Occasionally I check my Blog stats to see what search terms were used to navigate to my site. Energy drinks, seppuku, elapids, Jurassic World, comedy, social media, baseball and Unknown Search Terms are the most popular. So I at random put unrelated words or phrases into the search field and see what I get. Here are some examples and the first image it pulls up:
T-Rex eating a cheese sandwich
Chingy sings Frank Sinatra
Mirror Mirror Mirror Candyman
Off the shoulder bird poop
Justin Timberlake reads my blog
Friday destroys Monday and becomes four day weekend
I came across $14 lying on the sidewalk. Two five dollar bills and four one dollar bills, all folded over and fanned out. The bills were crisp and green. There was no nearby wallet, car or person. The area was devoid of activity, dead. How this money came to be lying here was a mystery.
Something about this money was inviting and foreboding all at the same time. Fourteen dollars is enough to get a cheap lunch but not too much that a person should feel guilty about scooping it up and sticking it in their pocket. Fourteen dollars is allegedly enough to feed a starving child in Africa for a month per those late night commercials on TV.
Why was the money here for me to find? That was the part that bothered me the most. I never win contests or the lottery in this universe. Rarely do strangers even smile in my direction. So encountering this potential ‘dirty’ money was a bit of a moral dilemma. I could pocket the funds unseen and hustle away from the scene but then invariably look back to see a distraught child leaning on a single crutch frantically scanning the ground all around the area. On a sinister plane of thought, perhaps the money was cursed and the previous owner realized this fact and left the bait for some other unsuspecting sucker to swoop in and assume the curse, effectively freeing the previous owner. Who can say for certain? So much in this life is unexplained and strange.
Staring at this fourteen dollars was giving me a mini-case of vertigo. The printed currency swimming into and out of focus causing my eyes to water. Who would blink first? Me or the money? No cliffhanger here, I blinked. Several times actually. The weight of unseen eyes on my back was too much and I simply forced my feet to move. But I could still see the folded bills lying there undisturbed by the breeze that had sprung to life for a few seconds. So I kept moving until it was finally out of my peripheral vision. Oddly, once out of sight of the money, it felt like walking from out of the shadows into warm sunlight and that gave me chills.
I dared not look back for fear that perhaps the money was tented from underneath with a tiny soul-less being staring out with blazing hate-filled eyes – one slender elongated pinkish arm ending in a three-fingered claw retracting slowly back under the money. Let the fourteen dollars be someone else’s burden. I have enough to deal with on my own without the subconscious worries. Just don’t look back. Never look back.
The literal definition of insanity is: the state of being seriously mentally ill; madness — also: extreme foolishness or irrationality. It has also been stated as: doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.
As a side note: I was part of a tournament softball team called Insanity. We had at least three different versions of player jerseys. One version had a variation of the Asylum album cover of the rock band Disturbed. This was the only time as a pitcher for a men’s slow pitch softball tourney team I was hit in the face and bloodied by a batted ball. Damn that Pleasure Town team out of Moberly, Missouri. lol
Okay back to the flow of the day: insanity. So many of us do the same things repeatedly with a similar frustrating outcome; like going to work or eating spicy foods with a delicate constitution. You get the picture.
Today at work is that slow conveyor belt, I’ve seen this movie before but cannot alter where it inevitably will go, kind of Monday. So I moderately rant in silence with an undercurrent of rage building in my chest that I expect to cause my head to pop off with an explosion that resembles at fifth grader’s volcano science project. So perhaps I will draw back into myself and contemplate my oily T-zones to calm my emotions until the end of the work day marker can be reached.
To all of you suffering the same fate, I commiserate and send you my deepest sympathy. Monday, we shall not fall to you today!!!! But statistically speaking you have a 14.29% chance of perishing on a Monday in your lifetime so keep that in your memory bank.
Good luck my friends! Find your happy place and wait it out!
If I had to guess what Switzerland exports the most of I would guess chocolate or watches. But I would be oh so wrong. Their largest export actually is drugs or pharmaceuticals. Who knew? They annually export in excess of $60 billion dollars in pharma products.
So next time you are cruising through the airport with a Toblerone bar – think of Switzerland and drugs and fine timepieces!
OK today’s economics lesson is over. Have a great weekend and wish me luck in beautiful downtown Shawnee Kansas for some slow pitch softball action.
Booya & peace.
Went to the Huzzah Valley. This is my last report. Lol
Aside the from obvious homage paid to Papa Roach I am here to report on a weekend gone by that included bloodshed, sun, booze, fire, illegal substances, sweat, a redneck love-triangle and much much more!
The day began like just about any other muggy summery day with broken clouds and steadily rising temperatures. The Google Maps app route took us in a squiggly round-about way that reached the Huzzah Valley Resort main office in roughly an hour and half. Once our background checks, strip searches and mandatory debriefing sessions were completed, we were allowed to ‘check-in’ and use the restrooms to void excess bodily fluids. While waiting in line, I was molested by a taller, hairy individual but due to the shame I felt, I chose to just wave at Josh as opposed to reporting him. We completed the process and all four of us headed to our two designated campsites.
Down the road we turned right, noting the long slip’n’slide being setup for later festivities, and headed past a port-a-potty and dumpster towards the area designated Zoo II. Arriving at our designated sites, I noticed two things: we were the first of our group to arrive and there were no visible animals. Some Zoo.
My girlfriend Kristi and I assisted our friends in setting up their tent that could have probably housed Jay-Z’s entourage. As we surveyed the landscape around us, other individuals in our group started arriving and with it our ‘borrowed’ tent so we could set up ourselves. We had been noticing some of the adjacent campers milling about and heading towards the river which was about 150 feet directly behind us. Once setup was completed we sent an exploratory group to check out the river and best route to arrive there. After rejecting a muddy downward slide of a path, we decided upon a sandy stair-step path to the river. A couple of small other groups were in the vicinity but still there was plenty of room on the river for our group. So we back tracked to the camp and put on our swim suits and appropriate footwear, grabbed some coolers full of beer, and marched back to the river.
The spot on the river we were utilizing was naturally a concavity. We walked down the bank about 10-12 feet to the river bed and the spot was about 120 feet from bank to bank with half of it water and the other half sand and gravel. After being in our spot for about 30-40 minutes, socializing and playing some modified Frisbee, we collectively couldn’t help but notice a campsite along the top of the bank from where we walked down. The attention was initially drawn to them because one of the camper’s trucks horn would intermittently blare. Then an obviously intoxicated male started trying to fight another male but that was quickly broken up. Some time thereafter the drunken male was up in the face of a female. This situation tensely went on for a few minutes with the other occupants of the campsite not interceding. Finally the drunken male lost his balance and toppled to the ground. At this point, I think everyone in my group had lost interest and began to pick up their conversations and enjoy the river again.
But wait! Drunken male got up and made a mad dash for the river. He got to the edge of the river bank and half jumped, half tripped causing him to plummet down to the shallow water and waiting log below. This is where I will ask you to have young children and the squeamish leave the room. The drunken male floundered for a second or two then came to rest face up in a shallow side pool of the river. Katie from our group went to investigate the drunken victim – not anyone from the guy’s group mind you – but Katie from our group. She pulled him to a more shallow area to check his injuries. My girlfriend, who is studying nursing, also went over to assist and assess. Somewhere in the dive and flop process, Mr Drunken Hot Mess who was already shirtless somehow lost his swim trunks. Those of you familiar with the male form unclothed can draw your own mental picture, granted the water was cold and this guy was hung like an acorn. So with our group ringing the fallen drunk and his friends still up on the bank looking down with obvious disinterest, our people started yelling up to them to please bring down a pair of shorts for this man. It only took about 10 minutes for them to finally leave the camp area and descend with the shorts to cover his business.
Someone in the camp must have realized the gravity of the situation and called for emergency response to tend to his injuries. Personnel from the Huzzah Valley Resort arrived but did not get hands on with the victim but only observed until the ambulance team arrived. In the meantime, it got to be Jerry Springer time. Turns out the jumper was upset with his girlfriend, who was up on bank but did not come down to the his side, because she was allegedly sleeping with his twin brother. Eventually the ambulance team arrived and trekked down the embankment to place the drunken jumper on a backboard and hoist him up into the ambulance. Note: It was later purported that Mr Drunken Jumper refused medical attention and was taken to jail for public intoxication.
With the light starting to fail, we headed back to camp for food and several hours of a drinking game called Flip Cup (I did not participate because I hate playing Flip Cup). On this (Friday) night we were the semi-rowdy campsite. The night carried on and eventually everyone went to sleep in their corresponding tents.
The next morning arrived and it was time to prep for our float! Naturally there were swimming suits and sun screen applied and coolers packed for the half day excursion forthcoming. The buses arrived and we managed to all board the correct bus and head to our drop off spot. Once there we grouped up (there was 20+ in our group) and took multiple rafts onto the river. Alicia (God love her) was first to oops, plunge and get soaked in the chilly waters.
Floating is not an exact science but it’s not rocket science either. Some like to hang out in the raft, some like to walk in front or behind the raft, some like to hang out in an inner tube and some like to swim. There really is no right or wrong way to do it. Periodically the group stops on sandbars and drinks or eats or both. A fun component to this is the people watching. You see people of all ages and races enjoying the river. Some rafting and others in canoes drifting by with music playing nearby. It’s a great way to enjoy the outdoors as long as you don’t have social anxiety. Social! Take a drink!
This is the first year in awhile that the river was elevated (due to recent consistent rains) so the floating experience was more enjoyable as the rafts did not have to be dragged as much through necessity. My pal Becca’s boyfriend, Mr. Urfer, still chose to get in some cardio and upper body workout by guiding the floating party in the forward position. Mr. B, which is Becca’s cat, would have been very impressed had he been somehow forced to join the floating party in a protective water-tight but oxygen-fed bubble with food.
On the river there was very little drama and it was nice. Of course there were still antics that are associated with most float trips: accidental nudity, not so accidental nudity, drinking, excessive drinking, water sports (football anyone?), dunking, smoking, ‘smoking’, falling, laughing, injuries (ouch Madie!), tanning, swimming, kissing, squirting (with squirt gun type devices), people watching and other shades of gray.
As with all good things, the floating portion came to an end and we were rounded up and rode the bus back to the campsite. There some of us replenished our supply of beer and headed back to our section of river. This time there was no drunken jumper hi-jinx. After a couple of hours there, we headed back to camp for food and to chill.
Epilogue:
After retiring for the night on Saturday to our tent, the campsite adjacent which was relatively calm and mostly quiet the night before was a ruckus of laughter and activity. Later, it was reported that the site next to us had some persons who were partaking in illegal substances ingested through the nasal orafice.
My takeaways from the weekend were a slight irregular sunburn and a general sense of a good time. Camping and floating with friends is my idea of a good time. Granted not everyone in the group of two dozen people is my ideal BFF but still a fun group. The weather was hot and muggy and the beer was cold and the food was delicious. Hundreds of people pee’d in the river and around the campsites but aint that what it’s all about? OK not entirely I hope.
Happy Belated Birthday to Becca as that was the central reason for the float in the first place – also an honorable mention to my girlfriend as her birthday was earlier in the week too.
Happy Birthday today to Daniel Jacob Radcliffe aka Harry Potter who is a ripe old 26 today.
Have a great post Hump Day everyone!
P.S. I just found out that the band Disturbed has a new album coming out August 21st!! Small happy dance.
…like my existence is pointless.
Somewhere there is a researcher in a white coat with a lanyard that houses the person’s ID showing an awkward likeness of the individual in a poorly lit room right above a serial number representing their employee ID number. This person probably sits on a backless short rolling stool in front of a computer . Just beyond the computer is a glass box of a room with white walls. Inside the colorless room there are probably half a dozen slate gray rats milling about, waiting.
Suddenly, a hydraulic noise sounds and the rats freeze and cock their heads upwards. In each corner of the room, a long tube very similar to the tubing on the back of a home clothes dryer unit descends. From the ends of the tubing spills what appears to be cheesy corn curls. The far back left corner has the crunchy version. The far back right corner has the puffy regular kind. The front left corner appears to have the flaming hot reddish version. Finally, the front right corner has what appears to be a small mound of just Cheeto dust.
The researcher grabs a clipboard and observes the rats to see which pile of potential food they gravitate towards as part of their ‘focus group’…
Where was I going with this? I don’t remember. Anyway, I feel like a dusty stapler on the desk of someone who never prints anything.
I wonder which pile of food disappears first. If I was a rat I would go for the crunchy Cheetos version. Just my opinion. I don’t think it’s even real cheese dust so even the lactose intolerant could ask themselves what they would choose on this dilemma. Of course what no one knows is that these are ultra-hybrid rats with the ability to speak and understand rudimentary English and as such they would request soft drinks and access to on-line gaming to pass the time.
Oh well, back to the real zombie world. Have a groovy Thursday.
So the summer classic took place in Cincinnati yesterday with the American League claiming victory 6-3. The spoils of such a hard fought, micro-managed affair (tongue in cheek firmly)? Home field advantage in the World Series this fall. So if my Cleveland Indians are able to right the leaky, barely afloat ship currently held together by unsightly duct tape – they will have the advantage in the World Series even if they are the wild card entrant! Oh yeah. It just got real!
How do the other major professional sports in the United States settle who gets the ‘home’ advantage? The NFL takes that out of the equation by having the Superbowl site predetermined. The only caveat is sometimes it is a stadium currently housing an existing NFL franchise so there could be a ‘home’ game if that team gets into the playoffs and runs the table to get there. In the NBA, the team with the best record gets home court advantage (that’s just weird). Same goes for the NHL with best record earning the President’s Cup trophy and the home ice advantage. I do not acknowledge soccer to be a major professional sport in the U.S., sorry and thank you.
OK for the sake of argument how about we shake up those other sports?
How would I do that you ask? I’m glad you asked. How about in the NBA, the NBA Finals home court is decided by the NBA All-star weekend Slam Dunk competition. The player who has the best dunk, as voted by the judges (because that is as legit as it gets – figure skating judges on line one), earns home court advantage for his conference. And to further spice this up, that player holds that power for his conference. So say a team in the eastern conference wants to trade for the dunk champion who won it for the western conference – the home court could basically be traded for! This could get interesting if the dunk champion is playing on a non-contender who sees the opportunity to trade this player (who’s stock will probably never be higher) to a contender who may have a legit chance to make it to the finals. Intrigued??
Same deal goes in the NHL. For the NHL All-star weekend, the player with the hardest slap shot on the radar gun earns his conference home ice advantage. Then of course the same trading scenarios apply. Oh yeah. Reinforce that plexiglass behind the goal or somebody is going to die!
Lastly in the NFL, since it is predetermined (the site not the game – or is it?) and unless the hosting city’s franchise defies the odds and makes it to the big game – nothing really can be changed…except the uniforms. So the player in the regular season, that has the longest single punt, earns his conference their choice of uniforms in the Superbowl. Not that big of a deal right? Hold on. What about the conference that did not win the punt off? Well that conference has to wear uniforms that have a horizontal thin stripe pattern of neon pink, fire engine red, off-white and poo-poo brown. Millions of viewers world wide will drop onto the floor in convulsive seizures. The really messed up thing…people will still want to buy these hideous uniforms to wear at home and in public.
So in a roundabout way I am poking fun the the Major League Baseball All-star game or more decidedly that they use it to factor into crowning their champion. It’s a game for the people as decided by the people (for the most part). In case you were wondering, the current system was put into place in 2003 following the 2002 All-star game that ended in a tie. During the 2002 game, all the available players (pitchers) were used to get everyone into the game. Since baseball is not like the other major professional sports where players can re-enter a contest; once a player is taken out he is done. So instead of making a late inning exception for 3-4 players on each side in case of a tie with a re-entry rule (it is only an exhibition correct?), MLB went off the page and tried to make the game mean more than it should. But hey it’s good fodder for sports talk shows and sitting in the dugout at softball during a rain delay.
And as I sometimes do on the topic of baseball I am going to tie this alteration in baseball history back to my Cleveland Indians. How you may ask? Well the National League was winning that ill-fated All-star contest in 2002 by a score of 7-6 until Omar Vizquel, who was a fixture at shortstop for the Indians (but played the All-star game at second base this time), came through in the eighth inning with an RBI triple to tie the score at 7. Which is the way it ended after the 11th inning.
So see baseball needs me in at least a consulting capacity. Or at least for comic relief.
Pete Rose had 15 seasons with 700+ plate appearances.
Pete Rose had 18 seasons with 600+ plate appearances.
Pete Rose played 24 seasons and struck out 1143 times total. Mark Reynolds in his first 8 seasons struck out 1398 times.
Pete Rose scored 2165 runs. He got on base via hit (4256), walk (1566) or hit-by-pitch (107) a total of 5929 times. So he scored 36.5% of the time he got on base.
Pete Rose was not a great base stealer as he swiped 198 bases but was caught 149 times for a successful stealing percentage of only 57%. The most he stole in any season was 20 in 1979.
Pete Rose in his career slugged 160 total home runs with his peak seasons of 16 each coming in 1966 and 1969. Mark Reynolds hit 158 in his first five seasons combined.
Pete Rose has zero seasons with more strikeouts than hits and only one where he had more strikeouts than runs scored (his last in 1986). Mark Reynolds during his career (2007-2015 thus far) has had zero seasons where he had less strikeouts than runs scored or hits.
Pete Rose stepped into the batter’s box 15,890 times as a player. If you were betting each time on him hitting a home run – that would only happen 1% of the time (100 to 1).
By today’s standard of having to have a minimum of 502 plate appearances in a baseball season to qualify for the batting title (based on a 162 game season), Pete Rose would have have enough plate appearances in his 24 year career to be qualified in 31 seasons worth of batting titles. His highest batting average came in 1969 (full season) when he batted .348 with the Cincinnati Reds whom he played the majority of his career for and later managed.
Pete Rose hit for a .300 or better average for 15 full seasons including a stretch of nine in a row from 1965 through 1973 and then another five in a row from 1974 through 1979.
If I had to wager, I would have bet Pete Rose would have hit more triples in his career than home runs. However for his career he hit only 135 total triples vs 160 total home runs. Charlie Hustle did however have 746 doubles for his career which I’m sure did contribute to him scoring those 2165 career runs.
Pete Rose is not a perfect man. He did play a helluva baseball game in his day. If Major League Baseball will not honor him and his career accomplishments as a player, then the American people should create a tainted Hall of Fame and enshrine him and all the other black listed baseball players (see Shoeless Joe Jackson).
If nothing else the legit baseball Hall of Fame should create a wing and call it “Banned”. Put Gaylord Perry’s scuffed and spit stained balls (eeeww) in this section. Put Barry Bond’s stretched out hats in there alongside the ones he wore in his Pittsburgh Pirate days. Put Rafael Palmeiro’s lying moustache in there. Put Sammy Sosa’s corked bat in there. Put Albert Belle’s corked bat in there.
Put Kenny Roger’s pine tar glove in there. Put George Brett’s Yankee Stadium pine tar bat in there. Put Billy Martin’s dirt coated cleats in there. Put a mold of Pedro Martinez’s hands in the there from when he rolled the ancient Don Zimmer. Put Jose Canseco’s face on the double doors so each person who enters can slap him on the face and have a big screen TV playing the bloopers of him getting hit in the head and the ball bouncing over the fence. Baseball needs to stop being so stuffy and wake up to 2015.
Just think of the possibilities. Nike would say, Let’s Just Do It!
Btw, thanks to: http://www.baseball-reference.com for the stats on Pete and Mark Reynolds. I chose Mr Reynolds for a couple of comparisons at random because he is a former Indian and still playing and the first player I thought of for some reason.
A little Kesha flavoring on the Monday grind. It feels like I have been at work for hours…OK it has been technically hours but it feels like alot of hours.
Monday Monday Monday. Is it Manic? Hard to fit it in there as a perfect match be could be.
I have let it be known that I do not like Mondays…
OK rant/whining over. Back to our collective semi-conscious state.
Good day ladies and gentlemen. Today is a special weekend blog for the ever faithful. Nothing really that special just a chance to gather some thoughts albeit brief and share. For those who have taken the time to get to know me or regularly read my blog, you probably have gotten the indication that I tend to be a little morbid. It has been like that since my long since past teenage years. It is just the way I am programmed. With that being said, I skew decidedly dark on my humor or find humor in some things that others might not find funny or amusing at all. The double edged sword of that quirk is it also tends to make the really dark periods in my life nearly unbearable and suffocating.
You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life. You gotta get’em right. Sorry had to randomly interject a 80’s sitcom theme. If Misses G were alive today (Charlotte Rae) she would be proud…wait she is alive…my most sincere apologies C.R. Sorry for the sidebar but that is sometimes how it goes in my brain.
So in my morbidity I started wondering, if I got hit by a bus or an asteroid or some other spontaneous auto-tragedy (Sharknado anyone?)…what of my things would my girlfriend, mother or friends want of mine to remember me by (if anything at all). My FRIENDS DVD collection or some of my more obscure DVD and Blu-Rays maybe. I would imagine my clothes would be split between Goodwill and the dumpster. My out-dated game systems would probably find their way to a friend I suppose. Most of my furniture would probably be sold relatively cheap to strangers on Craigslist.
When I really take inventory of my material things, most of them are pretty modest and inconsequential. I do not really create anything (anymore) that could really be considered art. So there is really not much that would encapsulate me and my essence. When you break it down like that I am very close to being an Etch-A-Sketch picture on the screen as a five year old kicks the Etch-A-Sketch down a flight of stairs. A few unrecognizable broken lines and scattered blotches against a gray backdrop is all that might be there for the world to find.
Did I mention sometimes I am morbid?
I have never and will never be an elite athlete broadcast around the globe. My ability to create things is on par with adding crumbled bacon to a box of Mac N Cheese. I cannot hack into electronics and send them to destroy my mortal enemies. When it comes down to it, I merely exist. If the universe interprets that harshly and became dyslexic, it can plot any number of exits for me. So each day I try to be humble and value the people in my life (plus my kitty!) who have affected me and whom I look forward to inspiring me to do a little something to leave some finger prints and a nose print of my existence on the tinted limo window of life.
Today is Sunday, July 12th and I nearly got heat stroke playing softball. Yes I am crazy/stupid about that game, whether it is 95 degrees or 25 degrees, I love playing ball. If I would have died on the field of Wolff’s Softball Haven…I could live with that ending and hope that at least a few people would miss me and think of me every time they step onto the field to play.
Good day and top of the morning to ya if ye are on the other side of the pond!
Anywho…anyone who has been around me for an extensive period of time generally has seen me do some incredibly non-graceful things. If I had $10 for every time my mother called me grace I would have a small fortune. Today my beloved mother was not in attendance (thankfully) to see me somehow manage to trip over the office copy machine which is about the size of an electric smart car. I do not know if it is my big feet, my short attention span or just being duh sometimes but I even leave myself perplexed as to how I can stumble and butterfingers so many things.
So far this week: tripped over a ridiculously large copier, scraped my side (rib area) swinging the car door shut, tried to step over a baseball and put my heel on it instead almost causing me to face-plant, dripped chili cheese dip on not only my face but also my shirt, shorts and ankle – all in one ill-fated chip scoop! Throw in a few toe stubs, dropping my phone between the seats of the car, knocking over my water bottle at work and well you get the picture. In doing a bit of research, I could buy a protective bubble for myself like the ones they use for bubble battles – for about $300. If nothing else it is tempting to just to bop around in at work on casual Fridays.
Somewhere in Hell Charles Darwin is shaking his head that I am still alive and mostly intact as a human specimen. Or perhaps he is caught between the realms I do not know for sure. But that is a discussion for another blog.
Hopefully my misadventures caused you some entertainment. I will attempt to navigate the rest of today without further clumsiness but I am not going to hold my breath lest I tempt the Murphy’s Law spirits to do their worst to me as well.
Happy Hump Day to all and to all a good night!
If you have ever seen a picture of a person who appears to be holding a picture of themselves holding a picture of themselves holding that same picture…that is the Droste effect.
So if you read a blog about me blogging about my blog on a blog topic I blog about the is the essence of my blog writing…is that similar?
So any of you magicians who pull that never-ending handkerchief out of your sleeve – keep the illusion going and entertain us until you are obscured by a mountain of handkerchiefs.
(POOF)
Initially I began composing a silly very focused blog to show my alternative method to viewing common things…but I found my self derailed.
Funny how life does that. Full steam ahead, oblivious to daily things zooming by and not caring. People dying, cruelty, starvation, backstabbing, heartbreak and things of that ilk. When you have happiness all those things are there but you can push them to the background or deal with them a bite at a time. But when the sands of happiness have slipped through your shaking hands you are left to stand in the path of the oncoming tidal wave of all those things. The looming doom rushes at you with speed and you morbidly stare, wondering if you really care.
What is the point?
The relentless onslaught in your head is merciless. Each wave hits you like a ton of razorblades. No matter how thick your skin is you start to fall apart from the inside out. Trapped out on your own island and no help on any horizon. Despair hooks an arm around your throat and says, come with me. You bite the inside of your lip to stop it from quivering and blink to hold back the tears starting to well up in the corners of both eyes. No amount of deep breaths taken alleviates that cinder block resting on your heart. I am nothing. Just a stray string hanging off the fabric of society. Snip me off and no one will notice. A terrible sense of being alone that only receding into oneself and curling into a ball in a dark room helps. Happy memories torment and remembered mistakes slam the cell door shut.
Why the cold shower today? Just as a reminder to me and those I hold close that we all know of someone who may be struggling. Some in plain sight. You cannot save everyone but if you truly care you should try. If someone hits the perceived end of their rope and they see no one below to catch them – they may just drop into the abyss. Being locked in one’s own mind can be the worst fate.
This PSA is brought to you by me. Never underestimate the power of just saying Hi or a random text to say, you know what I saw something goofy and I thought about you today. If you have someone special, family, pets, your best friend since the second grade or maybe just a friendly co-worker from years gone by – let them know in case tomorrow does not come for some reason.
~~ Blog-A-Sphere ~~ 