hearts, free of pain or anger or fear. We deserve to laugh with them still, even though they are no longer with us. If anything, THAT is what they would have wanted for us.
Criminals and children, mothers and murderers.
-P-
¶
First of all, sorry to all of you who have been waiting for another instalment of SF saturday. I messed up, things didn't get written and I let you down. Yes, there were good reason for it, yes some of them hurt, but all in all I would have liked to cheered both you and myself up a bit by actually finishing and posting the damned thing. As you may have guessed by the title this is also not another installment. A had to let of a little steam first and I don't really have anywhere else to leave it, so I'm dumping it here. It's not ment to offend, but seeing as how an average post get about 500 reads round here there's bound to be at least one person who doesn't like what I have to say. If that is you, again, I apologize. I don't aim to hurt, although sometimes the words I use still sting a bit. That been said. This is what fell out of my skull when things finally stopped swirling beyond my control. Now my point might be alittle vague. To be honest I'm not even sure I have one and I'll be damned, but I'm not gonna read my own stuff back to find it. That's why it's called a rant. Take it with two lumps of sugar or a grain of salt but this one's for all of you.
Bless your little souls.
- Characters: none
- Rating:
- Genre: Rant
- Spoilers: none
- Warnings: Take with two lumps of sugar or a grain of salt
- Teaser: First of all, sorry to all of you who have been waiting for another instalment of SF saturday. I messed up, things didn't get written and I let you down. Yes, there were good reason for it, yes some of them hurt, but all in all I would have liked to cheered both you and myself up a bit by actually finishing and posting the damned thing. As you may have guessed by the title this is also not another installment. A had to let of a little steam first and I don't really have anywhere else to leave it, so I'm dumping it here. This is what fell out of my skull when things finally stopped swirling beyond my control. Now my point might be alittle vague. To be honest I'm not even sure I have one. That's why it's called a rant.
- Music: Therapy? - This One's For You (Live)
Standing on the soapbox
I've just had a rough week-and-a-half of non-stop working. And I do mean non-stop. Get up at seven in the morning, go to work, back home by six, eat with the kids, put them to bed round seven in the evening and work some more. Some days I got to bed round midnight, some days it was lots later. I probaby don't need to draw you a diagram how little sleep I ended up having that week and how much I really did need, recovering from last years total lack of rest, but there it is. Because of that I had to neglect the things I love. My wife, our kids, my hobbies and friends, all of that. And it wasn't as if all of that was going swimingly as it was. My life needed some attention and at that moment I had even less time to spend on it than it needed to just stay on the same level. All I did all day was work. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. Parts of it are just down to making bad choices and having to see them through. I just wanted to draw you a small map of my current state of mind.
Now I have some time off. The kids are in bed, the wife is of to visit her parents and I am all alone. No work, but no idea what to do with myself either. I felt stranded and sad and a bit clueless so I decided I might spend some time sending emails to people I promised to write back several weeks ago. Try to restore some faith in my person, or at least let them know that, yes, I am a bastard for not mailling you, but I am still alive.
One note I sent pushed me down a spiral of things that happened when I was still in college and it got me steamed up about an old peeve again. It had nothing to do with person or the note mind you, both were lovely, it's just that big'old sack full of bad memories that my kind of person always carries around with 'm.
The thing is this: I really don't like the way people think of, talk about and deal with death. Not that of a stranger, not that of a loved one. Criminals and children, mothers and murderers, everyone deserves some kind thoughts and rest. Even if the though is "He's probably better of this way" or "I wished she looked this good when she was still alive". I know I'm a cynical smug little bastard. I know I'm broken and it'll take 'till forever to mend my broken wings, but I really can't stand all the sweetness and talk of heaven and angels and tears and sorrow. Things happen, people die, it sucks for us and that's all we cry for. Us. The pain and the fear and the not being able to cope with the sudden black hole that's been torn into the fabric of our everyday lives. Now before you go of in a flurry of selfrightious indignation, I would like to point out I am not in favour of a lot of the other common, less popular, ways of dealing with it either. I can't stand the self pittying emotional blackmail crap or the glorifying death-is-cool bollocks and I can stand the anger-hurts-less-than-pain routine even less. But that doesn't make the rest, the majority, right. You see, the thing that gets me most, the real crime, is that we are not tought, thru society or our parent, to accept our losses, to accept the pain and to deal with it. There is no patience or grace or love. We are tought to fear it or to turn to some higher being or to ignore, neglect or hide it. As always, when I'm online and I feel the urge to say anything I get a sinking feeling of utter futility. I don't think anyone will really read this, or if they do, care about a single word I have to say. I don't live under the delusion that my thoughts are that special anyway. But this time I just had to type all of this out and actually click the post button in stead of just cancel the whole damned thing. So if you read it, if you care, just say so. I would wholeheartedly like to be proven wrong. Oh, and if you think it's a crock of shit or you think I suck, say so to. Just have the decency to leave an, at least quasi-intellegent, argument adressing WHY you would think either. Or don't... but don't be surprised if I come after you with a vengeance either.
Signing of I need to at least have said this: I miss my dad. I missed him when he was still alive and now he's dead, whey-hey-what-a-big-surprise I still miss him. But at least he managed to go with dignity and grace, not kicking and screaming like a spoiled child. We all remember him joking and caring for those who would be left behind. And I think that we owe it to ourselves to remember the dead with love in our hearts, free of pain or anger or fear. We deserve to laugh with them still, even though they are no longer with us. If anything, THAT is what they would have wanted for us.
Criminals and children, mothers and murderers.
-P-
¶