Well, nothing like boldly and publicly announcing my return to the blogosphere and the regular over-sharing that you’ve come to know and love, then promptly dropping off the face of the earth (again). So what the fuck is going on with me, you ask? Well … maybe it’s time for some truth.
While the year started off well (and like an idiot, I posted a status update to Facebook on Jan. 7 stating, “2014 is already a million times better than 2013. I’m digging it.”), it quickly followed its usual path to yet another downward spiral. I only wish I could say I ended up at rock bottom — at this point I am so far below that, I have only the fondest memories of the delightfully higher point of my life when rock bottom was my reality. Where I landed is deeper, darker, and more pathetic.
But, whatever. No one cares about the gory details, including me. Lived it, thanks. But I struggle to make sense of how I arrived at where I am. I’ve never been one to blame others for my problems or point a finger at anyone but myself, but in evaluating my life’s path, I don’t necessarily feel that I have a pattern of making bad choices or doing bad or stupid things. (Honestly! And I’ve thought a lot about it. Am I so horrifically out of touch and blind to my flaws and self-destructive patterns? Please discuss!!)
Obviously, I was a fucking serial killer in a past life or something (yeah, sorry about all those mass murders or whatever). While I try to hold out hope that the next half of my life will be so ridiculously amazing and one day realize that karma chose to hit me with the bad stuff when I was young(er), there is no part of me that pretends this current state is anything but as good as it will ever get.
That’s life. So I continue forward.
I’ve avoided writing because even with all my shit, I really don’t feel that I am one of those “poor me, life is soooooo hard” kinds of people. As an extension, therefore, I certainly don’t want to be one of those kinds of writers — there are enough of those out there, and my reaction for the most part to their public pronunciations is, “Shut the fuck up. You’re pathetic.” (sorry, but it’s Truth O’Clock). But where is the balance between sharing the shit that I’m going through in an honest and authentic way that may resonate with people and/or be meaningful to readers, and being just a whining pathetic loser?
I’m not sure, so it’s easier to avoid writing and putting myself out there than explore it, even when it’s often the darker emotions that spur a bit of creative spark or inspire pen to paper (or, more accurately, fingers to keyboard). Rather than go down that path, I’ve spared you all and kept quiet, reserved and under the radar. It is far easier just to hole up and shut myself off and away from the world.
So, what’s my point? I really don’t have one, other than to provide an update on where (and why) I’ve been hiding. Maybe, in the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day, I’m hoping and reaching out for a little luck — most of all, that my ongoing streak of luck will change for the better. That will be a hell of a lot more fun to write about, that’s for sure.