Righteous Anger Isn’t an Oxymoron

I used to think that if Molly got mad at me I had to fix it right away. Stop everything, find the source of the problem, make it right. Sometimes I would do all that and she still wouldn’t be happy and then I would get frustrated. Especially if we were on vacation or something. It felt like the vacation was being ruined, that we would remember only that time when she was mad over some insignificant thing.

Today she got mad because her plan didn’t really work out and we wasted two hours driving around. Instead of trying to fix it with words or touching, I just drove around acting normal. I didn’t try to pretend that it didn’t suck that we were wasting time. I didn’t try to make it into a joke to make her see how trivial it was to worry about such things. I just let her be mad about it as if that were a reasonable response, which it is, really. 

I guess I used to think that you could die at any second so you might as well not worry about dumb shit like the fact that you’re wasting time because shit didn’t turn out like you had planned. I also used to believe that nothing really mattered, so I couldn’t see the point in getting worked up about anything really. I said I believed in that kind of shit, but I would get worked up about shit, too, just much different shit.

So now that I am allowing for the fact that things have value, I can see that being all mad about some dumb shit has its place, and maybe the reason Molly used to be mad for so long was that I was just quietly acting like she was an idiot for even bothering to be angry.

This time I let her be mad and I didn’t pretend it wasn’t frustrating and she got over it quickly and I didn’t get all stressed out that she didn’t like me or something.

I think a big part of why I built up so much resentment towards her over the years is because any time she would get mad I would blame myself and then slowly I would get mad at how unfair it was for her to think that it was my fault when I hadn’t done anything. So all this dumb shit was going on inside my head that didn’t have any basis in reality and should have been handled externally.

Any time I start to say something passive aggressive, I’m now trying to stop and instead say something more direct and constructive. And if Molly says something passive aggressive to me, I try to swat that shit down aggressively so we can fight about it instead of internalizing some made up bullshit. It’s not always easy and I don’t succeed every time but it’s not as hard as I thought it would be. 

I used to have these revenge fantasies, not against Molly but against other people, strangers mostly. So someone would do something I didn’t like and then I would fantasize about beating the shit out of them, some disproportionate type shit. But in reality I wouldn’t do anything, probably be even nicer to them the more I hated them because then slowly I would start to feel bad because I hated them so much and they hadn’t really done all that much shit to me.

So I have this darkness inside but I try to lock it up and pretend it doesn’t exist and it comes out in fantasies and in a growing resentment towards humanity. Instead it would be better to integrate the darkness into my personality and react to things I don’t like by making sure people know that I don’t like those things. Even get mad sometimes. I used to think that even getting angry was a sin. And then after I stopped believing in God, I thought getting angry was a sign of weakness. But I think now that getting angry is necessary for having a healthy relationship with the outside world. People should know when they’ve made me angry. I don’t have to hurt them with words or actions, but if I don’t indicate the fact that I’m unhappy how arethey  supposed to know to change their behavior? And besides it becomes so much worse when I just resent someone quietly. Instead of just snapping at someone and apologizing for it later maybe, I end up smiling at them and wishing they would die.

It’s important to have a healthy relationship with anger instead of just trying to avoid it in myself and others. 

A Lot of Words About Sleeping and Shit Like That

I feel like I will go to sleep. I went to sleep after the last post. It was great. Yesterday, I was sitting in the park on my break and I went to sleep there. It was fitful, but at least it was sleep I guess. This morning, Molly woke me up at 7 AM to say she had been awake since 5 AM. I fell asleep again until 7:30, when she woke me up for good. I am very sleepy now and have to be up at 7:30 tomorrow to go to a basketball game with Morgan and some people from work. To play basketball, that is, and then after that to go to work for twelve hours. I have Sunday off, though, and Morgan will be moved out by tomorrow afternoon, so I don’t know what I’ll do about that. Try to go back to regular life, I suppose, unless I get drunk on Saturday night and have to sleep most of Sunday away.

I guess by the time you’ll be reading this though, by the time you do read this, it will be Saturday already, since I’m scheduling posts now because I’m worried that I’m going to miss a day or something or just not feel like it, or really because I was in the mood to write such a long post a few days ago that I wanted to break it up for you, but it turned out not to be that long at all and I already wanted to start writing again by today. I probably won’t have time tomorrow, though, so that will be good.

Anyway I guess I would just delete this whole thing, but I’m trying not to care still.

I guess I’ll take a nap, fuck it. Twenty minutes and then get up and do the dishes. Get the hell out of here. Hit the fucking road, jack.

Last night, the bar manager wasn’t working and life was so stress free. I should do something about it, I guess, tell her off and stop listening to her. Cut her out of my life. Deal with her. I don’t know. Live in the moment. Or just quit my job, I guess, I don’t know. It’s also stressful that a lot of people are leaving my job so I don’t know who is going to cover the shifts that I need off coming up in the summer. But I give people the advice all the time: the less people they have to cover your shift, the less they can afford to fire you if you don’t show up for it. But then I end up feeling to guilty about the whole thing.

I want to get back into my honesty routine and all of that, but this last week helping my little brother out I guess has been fulfilling enough to my inner critic that I’ve let myself just sit around on balconies eating Cadbury eggs and shit like that.

Clean Something, Clean Anything

It was the strangest thing, after I got done writing that last post I read three articles about hating on white people and stuff like that, and then I went inside and started washing dishes. Then I did that cleaning project I wanted to do: take shit from under my bed and dust it off and sweep under there and shit like that. I told…what was my wife’s name again? Molly. I told Molly I would do it sometime soon yesterday. So I did it today. Why not?

Anyway I had no intention of doing that shit when I was sitting out there on the balcony. I figured, fuck it, I’ll just write a bunch of shit down. Fuck this day. Waste it.

It was either the coffee or the writing that gave me the energy to start cleaning shit up. Or it was because I went into the living room and Morgan was there talking on the phone and I was going to say something to him but I figured I might as well do the dishes first while he was on the phone and once I started actually moving my life from disorder to order in that way, I had the strength to move forward onto bigger projects.

After I cleaned under my bed and shit, the apartment felt pretty good, less dusty anwyay. I heated up some quiche and I went back out to the balcony. Morgan and I sat there just staring out into the day. It is really nice outside right now. It’s too much too fast though. I miss the spring. It was spring yesterday, but today it will be summer. Who knows if we’ll ever go back to spring because last week it was pretty much late winter.

But we’re always romanticizing something that probably isn’t real. Like the idyllic part of our childhood before we became self-conscious, and other shit like that.

Now I’m laying on the bed, typing more shit. It’s about time to go to work. I guess I have to get dressed and set up the feeders for the cats. What else? I guess that’s really it, although I should start work on Molly’s website, or else apply for a job, and I really should get back on my exercise program before I lose all the gains I was seeing, at least I should do the sit-ups. 

I don’t know if I’ll do any of that. I might just lay here and fall asleep. Fuck it. I have a weird life. Morgan asked me if I would ever get a tattoo. I said I didn’t know. When I was 16, I wanted flames going up my arms from my wrists like the lead singer of Linkin Park. He said that would have been ok. I said yeah but everyone would know that I had gotten that tattoo in the 90’s. 

I thought about it and I probably wouldn’t get a tattoo because who has the time or the money to do something like that. It would be cool to have a tattoo, but the way I live I probably wouldn’t get around to planning something like that. According to my value system it’s frivolous. I try to only do things that aren’t frivolous, at least that’s what I tell myself. And then I sit around on balconies staring off into nothing.

But some people just go around doing things that they want to do. They go to work and they work and then they come home and just do things. But I can’t even think of things that I want to do when I really think about it. Like Molly asked me yesterday, what do you want to do? And I tried to think of an honest answer because most of the time I would never assert myself about some shit like that because I just go along with whatever she wants to do and I couldn’t think of an answer. Besides have sex. Sex and eating, that’s all I do. I like drinking, too, but I like that less and less as it hurts more the next day or the night of, even, when I drink just enough to feel good but not enough to knock me out. I know there are things I want to do, I think, I never thought it was just going somewhere and eating, but maybe it is.

I mean sure I want to go hang out with the girl I was formerly obsessed with, but I don’t even know what I want to do with her, just go dancing I guess or sit on a bed talking, basically anything that seems like it’s leading to sex. Or eating.

But I also like just sitting and talking with people. I like talking with people, especially the girl I was formerly obsessed with. I like playing basketball, too, and writing down dumb shit. I like learning shit, I think I do. Sometimes I even like cleaning, but I don’t know if it’s just because I feel like if I’m cleaning, I’m safe from my inner critic, the one that tells me whatever I’m doing isn’t right, that it would be better if I did something else entirely. And then I do that and it’s the same thing. It’s always something I can’t even do, really, or won’t do, because I’m scared. I should just go around doing things I’m scared of, I guess, is the lesson. I don’t know.

Fuck it, I think I’ll go to sleep.

Why I Didn’t Tell You About Jordan Peterson

First of all I’ll tell you something I’ve been hiding from you for really no reason other than the fact that I hate myself, I suppose. The videos that I watched that set me on this new path of honesty were lectures by Jordan Peterson. I have been listening to hours and hours of Jordan Peterson lectures. This is kind of embarassing because it seems like I always find some new guru and buy into everything they say. Eventually I forget about them. I don’t think I’m unique in this way, but I like to think of myself as unique, and it kills me to think that everything I say comes from somewhere else.

It’s also annoying because Peterson is very of the moment right now, especially for 30 year old white males who have wasted their lives. If you read through the comments on his lectures you’ll see them. We’re like a club. Nothing makes you feel more mass produced. It’s like Carl Jung said, “People don’t have ideas, ideas have people.” Where do you think I got that quote? One of Peterson’s podcasts.

Yeah so here I am thinking I have these ideas, but I’m just a groupie. Even the ideas I had before I watched his lectures were held by what appears to be hundreds of thousands of people.

Also, there was an article about how Peterson became a kind of hero to the new right when he took a stand against what they call “social justice warriors”, and I can’t be seen endorsing some kind of right wing asshole after the stands I’ve taken here, namely that heterosexual white males are ruining the world.

So what does it mean? I don’t know. I don’t give a fuck, apparently. I’m drinking coffee on the balcony when I should be doing things and stuff like that. Not giving a fuck is easy to do.

The Old Days Were Terrible Days

Today it’s going to be hot in New York. It’s going to be almost 90 degrees Farenheit. Underneath my balcony right now, kids are walking. They’re holding long cables connected to adults. They just stopped when someone said, “About face!” Then they all turned around like little soldiers. Now they are all walking back under the balcony, back to the school or daycare or whatever.

I bought some patio furniture yesterday. Now I set up my iPad on my new seven dollar plastic made in America stool and I’ve got my bluetooth keyboard on my lap and I’ve got my coffee and Morgan is asleep inside and it’s just me out here. My wife, we’ll call her Molly from now on, is at work. She had to go early because she’s the boss this month. It’s turning her into a little neutron star of stress. I work today at 3. It’s 10 AM now. I don’t have shit to do. I have a lot of things to do, but since I know I won’t do them, I’ll just pretend I don’t have shit to do.

To be honest I’m scared to be honest. Some days it seems very simple. Some days it seems unnecessary. And on days like today it seems difficult and possibly not worth it. It’s hard for me to even be honest with you any more, now that you know me so well. I think about what you’ll think of me now. I think about what I’ll think of me when I’m you, sometime in the future, re-reading old bullshit.

I’ve got a lot I want to talk about, but I’d like it to seem well-written. Self-censorship is good when you’re writing for an audience. Only an egomaniac would go on about whatever he wanted to for three thousand words and then hit publish. Well, if I’m a fucking egomaniac, I’d better just shut the fuck up about it. I don’t even know if egomaniac is a word. I usually prefer the term narcissist. I don’t really know how the two are different, but narcissist sounds more classy.

I know what I could do, to make this easier for you and pretty much, though not exactly, the same for me. I could break this up into pieces and schedule them to be posted in the future. Since I feel like writing an epic rant about whatever the fuck, I might as well set myself up for the next few days and then I won’t have to actually write things on days that I don’t want to write things. Man I am good at doing exactly what I want.

No Hope for the Maldives

I had a beer and allergies today on the balcony. They were cutting down a tree across the street. They couldn’t do it all at once, they had to tie ropes around the limbs. They fed the pieces into a machine that ground them to dust. The dust settled on cars nearby and a man sprayed the cars with a gas powered leaf blower. The clouds settled in, and I fell asleep to piano music punctuated by the din. 

Tired

I am really tired of posting every day. Who can do this? On the surface it seems simple. Just fucking write something. I love writing so it should be easy. But some days just seem meant to pass without writing anything. Or at the very least not writing something for other people. Plus my wife doesn’t know about it so I can’t be like oh I have to go write my blog for a minute on our days off. Right now she’s showing me pictures of sea monsters and I’m pretending to be doing nothing.