The Bostonian Abroad

Sometimes I rummage through the past. I pick out the old pieces and think about what hasn't been in . . . Who I was. Who I became. Who I have become. What I lost. And I realize I rode for more than the reason I had placed before me. And I went down. From my hubris. My abdication. Some things that I have felt. That I have been Never could change. And the road that came after was always harder than I imagined it could be. So now "the springtime of my life's time" has turned the other way. And then some. And I have gone on and lost and lost and gained as well. And I see my journey was more a drifting towards an uncertain future. Pleasure, pain, anger, and the lot, I have endured, carried, and laid down. Because I simply decided to let it go. But ever so less often, things come back to haunt me, in that old familiar way. And I realize My old addiction is still here. Here to stay.

The Duck Dynasty guy who said being gay was a sin and that it was on a par with beastiality was allowed back on his show. Originally, he was suspended for what he said because it was deemed offensive. People lined up on both sides on this issue, some wanting to protest the man's suspension and other wanting to protest against the man's ever returning to the show. What it comes down to is hate speech. Some see it as this and others do not. The ones who say it is hate speech want to protest and boycott the show and anyone who supports what that dude said. Saying that being gay is bad or sinful or unnatural is hate speech and ignorant in these people's eyes. On the other side, you have the people who say that dude has the right to his opinion, that it isn't hateful to think it wrong to be gay, and they say the Constitution protects the right to free speech. So who is right? I have two opinions about this. On the one hand, they are both right. In this day and age, ...

There was a time when I would relish the opportunity to get out on my motorcycle at this time of the year, December, and ride in the cold to prove myself to myself that I am tough or some such ridiculous thing. For a long time, I thought myself tough, wanted to prove it, and kept myself fit for the purpose of proving myself and being invincible, at least in spirit. Then I turned forty. My father died the next day. I broke my leg real bad two months later. I had a major affair. I got divorced. And for some unknown reason, I just don't really want to be tough anymore. I don't see myself that way, nor do I even see any value in seeing myself that way or being that way. If anything, it is a liability. I was a rageaholic for a long time. I got into situations that could have led to my death. I even got charged with assault! Being tough does not work out for me. It works against me. I think I just ran out of steam. I lost the desire to be tough, even remotely. Besides, how ...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE RED SOX HAVE WON BASEBALL'S WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS THE THIRD TIME IN MY LIFETIME I HAVE BEEN LUCKY ENOUGH TO WITNESS A RED SOX WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP, AND LET ME TELL YOU, IT FUCKING ROCKS! WE STARTED OUT THE WORST TEAM IN BASEBALL AFTER LAST YEAR'S DEBACLE. wE GOT BOMBED BY FUCKHEADS IN APRIL, AND WE CAME BACK, BEATING EVERYONE TO BE THE FUCKING WORLD CHAMPIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BOSTON STRONG, BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...

Was listening to songs of old age and loss and realized something, perhaps deep, perhaps obvious. Probably both, which is usually the case: We are meant to lose. Loss is our refusal to accept that nothing is ours, not even our lives. We lose everything in the end. If we realize and accept that we actually don't have anything anyway, maybe that can free us from the fear of losing. Maybe, knowing that we are going to lose everything will make us savor it more, enjoy it that much more. And maybe it will help us to let go of things when the time comes. Think of all the pain that has come from not wanting to lose something. The fear involved at the thought of loss, followed by the pain of having it gone, and then the interminable pain of regret and that emptiness we just cannot fill. Why not just let it go and move on to the next thing. Enjoy each thing. Get nourishment from it like you do food, and then let it pass on to wherever it is going next. Ahh, but we like things too much. ...

I have an evil twin. He comes out and takes over my body and mind when I am on 30 milligrams for two days in a row. Yesterday was one of those days. Today is a 60 day, so I can really see the sharp contrast between the two personalities I currently exhibit. What is it like to suffer from Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD)? (And when I say "suffer," I mean that EVERYONE around me suffers as well.) When the "real" me, the undrugged me, comes to the fore and takes the wheel, everything is different. It is not that any stimulus triggers the anger or rage, it is that the anger or rage is simply stuck in the "on" position. I could be in a stimulus-free environment, with the perfect air temperature, food, drink, and comfort, and I would still be borderline furious, wanting to destroy the entire universe. Yesterday, all day, I was raving, passionate about the littlest thing, adamant about it all, and wanting to argue with every detail, every minute fabric...

This is my second tattoo. People say that once you get your first tattoo, you get addicted and want more and more. This is not the case with me. I have always wanted more than one, and I think this time in my life is where my tattoo getting shall begin. My rationale is that I am old enough now where I know the difference between whim and serious desire. I also know the ramifications of permanent alteration to the body. Further, my skin has been damaged by life: precancerous moles removed, leaving scars, sun damage, pock marks from acne, wrinkles, stretch marks from long-disappeared muscles, and just plain old age-wrinkled skin. Why not choose my damage? And what of how I will look when I am 80? Won't my tattoos look stupid when I am 80? Well, assuming I even live that long, and it ain't looking so good from the looks at my genetic inheritance, IF I make it to 80, my skin will be so fucked up that a tattoo will only blend in to the fucked-upedness, and it will probably make ...