Category: Musings

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We’re All Looking for something…

Lately I’ve been dealing with isolation.

Due to my work schedule, I’ve been cut off from non-work interactions for about 3 years. In truth it’s probably been longer than that due to commuting long distances to previous workplaces.

This has led to a sense of profound loneliness and disconnection from the world. Most people are troublesome to begin with because they’re wrapped up in their own issues. I know first hand how tough it is to look beyond your own stuff and think of a bigger picture.

Inside my workplace, there seems to be a calculated effort to make sure that no personal connections are made. So at work, I tend to feel alone in a crowded noisy room.

Being as old as I am, I don’t recall that it was always this way. I have memories of knowing my neighbors, even if I wasn’t talking with them every day. I recall clearly knowing that culturally speaking it was ok to go “borrow a cup of sugar” and have a nice conversation with the neighbor next door. I clearly remember just walking up the block to help a neighbor with a project. You knew that you’d be fed for your effort and you’d have company, good conversation and the sense of accomplishment that goes with finishing something.

As time went on, people became more mobile and honestly it was easier to isolate yourself from the community around you because that saved you the heartache of goodbye.

Technological advancements have made it easier to be isolated from the community you actually live in, while at the same time giving you the illusion that you’re part of a community online. The thing is, most of your online “Friends” have no skin in the game. If you’re having a rough time in your life, it’s unlikely that someone you “know” from a thousand miles away is going to show up at your door with a plate of cookies and warm conversation.

So in the midst of my rumination, and trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. The book Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging by Sebastian Junger was recommended.

It’s a quick read and is not a self help book.

It is however an interesting exploration of the differences between modern culture and our tribal beginnings. It also brings to light that rejection of “modern” culture is not a new phenomena.

After reading the book, then coupling many if not all of the concepts with my own life experience, I’ve concluded that I’m probably not as alone as I think I am. It’s also likely that I’ve been able to put my finger on what changed in my life and why I feel so disconnected.

I’m not part of any particular group, more specifically I’m not part of any special group.

Politically speaking I’m mostly an independent. I’m liberal and conservative, and refuse to drink the kool-aid of any specific political party. I choose, instead to look at issues and evaluate each one. Based on it’s merit, I may be “Pro” or “Con” regardless of the prevailing political party’s opinion.

I don’t have any particular “Cause“.

Many of the Causes today seem more fleeting than toilet paper in a stomach flu ward.

I’m for smaller government, but at the same time don’t believe that we should leave people in this country in the lurch. If anything I’m becoming anti-foreign aid. That is especially true in light of my belief that we should not provide financial aid to our enemies, That leads us down a rabbit hole of defining who exactly are our enemies.

I’m generally speaking, for a lot less government involvement in the personal lives of citizens. Because of this, my alignment with political parties would be uncomfortable at best. As a result I generally keep my political opinions to myself.

I believe Black lives matter, JUST like all lives matter. But when I look at the way in which that movement makes it’s statements I can’t help but think there’s something else going on.

I’d have a lot more respect for Black Lives Matter if the organization wasn’t bullying people in the streets and was instead teaching folks in the inner cities that violence against each other was a problem. I mean the statistics tend to indicate while there are some bad police engaging in racially fueled brutality, the incidents of Black youth shooting, maiming, and killing each other is far more prevalent than issues with police.

If BLM was addressing those issues and seeking to find peace in troubled communities I’d be far more likely to listen when they start pointing out problems with police brutality.

That doesn’t mean, were I to witness a racially motivated issue with an Officer, that I wouldn’t intervene. There are certainly officers who should not be officers and it is the responsibility of the citizenry to question and police, the police.

Antifa is another group who is completely beyond my understanding. The reason is simple. They traditionally behave in a far more Fascist manner than the people they’re railing against.

There was a time when the Gay community was also united in the same way. Gays were hated because of their “perversion”, then they were united by HIV because as a “Throw-away” subculture no-one was looking for treatment or a cure. ACT-UP coalesced to fight common enemies (HIV and Government sanctioned disposability) and were pretty successful at it.

Marriage equality was another fight that  united the Gay community. But those “Wars” have devolved into occasional skirmishes. Research is ongoing, Marriage is legal, the skirmishes mostly seem to mostly be about wedding cakes now.

If someone won’t bake a cake for you… Find another baker who will. It’s a simple fucking equation.

I mention these groups as examples of groups who have found solidarity within themselves because they are united against something they see as oppressive and overwhelming.

Individuals, by their association with specific groups have the feeling of being the underdog in a righteous fight. In that, they are united by a sense of purpose, commonality, and community.

I think about things… I’ve never been one to just go along with the crowd. Oh sure, to parties, of course. But I’m always among the first to leave if a party starts going south.

My particular problem seems to be that I’m an outlier.

Whether by nature, choice, or life experiences, I’m always on the outside looking in.  When I connect with someone I go all in. I’m curious about them, who they are, and where they’re coming from.  That intensity, (alright intrusiveness) can be unsettling for people, especially when they’ve up to that point, thought of me as reserved and circumspect. I can see their point. They wonder who the real me is.

I think I’ve been trying to answer that particular question all my life.

Am I the good guy? The bad guy? Hero? Martyr? Criminal? Immoral? Amoral? Average? Or below average? Am I all of these, trying to fuse into one individual?

Now, at this point in my life I’ve begun wondering if it’s even a question I should even concern myself with.

Perhaps the best choice is to just let myself run without constraint or worry. Maybe that’s what being comfortable in my own skin is really all about.

 

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Autumn

IMG 0378This is one of my favorite times of year. The light changes and while it isn’t Officially Autumn, the plants and my body know it is.

Last night it was in the high 30’s and there’s a crispness in the air.

I know why I was happier in the mountains than I’ve ever been in the city.

It easier for me to be dialed into the natural world. I can feel the dirt under my feet and the smell of the earth and plants around me. Yes, even the smell of the occasional animal poo when I’m out hiking or walking, is somehow comforting.

Down in the cities it’s all about dominating and keeping the world at bay. Even the grass is manicured to within an inch of its life and wildness in trees or (heaven forbid) weeds isn’t tolerated.

That being said if you’re lucky enough to find an open patch of ground, you’ll find trash, broken glass and God only knows what else because that too is domination of the land. Why can’t we just mark our territory or say, “We were here” by taking a leak on a rock or tree? Why do we have to absolutely trash the place?

As the weather cools on the mountain I’m becoming more convinced that it’s well past time for me to dump the job and find something else to do.

It occurred to me that the domination extends not only into the natural world, it’s in full play on a corporate level too. 

I caught between two very different worlds and a minimalist approach is only appreciated in one of those worlds.

Even the noise of traffic is an expression of domination. Sure there’s the noise of cars rolling by on the two major roads near my apartment. But there are, at regular intervals the really obnoxiously loud cars and motorcycles that are purposely modified to be loud. Call it a person screaming I AM HERE BITCHES! at 1am then they accelerate away so no-one can catch them or call the police.

Loud motors on a racetrack make sense, you want every single bit of power an engine can produce. Loud motors in a residential neighborhood is essentially just pissing on everyone you wake up. I honestly doubt the perpetrators give a thought to the fact that for 30 minutes after they’ve passed every dog in the affected area is barking too.

I come to the mountain, and mostly things are entirely different. It’s quiet I know my neighbors, crazy as some of them are, there’s a sense of community.

It’s this realization that’s leading me more to the conclusion that I can’t stay in San Diego.

In fact It’s making me consider abandoning the more densely populated states altogether.

I’ve thought for years that I didn’t like people. I think it’s more likely I like people just fine. I don’t like crowds of people and prefer to be with like-minded individuals. Folks that appreciate nature and the world around them realizing that nature can’t be dominated.

For now, I’m going to enjoy the autumn light and the chill of the day.

Hope you have a nice day as well.

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Ya Know…

Ok so there’s been all this hubbub about Christine Blasey Ford’s accusation that Brett Kavanaugh did something sexual to her 30 years ago.

If the woman was raped I’m sorry about that, rape is always inexcusable.

That being said, the fact that she’s so fuzzy about the event gives me pause.

Before you get your undergarments in a twist because after all “HOW COULD A MAN know anything about abuse or harassment?”

I can tell you I do.

I clearly remember being 18 years old. I was working my second job at a typesetting house.

The bosses wife was one of the head honchos. Her name was Carolyn. She smoked like a house on fire and always had the stench of bad booze about her. She was thin, almost skeletal. I remember her hair was never attractively styled and she called me “Dumbshit” from day one until day 58 when I walked out of that office never to return.

I learned some interesting things while working at that company, so it wasn’t a total loss. Some of those skills have served me well throughout my career.

But I have a very clear memory of her walking up to me about an hour before quitting time. She said, “Dumbshit, we’re behind so I need you to work overtime tonight.”

I said, “Sure thing,” and asked if I could use the office phone to call my mom to let her know I wouldn’t be at dinner.

The call made, I went about my work, I said goodnight to the other workers, and Carolyn’s husband, as they left.

I kept the machines I was responsible for churning out their galleys. Each galley I took over to the light table and cut into the appropriate lengths so that they could be mounted to photo boards.

I was also cutting and pasting edited lines into the completed galleys while keeping an eye on my machines.

Yes, we were busy and behind and I was happily using new skills and doing the best job I knew  how to do.

Carolyn called me into her blacked out office. I knocked on her closed door and waited for her to tell me to come in. She often was doing titles on a small film system.

In those days we didn’t have scalable fonts or the ability to print a PDF and send it directly to a typesetting machine. You had to create a title, character by character by exposing a film strip. Then you used black & white photo development to create the title line.  After that, you measured and manually pasted the title line into the galley.

So, if her door was closed, you knocked and waited for her to secure whatever title she might have been working on, otherwise you would incur her wrath because opening the door would destroy whatever she’d been working on.

There was a muffled “Come in”

I opened the door, walked in and asked her how I could help.

She said, “You’ve been catching on quickly Dumbshit. But not quite as quickly as I’d like. To make it up to me I want you to fuck me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, FUCK ME or your FIRED.”

I very clearly recall my brain rebooting.

I also recall feeling humiliated, and embarrassed, I was deeply hurt because I had been doing everything she asked and was keeping up with her output.

We were behind due to several machine malfunctions on the other side of the house where the typists were doing the input. The IBM technician had ordered parts but they’d been slow to get to the West Coast.

Granted I’d made some mistakes but I’d always stayed late to rectify them so that we’d start fresh in the morning.

I was completely unprepared for this ultimatum.

And I was conflicted. Conflicted because I was an 18 year old male. A stiff breeze could make me hard.

I looked forward to getting home each and every night to stroke my dick. This condition of terminal horniness wasn’t helped at all by the fact that the company had taken on a big contract from a publisher called Penguin Press.

Penguin Press at the time published a lot of pornographic stories. Imagine an 18 year old male scanning the pages of graphic porn while at work and that was his job.

Needless to say I’d taken to wearing looser pants, not because I was ashamed of being hard (I was) but because tight pants were just plain uncomfortable.

So here I was, hornier than hell all the time and there’s this woman telling me she wants me to fuck her. That was the first time in my life a woman had ever said she wanted my dick. It wasn’t until I was in my mid 20s that I heard a woman I was dating tell me she wanted to get naked and have me inside her.

But looking at Carolyn, her cigarette ash hanging from the latest in the chain of cigarettes in her mouth, I thought, “I’d really like to fuck. I’d really like to get off, but with the bosses wife? Is that a good idea? What happens if he finds out about it?”

Then I looked at her again. She’d been pretty once, but that ship had sailed years ago. Now Carolyn looked haggard and her personality was throughly unpleasant.

The part of my brain that so wanted to fuck, whispered, “Do it, close your eyes and pound her, it’s a free pass, no dinner, no begging, no promises to respect her or love her. It’s just a pussy that wants to be plowed.”

The rational part of my brain said, “Whoa there cowboy. Down this path is slavery. If you do this once she’ll use the threat again. She’ll add the threat that she’ll tell her husband you fucked her and she’ll probably suggest that you were the one that initiated it. All in all, a bad outcome for you.  Besides you can’t lie worth a shit. What are you going to say to your mom  when she asks you how work was. What are you going to say? It was great mom, I fucked the bosses wife.”

The fuckhead part of my brain suggested, “Fuck her then quit, you don’t want to jerk off again tonight. you want to blow thrusting and hot and wet.”

The rational part of me asked, “What about pregnancy?”

That was the question that made my decision easier.

In my heart of hearts, I absolutely knew that I didn’t want to even risk having a baby with the nasty piece of work that Carolyn was.

I knew that I wasn’t paying rent, I knew that while I was living at home I had the ability to quit this job, I knew that I didn’t want to risk having a baby with this woman.

So I said, “OK then, Goodbye.”

I grabbed my backpack and walked out the door. I never looked back but was frustrated and angry. Too angry to wait on the fucking bus. So I started walking. a couple of hours later when I got home my mom said, “I thought you were going to call me when you were done.”

“Um yeah mom, I just felt like walking.”

My Mom is a wise woman who knows her children well.

“Okay, honey what happened?”

I related the story and at the end, my Mother was shaking with anger.

“Honey, you did the right thing. I put up with that shit while you were growing up. Here we are in 1979 and people still think they can get away with it. It was wrong when I was a single mom and executives thought they could bully their way into my panties, it’s just as wrong now that some woman thinks they can take advantage of you.”

My mom put a big pile of spaghetti on a plate for me, then handed me a beer. “Here sweetie eat something but don’t drink all the beer in the fridge.”

She left the room and I remember hearing the tires of her car chirp as she hit the pavement leaving the driveway.

I wondered at the time if she’d even catch Carolyn at the office.

I ate, drank my beer, rinsed my plate and put it in the dishwasher.

I went to my room, took off my clothes and jerked off a couple of times then fell asleep.

The next morning, I heard the normal morning sounds of my younger siblings being rushed to school.

After the house quieted, I got up. I was hungry, so I pulled on a pair of shorts and wandered to the kitchen.

There on the table was a cereal bowl, my favorite cereal, the newspaper and a check from the company for the week I’d worked and an additional 2 months pay.

I still recall the details vividly. Time has not diminished the memory of that humiliation and I doubt it ever will.

I was fortunate, I had someone who was in my corner. I had my Mom, she’d been through it. She knew what I was feeling and also knew there was very little she could do to make it better. But she got me my paycheck and bought me some time to get another job.

While my story is not nearly as sever or traumatic as rape. It is illustrative of the clarity that comes with some situations.

I recognize that women are far more likely to be abused than men, when they are abused, they rarely have a support system to fall back on. But the women I’ve known who have been raped, and  or abused are never fuzzy about the details.

They’re very clear and they can tell you grizzly details of their assault 40 or 50 years on.

So you’ll pardon me if I’m somewhat skeptical of Dr. Ford’s allegations thus far. We’ll have to wait and see what her testimony reveals.

And just because Kavanaugh might have been at the same party, doesn’t automatically mean he sexually assaulted her.

Hell if being at a party where an assault happened is the only test, then I might also be guilty using the same broad brush strokes.

Shit happens, it’s bad, of that there is no doubt. But bringing up something that happened 30 years ago just because someone is famous seems a bit contrived doesn’t it?

After the bad shit happens, the best you can do is deal with it and move on. That’s what I’ve learned from rape and harassment victims that I’ve known in my life.

That’s what I’ve done.

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Is this all there is?

I guess most people find themselves asking that question from time to time.

I’ve been asking it a lot lately. I suppose I’m luckier than some in that I’ve got a job and a home. But what I’m doing is so unfulfilling that perhaps I’m asking that question a little bit more than usual these days.

The unspoken part of the question is, “What would your prefer, if not what you have?”

(C) DKendal

That’s the really had part of the question.

What would I like to do in place of what I’m doing? The obvious answer, is being wealthy and not having to work.

Back here on Planet Earth…

We need to work, honestly we need something to keep us busy.

I get that, but shouldn’t something we spend so much time doing at least make us feel good about having done the job?

That’s the problem I’m having. The job I’m in is menial at best. There’s little thought that needs to go into it anymore. The issues can be categorized into really one of 6 or 7 common problems. Everyone describes their problem in the most obtuse manner and at first listen, it sounds very complicated. After you cut away all the bullshit the problems people contact us about always fall into the same 6 or 7 categories.

Hence the problem. Boredom

On a larger scale, beyond just the job I’m not doing a lot of the things that I used to do. Part of that is income related, part of it is friendship related, and part of it is simply that I’m tired.

I had expectations that at this point in my life I’d be winding down and charting my course for retirement.

Whoops!

Guess that plan is shot to hell.

I thought that even if I was heading to retirement I’d at least be doing something that I generally liked doing and if I put off the retirement date a couple of years I’d still be happy doing the job.

What I couldn’t see was the extended unemployment, and finally landing a job at a truly awful place that bores the crap out of me.

Try as I might, finding another job has gotten much harder. I’m wondering if it is due to my age, or if it’s just that California is played out.

Could be a bit of both… or Neither. I don’t have an endless network of friends to bounce those kinds of ideas off of.

What I do know is that it’s getting harder and harder for me to get up, get dressed, and come into this shitty place every morning.

Of course the fear is that “THIS” kind of mind numbing boredom is all there is. God, if that’s true… take me now.

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Stuff that makes you say Humm…

Had the opportunity… well, maybe not opportunity so much as fell into it, to read a lot of my previous blog posts.

It was an interesting and telling experience.

I’m a lot “Darker” over the past 2 years than I was even when I was out of work.

Even being out of work, I still had hope and I was fighting to maintain that hope and better my situation.

Now I’m plainly disinterested.

Yes I’m working… but the job and demands of that job are draining. I have little hope, I’ve got income, but not enough to advance. Advancement in the organization I work for is non-existent. Clearly without advancement there will be no greater income aside from lousy 2% annual raises.

There other thing I’ve noticed is that over the last two years, I’ve not been creative. I’m bored by this job, and by the people I interact with. That boredom is evident in my writing and like many other things is a wake-up call that I need a change.

It’s not like I haven’t known this for some time. It’s just interesting to notice the change over time as chronicled in the blog.

Comfortably NumbOver the past couple of years, I’ve been feeling “numb”, so numb and isolated that I’ve actually lost the desire to interact with anyone or anything.

Granted in this age it’s easy to become distracted and isolated. Our overuse of technology makes that all too easy. But when all you have to look forward to is a never ending stream of sameness, I think you become “numb” just to keep the frustration in check.

I gotta shake things up, and nobody is going to make that happen for me… Except ME!

On a social front I’m trapped by my job and obligations to be elsewhere so in the immediate future there’s nothing I can change. I can however start carving out time for myself. Nothing major, just an hour here or there.

On the job front I must get out there and find a new job even if that means putting up with a thousand morons who are just trying to “SPAM” my resume all over town. Ideally, finding something interesting, even if it’s only temporary would be better than where I am now.

What’s the saying? Definition of the problem is the first step in solving the problem.