Aspiring Novelist

June 12, 2020

“Looking out a dirty old window…”

There was an article I read once that said that we tend to rewatch movies and tv shows we’ve already seen because there are no unknowns and in that knowledge it brings us a sense of comfort. I subconsciously knew that before I had read the article but it was nice to get confirmation. My whole life I’ve rewatched the shit out of films. I would drive my father crazy with how many times I viewed Jurassic Park or Beauty and the Beast. “How can you watch them so many times?” Because they’re awesome, dad.

Lately things have been rough. For everyone unfortunately. And some more than others. Today I had had enough with twitter. I can’t take all the news, the protests, and the outrage. It’s exhausting. (And I understand that’s coming from a place of privilege.) So, I took a step back today from the social media platform for the foreseeable future or whenever I get the urge to be angry again.

Lately my rage has been off the charts. My husband is scared what it’s doing to me and to him. He’s concerned that I’m a rageaholic and he’s not wrong. I relish the power it gives me, even if it’s fleeting and makes me look and sound insane. I am by nature a control freak. I took that old adage of “if you want something done right…” very seriously to heart. And right now I have NO CONTROL over the world and where it’s going. Everyday it’s something new and more upsetting/terrifying than the moment prior. Twitter, unfortunately, magnifies this, which stands to reason that stepping away lessens its hold.

Tonight as a way of coping I jumped onto Netflix and rewatched one of my all time favorite movies, Clueless. The moment the music of “Kids in America” crescendos through the speakers and I hear the first pieces of Cher’s dialogue I was overcome with peace. I found myself quoting it even though my last rewatch was when I was 14. (I’m 34 btw.) It brought back so many memories of my youth, a time I wish I could go back and recapture.

I was once again hooked.

As the bright neon end credits consumed the screen, to the tune of “Tenderness,” all I wanted to do was watch it again. Immediately. Which I did.

The bizarre thing was, as it started back at the beginning, I began to devise ways to have this movie constantly playing in my orbit, like a slow drip morphine of nostalgia. What I devised was to use my work’s WiFi and just have it playing on my earbuds, as I type up my reports. I’ve seen it so many times that I don’t even have to look at the screen to know what’s goings on. I see the movie in my mind’s eye.

If you’re struggling right now may I recommend taking a moment to watch an old favorite movie or show. Don’t concern yourself with your phone and just sit in the presence of your chosen film and all that comes with it.

May 27, 2020

A Three Step Process to Disbelief

Damn… I have attempted this blog post from multiple angles but for whatever reason none of them have “sparked joy.” So, I deleted them and started again, not looking back. But with each new iteration more personal story came bubbling up to the surface and I felt compelled to continue on.

I was inspired to write because I had read an article about the lead singer of a christian band revealing that he no longer believed in god. It was inspiring and very touching, and some of his words mirrored my own thoughts. Except the journey to how each of us arrived at our conclusion was very different.

His was a lingering sense of the bible not being true, whereas mine was revealed to me step by step until I arrived at the peak of this new way of thinking.

When I met my husband I had lived a very religious life. Up until that point I had even still believed in god, even though I was gay. It was just me carrying the bonds of my former imprisonment. (Brainwashing is hard to undo.)

My husband was the one who shook my faith. He asked me questions, and the one thing Christianity hates is inquiries into the validity of belief. And the answers that are typically offered in response to most are nonsensical and unending self-prophecy. Where the one giving the answer has this overwhelming sense of accomplishment for these “spiritual attacks” and doesn’t see their own bullshit. Except, most people who ask such probing thoughts are not my husband. He is the most antagonistic person I have ever met and has a way of driving you crazy with his interrogations. And to say he made me angry in those early days is an understatement. I truly do not understand how I stuck around or didn’t murder him. Yet it was these mental exercises that put deep cracks in my religious foundation.

The next big step was silly and kind of pathetic looking back…

I was a biblical literalist. I believed that everything that was mentioned in the bible factually and literally happened. It wasn’t meant for interpretation or was used as allegory. It occurred. And so, when I realized that if you could see a man sunbathing on the roof of a building with Google earth, you’d most certainly find a flaming sword guarding the entrance to a mythical garden from whence all life sprung forth. That revelation truly made me doubt everything. Dumb… I know.

The thing that inevitably killed every ounce of lingering faith within me was my mother’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. I couldn’t understand why a woman who had devoted her life to this mystical entity, acted as a “true christian” should, was just given the worst death sentence. My brain tried to comprehend it, like was this a punishment for letting me be faggot? And if that’s so, why would he use my mother as a device to torture me? One of his most faithful. These thoughts led me to my ultimate conclusion that there couldn’t be a god and if there was one he was the biggest asshole, one who didn’t give a shit if you tried or not. He just wanted to know that he could, much like the one in the book of Job.

The last thing I ever told my father, before he died, was that I didn’t believe in god anymore. I outlined the reasons above and he just looked at me silently, with his appraising eyes. He didn’t respond. I wonder now if he started to question it also. At the time, he was in the thick of my mother “losing her mind,” before getting leveled out by medication. I can’t imagine what he felt. (Sidenote, I really do miss him.)

Now I am a staunch atheist. Life to me is just one big accident filled with a lot of cruelty, lacking any reason. It just is what it is.

The lingering religious thoughts come to the surface and said “well that doesn’t seem like a good way to think of life.” And my response to my own ridiculous thoughts is, yes it is. It removes this belief that I have to have my life mean something, or that it’s some sort of test to get to enlightenment, acting all on “faith” that it even exists. So why would I waste the time I have now chasing some figment of imagination. I’d rather just live my days trying to be a good person because it’s the right thing to do, and not because I will receive some awards in the afterlife.

P.S. I also don’t believe in an after life.

May 7, 2020

Bleak Outlook

It’s a bit surreal to go from my mildly optimistic post from yesterday to the one I am about to write now. It’s quite the emotional swing but I can’t take it anymore. Truly. I am over this world and the selfish ways of everyone else. It’s always about “me, me, me, me, me.” (And at times, I am just as guilty. I did a rant video about not getting my refund for a hotel I had booked pre-covid. I have since received it.) But the way others are responding over this virus is insane.

The constant barrage of horrific news, coupled with a brief conversation with my boss’s wife (who breezed through the conspiracy theory bullshit) just put me over the edge. I’m done caring. Why care about other people who don’t give a fuck about themselves? It’s pointless. We step up to the plate to limit the human cost of this virus and all these infants do is bitch and moan and groan that they can’t get a fucking haircut. Or that they have to wear a mask. What was it for?! They obviously don’t care. Nope. It was just a “political ploy” to make some orange fuck face look bad. Even though he does that quite well on his own. The only one who doesn’t see it are the people lapping up the kool-aid he passes out.

Honestly, let’s just go back to the way it was before. Fuck any precautions. Let’s just throw caution to the fuckin wind! I’m ready to watch all of it burn down. I’m done fighting. Just done. People are fucking idiots. And death is inevitable. So I might as well have fun while I can and pray this virus takes out a few of these fuckfaces. Nothing would please me more.

I’m done caring. Done.

PS my mind will probably return to its regularly schedule optimism at a later date…

February 25, 2020

Calming the rage machine

I feel like a broken record when I say “lately I’ve been filled with so much rage.” And that would be because I am and I have. For whatever reason it has been more than I can handle where I fly off the handle over the littlest things. It’s scary for just my mental health and my overall health. It’s interesting to look at my heart rate spiking during the day when I have crazy blow ups.

For the life of me I can’t find what’s fueling it, either because I can’t or I don’t want to. I have yet to ascertain which of the two. All I know for sure is it isn’t good and I need to work on it. Someone always in a blind rage isn’t fun to be around. And I can’t leave myself behind.

One day it came to me that I was angry because I wasn’t doing what I know I should be. And that is editing my book. So far whenever I leave my thoughts behind and delve into story structure and prose it takes me away and leaves me with a calming peace. It’s really quite extraordinary. However even that could be gasoline at times too.

The problem of being an artistic soul is that art doesn’t like criticism. And to edit is to critique and say “this isn’t good.” But over these ten years, I have learned that I have to immediately follow up that negative thought with “but I can fix it.” Then I dive right in and surprise myself by fixing what was wrong. (At least for that moment until I come back and go “why the fuck did I do that?”)

I will finish editing my book. At this point it is the thing that will get me through these moments of anger. Because it is there that I have some control, even while I have none in my mundane life.