Hmmm

Blogging…

A diary..public journal?
Soap box?

A different thing for different people?


Mine is an outlet…

I don’t know really why its “published”. (why its online for anyone to see)
Mostly at the suggestion of my brother, whose writings I have always been jealous.
He is SOO much more articulate than I.

I do find it therapeutic to express myself on paper and process thru the thots rolling around in my head. When I go back and re-read some of my stuff… (after suffering thru my fat fingered typos and repetitive or missing word/thot content attributed to brain malfunction) it sounds different than it did in my head.

Lately, a lot of my posts have been negative and depressing. Yukky whiney stuff.
Why such suffering? What point or purpose for such constant pain? Seems all I write.

Yeah.. well I dunno.

What I do know.. is that I am learning patience in ways that I never imagined before.
I am forced to learn to handle things differently. The frustration that I felt before.. trying to effect control over things around me...expecting outcomes that suited me…and when results weren’t what I wanted…frustration morphed into agitation morphed into anger into rage at whatever…at the world. Some sense of injustice roared thru my veins in hulk-ian (?) fashion and everyone around me was made aware of my disdain.

I have had this poor reaction to my environment for years...decades likely.
It has driven a wedge between myself and my family always…I was just to damned ignorant to see it.. I was only recently made aware of its effects on those so close to me.

For me… from my perspective.. I was simply venting. When I was done, I was done. For those around me I was seen as bitter, angry - even mean at times. Surely surly and corrosive.

I do believe that some measure of my discontent was/is driven by my sense of helplessness. A belief that I have little control over my environment. At least less control than I desire. At the risk of expressing some “victim” posture I would have to say that for many years I was told that I did not. That I was unable to do many things. Many ideas and projects - hopes dreams.. were quashed. I was told relentlessly (you cant..) (”you don’t have enough lead in your pencil”).. I was not encouraged to try new things in ways that I should have been. I was rarely allowed to express my opinions about stuff. There was a very real sense of being restrained…that feeling carried from adolescence haunts me still.
I don’t think my ol’man ever met Yoda.

It seems it takes a terminal medical condition for me to learn the patience I should have been exercising all along.
To show my friends and family the respect they deserve.

I’ve been an ass.
But I am learning~.