All too often I get off of work late at night only hurry to my local coffee shop and lay some bullshit stories out for the poor guy running the counter. The Taylor kid suggested I write some crap online, embellish things, then $$$. I just remembered I had this blog where I bitched mostly about my Mother but hadn't updated it in a year. I don't know where the money comes in, but here's some tales of The Dude Named Vince.
I was routing around the back of the work fridge and found a bunch of water bottles I bought and left there a few months back. They piled up in the bottom tray and were ignored during fridge cleanings. I was really thirsty, so I grabbed a bottle and tried to twist off the cap to no avail. The things was bulging out, super pressurized, I would not come off. I gave it to a few people to try and open but nobody, not even a girl, could open it. A coworker, Michael, decided that releasing the pressure would make the task easier. He shoved a syringe into the side with an audible snap. The cap still wouldn't twist off but the stupid bottle was leaking now. I held the bottle sideways to prevent it from getting water all over my stuff and occasionally held the hole up to my face and squeezed a small stream of water out. Just hearing the sound, Michael commented that it made him want to take a piss. Walking around the office I kneeled next to Ludwig and whispered to him, "Do you know what it sounds like when I piss into peoples' mouths?" He made a face of disgust and gave me a dirty look. While looking him in the eye I squeezed the bottle into my open mouth, echoing the sound of peeing into a toilet. He was totally freaked out as I walked away to wander around the hospital a bit more.
Feb 18, 2012
Nov 22, 2010
Skittering Thoughts
I've been whining in the past about my lack of companionship, but recent event have come to light that I had forgot about until now. A girl or two have tried to hug me at work and I've had incidental brushes against various people lately. It seems I forgot how much I cringe when people touch me. I've somehow forgotten how much I hate to be touched, but its still there. All those little details about me I ignored when I melted away into the military are beginning to resurface, parts of myself I've hidden away for whatever reasons. Ever since I was young I shied away from physical contact, but I'd learned that telling people you don't want to be touched just caused them to want to tough you all the more. In a self-discovery phase in the hazy period around college I started to hug everyone I knew when saying hello. To conquer a fear of touching, I think. But then it was Air Force time, and they don't appreciate gay stuff like hugs in the armed forces. So hear I am. Nearly thirty and incredibly uptight whenever anyone comes to close to me.
Sep 16, 2010
A Fractured Summation Upon "Wholes and Holes"
Years ago in my lost and drunken odyssey after college I had a discussion with my ex-roommate and current friend Matt. I believe I wrote it down in a lost notebook, so please forgive me if I can't quite remember the details. "Wholes and Holes" was a sloppy pun relating two extreme type of people. Holes are people with a profound sense of lacking in their lives at a sub-conscious level. Being weak willed and needy they sought out their opposite, a 'whole person', to help fill the void in their souls. The total sum of one Whole and one Hole was half a person between two individuals. We concluded it was better to become a Whole person if one managed to avoid the empty Holes of the world. This conclusion was based upon the belief that such a thing as a 'Whole person' existed, which I now believe isn't so.
The Human Condition is horrible indeed and all people have holes within themselves that leads to a hunger for specific intangibles: Love, Respect, Adoration, Safety and Security, among others. The key is a need for the intangible, something one cannot hold or view. We can see through Maslow's Pyramid that as basic needs are met an individuals' attention scales up to the intangible. It can be argued that this hunger is the will that drives humans and these needs are the core of what it is to be human. What I once thought of as a Whole person, one essentially satiating every one of their needs, would be an unchanging, homeostatic state akin to death.
In essence, all living people are filled with an emptiness we are compelled to fill to relieve the tension caused by existence, this is the Human Condition as near as I can define it. The essential question an individual need ponder is the method one goes about filling their voids. Once I thought it foolish to depend upon others for our needs, but as communal creatures, to deny man's need to depend upon others is to deny his nature. All of us entered this world at our most vulnerable, the first first thing we require as newborns is Love at its most primal: food and body heat from our mothers' breast. Denying our reliance on others is equivalent to denying our most basic needs, and thus accepting our deaths.
Perhaps this 'lesson' is of a private sort, me just clearing the cobwebs between my ears. For the longest time I've hardened myself to others, striving to need no one but myself, to put no other before myself, but to that end I'm slowly becoming the male equivalent of a crone. Often it's been preached that seeking help is weak, but it's what we are meant to do. Perhaps the only thing left to consider is the method we choose to satisfy our appetites. That however plays into ethics and morality and is another matter entirely.
Just keep in mind: the living must hunger, and to be human is to suffer.
The Human Condition is horrible indeed and all people have holes within themselves that leads to a hunger for specific intangibles: Love, Respect, Adoration, Safety and Security, among others. The key is a need for the intangible, something one cannot hold or view. We can see through Maslow's Pyramid that as basic needs are met an individuals' attention scales up to the intangible. It can be argued that this hunger is the will that drives humans and these needs are the core of what it is to be human. What I once thought of as a Whole person, one essentially satiating every one of their needs, would be an unchanging, homeostatic state akin to death.
In essence, all living people are filled with an emptiness we are compelled to fill to relieve the tension caused by existence, this is the Human Condition as near as I can define it. The essential question an individual need ponder is the method one goes about filling their voids. Once I thought it foolish to depend upon others for our needs, but as communal creatures, to deny man's need to depend upon others is to deny his nature. All of us entered this world at our most vulnerable, the first first thing we require as newborns is Love at its most primal: food and body heat from our mothers' breast. Denying our reliance on others is equivalent to denying our most basic needs, and thus accepting our deaths.
Perhaps this 'lesson' is of a private sort, me just clearing the cobwebs between my ears. For the longest time I've hardened myself to others, striving to need no one but myself, to put no other before myself, but to that end I'm slowly becoming the male equivalent of a crone. Often it's been preached that seeking help is weak, but it's what we are meant to do. Perhaps the only thing left to consider is the method we choose to satisfy our appetites. That however plays into ethics and morality and is another matter entirely.
Just keep in mind: the living must hunger, and to be human is to suffer.
Sep 4, 2010
The Long, Melancholic Road Through Madness
I remember the first time I came to the realization that I was a very depressed person. It was in my old military days, studying a foreign language in the service of our country. A psychological screen on your profile was a total black mark on your profile, something to be avoided, and I pondered that for weeks before giving in to all the postings and briefings about depression we were made to sit through. I was falling behind in class. I was falling behind in physical training. I was growing sick within both body and soul. No one noticed, everyone was looking out for themselves and I was very good at masking myself due to the way I was raised. Growing up every look, every emotion was questioned until my natural face was blank. People think they're good at spotting liars and fakers, which makes them blind to it.
Taking the advice of the generic instructional videos and the monthly visit from the Chaplain I went to Chaplin Services to 'talk to someone who cares'. But I didn't have an appointment, so one was made and I came back in a week. He's busy today, may you come back next week? Week two after the breaking point and he was attending to urgent matters over a sick Airman. Week three or four, I forget how long it took, I walked out of his office slightly less depressed and infinitely more angered. I trudged on, making snide comments from back rows, studying nearly every waking moment under advisement from my superiors, all for the sake of... what?
They booted me from class while I was on bed rest from a mysterious illness. When I reported to grounds keeping duty and had my report card mailed to me, a B average. More sick call, confined to a small dorm room, and all I had was a small ball of hate growing inside me. I crafted 5-point letters railing against my school and instructors, petitioning my commanding officers about the indignation of my failure. I drank in my off-hours and unabashedly railed against people to the delight of others.
Sorrow and rage brewed in me like a slow venom, eating through my stomach and bowels. I had my way and was allowed to return to class, sicker, meaner. Anger and parasites brewed inside me as I sat through classes I'd already taken, but no one minded or cared. Argued with others needlessly and mocked people who didn't deserve it. I was vomiting constantly, but the clinic refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong. Perhaps the worst memory I harbor is nearly throwing up on the last woman I was intimate with, thoughts of love, of sex, permanently marred by the taste and burn of bile.
Like the Chaplin, I went to the clinic several times to seek help. This time I was called a liar and a faker for choosing such an unremarkable affliction. If my leg had hurt I'd receive vicodin and a free pass from afternoon exercise. Eventually I was given anti nausea pills whose side effects included chemical fueled nightmares. They stopped working and finally, when blood followed with the bile, I was seen by a doctor. The final medicant was essentially a pesticide. Reduced to a quivering, fevering mess I only slept with the door open, actually fearful of what would happen in my sleep. Purged of my ailment, the hate remained. It sat there, perhaps in the pit the bugs had burrowed into my stomach, festering and fermenting.
I flowed through the next years as in a stupor. Returning to Basic Training to learn how to fly? Nothing. Camping and mock torture in Survival School? Nothing. Being sent to Afghanistan, not fully trained? Nothing, both times.
I question where I'm at now. I feel empty and hollow, not quite the person I once was. Returning from the military to finish my education, those close to me comment how much I've changed with the passage of time. They say it like a compliment, as I maintain a blank face.
Taking the advice of the generic instructional videos and the monthly visit from the Chaplain I went to Chaplin Services to 'talk to someone who cares'. But I didn't have an appointment, so one was made and I came back in a week. He's busy today, may you come back next week? Week two after the breaking point and he was attending to urgent matters over a sick Airman. Week three or four, I forget how long it took, I walked out of his office slightly less depressed and infinitely more angered. I trudged on, making snide comments from back rows, studying nearly every waking moment under advisement from my superiors, all for the sake of... what?
They booted me from class while I was on bed rest from a mysterious illness. When I reported to grounds keeping duty and had my report card mailed to me, a B average. More sick call, confined to a small dorm room, and all I had was a small ball of hate growing inside me. I crafted 5-point letters railing against my school and instructors, petitioning my commanding officers about the indignation of my failure. I drank in my off-hours and unabashedly railed against people to the delight of others.
Sorrow and rage brewed in me like a slow venom, eating through my stomach and bowels. I had my way and was allowed to return to class, sicker, meaner. Anger and parasites brewed inside me as I sat through classes I'd already taken, but no one minded or cared. Argued with others needlessly and mocked people who didn't deserve it. I was vomiting constantly, but the clinic refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong. Perhaps the worst memory I harbor is nearly throwing up on the last woman I was intimate with, thoughts of love, of sex, permanently marred by the taste and burn of bile.
Like the Chaplin, I went to the clinic several times to seek help. This time I was called a liar and a faker for choosing such an unremarkable affliction. If my leg had hurt I'd receive vicodin and a free pass from afternoon exercise. Eventually I was given anti nausea pills whose side effects included chemical fueled nightmares. They stopped working and finally, when blood followed with the bile, I was seen by a doctor. The final medicant was essentially a pesticide. Reduced to a quivering, fevering mess I only slept with the door open, actually fearful of what would happen in my sleep. Purged of my ailment, the hate remained. It sat there, perhaps in the pit the bugs had burrowed into my stomach, festering and fermenting.
I flowed through the next years as in a stupor. Returning to Basic Training to learn how to fly? Nothing. Camping and mock torture in Survival School? Nothing. Being sent to Afghanistan, not fully trained? Nothing, both times.
I question where I'm at now. I feel empty and hollow, not quite the person I once was. Returning from the military to finish my education, those close to me comment how much I've changed with the passage of time. They say it like a compliment, as I maintain a blank face.
Aug 23, 2010
Finding a Home
It's been a rough few weeks with no real respite in sight, but spirits are high on prospects and anticipation.
I've ditched my current roommate and, despite a diminished budget, found and moved into an apartment of my own. My parents happened to be moving at the same time and gave me some much needed furniture and an afternoon's use of a rental van. Its been hard work but pretty rewarding considering it all. For the first time in nearly a decade I have a place I can call home. Aside from the military, which was never a home to me, I've been flopping out at various apparments and townhouses for eight years.
And now the school year begins. I have Junior-year meetings to bore through on my precious days off, while my High School Reunion is scheduled for October. Two drawbacks to that is I'm exactly where I was when High School ended a decade ago and the only people I would want to get it touch with at a reunion definately aren't going.
I suppose its my fault, I told most everyone in my classes I'd never see them again and only kept in contact with people I would actually hang out with in real life. I don't have the problem of fake ex-friends who still want life updates after half your life has passed without a word from them. I wonder if College reunions are anything like this? I know sure as shit I'm not going to my military reunion, even if I actually like alot of those guys.
So now the deal is hanging out with teenagers, not because I'm creepy (which I am), but because I've started my rounds in the lab sciences. Freshmen classes to the very last of them. I'll be taking Biology when I'm 30. Again.
But such is life. Wierd, complicated, and unwieldy.
I've ditched my current roommate and, despite a diminished budget, found and moved into an apartment of my own. My parents happened to be moving at the same time and gave me some much needed furniture and an afternoon's use of a rental van. Its been hard work but pretty rewarding considering it all. For the first time in nearly a decade I have a place I can call home. Aside from the military, which was never a home to me, I've been flopping out at various apparments and townhouses for eight years.
And now the school year begins. I have Junior-year meetings to bore through on my precious days off, while my High School Reunion is scheduled for October. Two drawbacks to that is I'm exactly where I was when High School ended a decade ago and the only people I would want to get it touch with at a reunion definately aren't going.
I suppose its my fault, I told most everyone in my classes I'd never see them again and only kept in contact with people I would actually hang out with in real life. I don't have the problem of fake ex-friends who still want life updates after half your life has passed without a word from them. I wonder if College reunions are anything like this? I know sure as shit I'm not going to my military reunion, even if I actually like alot of those guys.
So now the deal is hanging out with teenagers, not because I'm creepy (which I am), but because I've started my rounds in the lab sciences. Freshmen classes to the very last of them. I'll be taking Biology when I'm 30. Again.
But such is life. Wierd, complicated, and unwieldy.
Apr 11, 2010
So I'm a Monrning Person
I've been a morning person since highschool. I was a nerd who took zero-hour classes before anyone else was on campus and can't for the life of me sleep in, much less take a nap while the sun's out. Blame it on my sun sign (Leo) or my tropical genetics, but I'm a permanent Day Walker. So please forgive me when I drag ass when the sun goes down. I've been getting scheduled for evenings more at work, and it looks like the loads just going to increase. It's not that bad as a whole- the supervisors cut out before 4pm and there's an incentive bonus for it, but man am I a wuss. I don't even set my alarm clock cause there's no way in hell I'd oversleep, I'm usually passed out by (I'm guessing here) one or two in the morning. Luckily my classes won't be affected so whatever.
I don't know about other people but I swear the body and mind goes through a shift between the day time and the night time. It's like the weird, artsy parts of the brain fire more in the absence of the sun. Conversations seem alot better at night, whether or not wine and liquor are involved, but that's just me. It's just I can't get my goddamned work or study done when those parts of my brain fire. That and the droopy eyes and staring intensely at random things doesn't help my personality. Maybe I'll shut up and do something a bit more constructive.
I don't know about other people but I swear the body and mind goes through a shift between the day time and the night time. It's like the weird, artsy parts of the brain fire more in the absence of the sun. Conversations seem alot better at night, whether or not wine and liquor are involved, but that's just me. It's just I can't get my goddamned work or study done when those parts of my brain fire. That and the droopy eyes and staring intensely at random things doesn't help my personality. Maybe I'll shut up and do something a bit more constructive.
Apr 9, 2010
A Dating Shtick
So I'm talking to a girl I've known since Jr. High, Stephanie, on Face Book and because its me it turns into a whiny bitch-fest. She hates her job, I hate being in college for too long. She broke up with an alcoholioc loser, I gave up on dating awhile ago. All this is thru IMs, so its like a two hour conversation. She finishes bitching about her friend-with-benefits and asks me out. I politely decline, saying I wouldn't mind hanging out sometime, but I'm thinking: "NOOOO! That's cheating!"
All the stuff I told her was pretty much the truth, most of it embarassing, but dating has nothing to do with the truth. It's all about guys lying to get into a girl's pants. It's in the refractory periods, when a guy's blood is rushing from one head to the other, that he can't keep his act straight and the lies unreveal, that the truth comes out. Girls, you want a guy to tell you the truth, fuck his brains out.
I just don't get dating: I think you're cute, so I spend money one you, because giving the money directly to you is prostitution and that's illegal. Eventually I knock you up, or you nag me into proposing, but eventually we break up cause we really hate each other. Who the hell invented this anyways?
All the stuff I told her was pretty much the truth, most of it embarassing, but dating has nothing to do with the truth. It's all about guys lying to get into a girl's pants. It's in the refractory periods, when a guy's blood is rushing from one head to the other, that he can't keep his act straight and the lies unreveal, that the truth comes out. Girls, you want a guy to tell you the truth, fuck his brains out.
I just don't get dating: I think you're cute, so I spend money one you, because giving the money directly to you is prostitution and that's illegal. Eventually I knock you up, or you nag me into proposing, but eventually we break up cause we really hate each other. Who the hell invented this anyways?
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