Reflectings the kicks
First, I want to be damn clear: I've been good. After a long weekend of stupid drinking that only made the dog whimper straight through til Monday, I haven't had a drink. After feeling that downed feeling coming on, I pulled myself together and set my sights back on the prize. After feeling some nostalgia, I got smart and started cleaning. And my setbacks are not without their bearers, as I have developed some loving friendships more recently; I have found my own cozy little niches where I can sneak in, be myself in a public place, and then go on about my day.
Thus when I found that, one of a handful of gigs I had been patiently awaiting finally came around, well after I had given up hope, I almost fell for the trap. When I had seen the adoring eyes of those that care about me, that care about my prospects and adventures, I almost gave in to share in their own trials and tribulations. When I thought that, maybe this town can change, I realized that it hasn't yet and it will take some serious therapy for one or two simple steps.
Somewhere in the scheme of hell-on-earth and the no-name trench-work that we do, we hold out hope, especially when the slightest sparkle of chance shines our way. In the briefest of moments when we do feel the sun gazing on our cheek, striking through the miserable wind and icy stares, we smile and somehow see more crystalline colors that should have been always there. But the shocking clap of a world crashing down is nothing to chance. The dark sky rolling in and rumbling to the sirens on the hill is no time for hope. When you hear the warning, bunker down.
That I am in the midst of disheveling my life, once again, is not to move on to some quaint utopia (though I could use it). That I am willingly leaving on-pause some truly meaningful relationships here is not without a bittersweet farewell as, I know well that on my brief returns, the distance is usually hard for most to bare and may not spark the jovial hooray I have known from other worlds. At this moment, I am looking to move back into the dusty winds, into the wretched confines because, through this momentary space, I can come to find a new self.
At times, I have had some good gigs. The top is a toss between Trash Man and School Bus Driver. Both had their merits and each provided me a sense of self-worth. In almost all circumstances however, they simply didn't provide enough pay-whether it be because of the hours or the actual dollar amount. So after enough hassle, and a good roll of the dice, I found something else. The only job that paid well and may have been worth the long days in a dismal town was tainted by some schmuck too far removed from humanity to feel bad about the poor choices he has made.
Indeed, the lousy pay working for the city was augmented by the excellent exercise, open opportunity for growth, and the fact that I was in a city with all its varying comforts. The bus gig, while providing a substantial dollar sum lacked the full-time benefits while nearly requiring a three-quarter time commitment at part-time hours. And that was a good gig because, no matter how battered I felt at the escapades of the day, I still see some of the kids now that recognize me and willingly wave. That last gig had a lot of potential with a group of hard-working whole-hearted individuals, and was well compensated. Its only flaw is that because of one person, we were never to become a team.
And so I am now a bare-bones knuckle-dragger. I am a sissy at that, and I am doing my damnedest to play down what little intellect I have to help maintain expectations. So long I as I keep on keepin on, I get to see them benjamins roll right in. And then I'm gone.
So yes, I have sold out. I have given in to the stupid patronage of unskilled labor exploiting the earth's resources. I have grunted my way to the bottom where, I can earn beyond a living and make something of myself outside of this damned town. I can dream of a future where I am not chained here, clanking against the iron bars, asking for an ear of pitance. I can hope for a life beyond these confines.
Thus when you see me spitting on the sidewalk of downtown decency, know that it is a fair jest for turning your backs to me. Know that, when I don't provide you patronage to help support this heap of hell, it's because it is better to see the deprived dying of its own want that to continue on the false sense of gluttony. In the pale light, I do not want your fine affairs or rabble-rousing hootenannies; I do not want your crowded laughs blared out by boisterous noise; I do not want your lonely nights; I will simply take your liquor, take the few inspirations of hate you provide, billow my smoke into your face, and be gone. You can read about it in an avenue not readily available to you.
Thus when I found that, one of a handful of gigs I had been patiently awaiting finally came around, well after I had given up hope, I almost fell for the trap. When I had seen the adoring eyes of those that care about me, that care about my prospects and adventures, I almost gave in to share in their own trials and tribulations. When I thought that, maybe this town can change, I realized that it hasn't yet and it will take some serious therapy for one or two simple steps.
Somewhere in the scheme of hell-on-earth and the no-name trench-work that we do, we hold out hope, especially when the slightest sparkle of chance shines our way. In the briefest of moments when we do feel the sun gazing on our cheek, striking through the miserable wind and icy stares, we smile and somehow see more crystalline colors that should have been always there. But the shocking clap of a world crashing down is nothing to chance. The dark sky rolling in and rumbling to the sirens on the hill is no time for hope. When you hear the warning, bunker down.
That I am in the midst of disheveling my life, once again, is not to move on to some quaint utopia (though I could use it). That I am willingly leaving on-pause some truly meaningful relationships here is not without a bittersweet farewell as, I know well that on my brief returns, the distance is usually hard for most to bare and may not spark the jovial hooray I have known from other worlds. At this moment, I am looking to move back into the dusty winds, into the wretched confines because, through this momentary space, I can come to find a new self.
At times, I have had some good gigs. The top is a toss between Trash Man and School Bus Driver. Both had their merits and each provided me a sense of self-worth. In almost all circumstances however, they simply didn't provide enough pay-whether it be because of the hours or the actual dollar amount. So after enough hassle, and a good roll of the dice, I found something else. The only job that paid well and may have been worth the long days in a dismal town was tainted by some schmuck too far removed from humanity to feel bad about the poor choices he has made.
Indeed, the lousy pay working for the city was augmented by the excellent exercise, open opportunity for growth, and the fact that I was in a city with all its varying comforts. The bus gig, while providing a substantial dollar sum lacked the full-time benefits while nearly requiring a three-quarter time commitment at part-time hours. And that was a good gig because, no matter how battered I felt at the escapades of the day, I still see some of the kids now that recognize me and willingly wave. That last gig had a lot of potential with a group of hard-working whole-hearted individuals, and was well compensated. Its only flaw is that because of one person, we were never to become a team.
And so I am now a bare-bones knuckle-dragger. I am a sissy at that, and I am doing my damnedest to play down what little intellect I have to help maintain expectations. So long I as I keep on keepin on, I get to see them benjamins roll right in. And then I'm gone.
So yes, I have sold out. I have given in to the stupid patronage of unskilled labor exploiting the earth's resources. I have grunted my way to the bottom where, I can earn beyond a living and make something of myself outside of this damned town. I can dream of a future where I am not chained here, clanking against the iron bars, asking for an ear of pitance. I can hope for a life beyond these confines.
Thus when you see me spitting on the sidewalk of downtown decency, know that it is a fair jest for turning your backs to me. Know that, when I don't provide you patronage to help support this heap of hell, it's because it is better to see the deprived dying of its own want that to continue on the false sense of gluttony. In the pale light, I do not want your fine affairs or rabble-rousing hootenannies; I do not want your crowded laughs blared out by boisterous noise; I do not want your lonely nights; I will simply take your liquor, take the few inspirations of hate you provide, billow my smoke into your face, and be gone. You can read about it in an avenue not readily available to you.