Not Much To Say

I haven’t written here in a month, which is surprising since I usually go through a diary withdrawal within two or three weeks. But this time it has been a little different. I haven’t felt like my old, nostalgic self in quite a while. Part of that is just stress. Another part of it is just plain old depression. Ever since the robbery back in January, I feel like I’m just grinding gears in every aspect of my life. There’s been no progress in anything on all fronts. Work still sucks. My dad, although done with chemo and radiation treatments, is still fighting cancer. And I’m still finding solace only in the bosom of the roller derby community. As the t-shirt says, “Roller derby is life…everything else pretty much blows.” There have been days where I’ve literally found it difficult to get out of bed. At that point, the furthest thing from my mind is writing. I’ve been checking in on my faves here and there, but haven’t been leaving many notes. Some of you have some fantastic things going on and my heart often winds up full of envy reading about it all. It’s not a pretty frame of mind to be in, let me tell ya. So I’ve been staying away, biding my time until I have something positive to say. Maybe this ain’t the time, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m tired of fighting for what’s right at work. Tired of trying to put on a happy face for the wife. And I’m tired of my own pessimism. I used to have goals. I wonder what happened to them. Maybe writing here again is the only answer I’ve got. It’s certainly better than sitting here feeling sorry for myself.

I tried to get the ball rolling for me in several ways and, at each step, Lynn put the kibosh on my plans. A nearby store needed a receiving associate and I was going to apply for it, but she felt it would be too much of a strain on my back (which, in her defense, is in dicey condition right now). But she forgets that as I’m waiting for whatever the next big thing is, I’m lifting merchandise as I always have. It’s obvious I’m dealing with some sort of pinched nerve thing since both attacks occurred when I was at home and wasn’t lifting anything. So if it’s that, there’s not a lot I can do but take some ibuprofen and pray it doesn’t happen again. It’s what us working stiffs do. Why not do it and get paid better for it?

I also thought about volunteering for a non-profit organization that refurbishes old computers for low income families just to get some more tech experience under my belt. I’ve never been a classroom sort of guy and we just don’t have the money for me to go back to school to learn the computer stuff I don’t already know. This organization could offer me the skills and connections I would need to get into the field. The only thing I would have to put forth is my time. But this line of reasoning escaped my wife. Why work and not get paid? And it was viewed as an inconvenience to her as it would collide with some crafty thing she does one Saturday per month. And, as she explained to me, shes “already sacrificed so much in her life”. In the end, I just gave up trying to convince her it would pay off in the long run. I don’t even bring it up anymore.

The real bad spell came about a week or two ago when I totally fell in love with David Nadelberg’s series of Mortified books, which are basically collections of people’s teenage diaries prepared and or/read by their adult counterparts. More than anything else I’ve read lately, these two books truly spoke to me and put me in a healthier frame of mind concerning my past. Before reading them, I pretty much considered my teenage years as one long and humiliating experience reading Mortified and Mortified: Love Is A Battlefield taught me one undeniable truth: raging teenage hormones make kids do and say stupid shit. I had been no different in that regard and, even though I didn’t know it at the time, all of my experiences in the 1980s were pretty much universal among my peers. In a nutshell, I was your average teenage kid. Situation normal, thank you very much. But this was a revelation to me and I wanted to pass the info along. I saw Moritifed was looking to start up chapters in any city willing to put on a show and I thought Lynn and I would be perfect for the job with all of our ‘zine experience in the 90s. We even have connections for a venue from our poetry reading days as well as our current associations with the roller derby community. All we would need to do is search out the material and shape in for a live audience, something I feel we’re both capable of doing with the help of one or two more people. But when I brought it up, you would’ve thought I’d been talking in Swahili judging by Lynn’s reaction. “I don’t get what you’re saying. You mean I would have to meet people? Forget it.” So I did, but deep down I was disappointed in her reaction. I mean, this is a woman who is involved with countless journaling networks and loves all of those things like Found and PostSecret, and I thought it was something we could get involved with together. I thought it would also be something I could feel good about doing, regardless of the cost or lack of pay. Obviously, I was wrong about everything. Instead, all I got out of it was a regret that I had even brought it up in the first place. I guess being nostalgic will only get you so far in life.

Don’t get me wrong. There have been a few high points in the last month or so. Since they arrested that suspect in Fishers, IN back in March, there have been no further robbery attempts on any of our area stores. That certainly cuts down on the anxiety level a bit.

The roller derby community continues to embrace me for my comments on the message boards. I had people coming up to me left and right at the last bout, introducing themselves and commenting how much they like my recaps. I had a chance to get on air for the WIBC podcast, but passed on it because I think it means more to them that I actually sit back and listen to what they have to say. I’m a quiet observer and a couple of them have made comments on how “solid” they think that is. And I’m glad that I’ve become sort of a minor celebrity in this little circle for being myself. That’s more of a reward than I could’ve ever hoped for, believe me.

And today Lynn and I just hung around at the house until 5 p.m., then headed down the street to a friend’s house for a cookout. It was a quiet day that was much needed as searching for the next set of answers over the last few weeks has started to take a toll on us as a couple. Almost sixteen years of this has taught me we’ll get through it like we always do, but I’m at a point where I just can’t take struggling for said answers any more. They either come naturally, or they don’t. In the meantime, I just want to find something to keep me occupied and happy. If that’s volunteering or setting up a spoken word show, so be it. It’s not like I’m getting a full forty hours a week at work anyway, so I might as well put the time into something I can feel good about. But some people feel differently about that and I can’t change their minds. In which case, they need to tell me what they want my next move to be. Like I said, I don’t have that kind of fight left in meanymore. My mental health is now my number one priority. Everything else can just suck it as far as I’m concerned. It’s pretty much all bullshit anyway, right?

—-

“Rumbleseat”***
by John Mellencamp

All the leaves are green
All my friends are gone
I’m livin’ in my hometown
I can barely get along
I feel sorry for myself
That’s an easy thing to do
I feel sorry for the world
I feel sorry for you
Yes I am a pitiful sight
I can’t even get one thing right

I know just what it’s like
To be a rider ridin’ in the rumbleseat
Yes I know just what it’s like
To be a big time rider in the rumbleseat

Well I could have a nervous breakdown
But I don’t believe in shrinks
I should be drunker than a monkey
But I don’t like to drink
I could call up some girls
But I’m afraid of the phone
I’m always talkin’ to myself
I guess I’m never alone
Am I the only one that feels this way
I’d buy myself some stylish clothes
But I sure hate to pay

I know just what it’s like
To be a rider ridin’ in the rumbleseat
Yes I know just what it’s like
To be a big time rider in the rumbleseat

The sun is coming up
Just goin’ to bed
I combed my hair with my pillow
Still got some dreams left
Tomorrow is a new day
Gonna make these dreams come true
I’m gonna believe in myself
I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do
I’m gonna stop puttin’ myself down
I’m gonna turn my life around

I’ll be ridin’ high
With my feet kicked up in the rumbleseat
Yeah we’ll go for a drive
And we’ll be singin’ shotgun from that rumbleseat
Yes I’ll blow you a kiss
And we’ll be ridin’ big time in my rumbleseat

—-

***This has always been one of my favorite Mellencamp tunes. The second verse is me through and through. Over twenty years later, it still hits too close to home.