Judgmental Thoughts

My father is obese. Really, really obese. For all of my life, essentially.
I vividly remember my child-me thinking the words "how did he let himself get to this place?"
I was so judgmental. I had such contempt.

And now, I'm the exact same way.
One more way I look in the mirror and see myself becoming that wretched, horrible man.

Depression or Reality

I don't think it should be considered "depression" when you're repeatedly shown the people who should be caring for you really only care about your money and they won't listen to you.

There Once Was A Miserable Fuck...

Once Upon A Time...

There was a Miserable Fuck who lived in the Town.

"I love Jesus," said one of the people in the Town.
"I have my doubts," said the Miserable Fuck.
"You're a Miserable Fuck," said one of the people in the Town, obviously hurt.
The Miserable Fuck didn't want to hurt anyone, so he moved away from that people.

"I think more people should own more guns," said another people in the Town.
The Miserable Fuck started to say something, but then stopped.
"What do you think, Miserable Fuck?" asked one of the people.
"I don't really believe that people should own more guns," said the Miserable Fuck.
"It's our Constitutional right!" screamed the people.  "You're a Miserable Fuck!"
So the Miserable Fuck moved away from those people, too.

"I use the word 'nigger', and I think it's funny to say that blacks are animals," said one of the people in the Town.
The Miserable Fuck knew what was coming, so he just moved away from those people without saying anything at all.

"I think women should be told what to do with their bodies, when they can and cannot receive medical treatment, when they can and cannot receive medication which is either over the counter or prescribed, should not make as much money as men, be blamed for the religious Fall of Mankind, should shut the fuck up, and should generally know their place."
The Miserable Fuck moved away from those people, too.

"I loved the movie Fireproof."
"I think Johnnie's makes a delicious burger."
"Support Chick-Fil-A and Hobby Lobby!"
"I can't do anything on Sunday or Wednesday because I go to church."
"I think Sarah Palin has some good ideas."
"What is Occupy?  And why are they stupid?"
"Football!"
"Trucks!"
"Fracking doesn't cause earthquakes."
"Nobody's learning anything anyways, so lets cut funding to our schools."
"It's pronounced 'nucular', 'supposubly', 'purty', and 'revelant'.  I literally died when I heard you talking American so stupid!"
"Stop the Mexican's from taking away our jobs, but I don't want to mow my lawn... where's my Mexican?"
"I don't have to listen to anyone else."
"Fat people are evil until they're thin people."
Miserable Fuck moved away from all of those people. 

The Town was growing smaller and smaller for the Miserable Fuck.  He was running out of places to be.

Miserable Fuck's wife's mother and father hated him.
They actively prevented him from contacting their daughter by lying to him and then telling their daughter they felt good about it.
After giving everyone else presents, they gave him a 16oz. bottle of water for Christmas one year in front of his family.
They actively tried to prevent him from wishing the father well during his time in the hospital.
And there was never any reason why they were behaving this way towards the Miserable Fuck.
They just did.
He thought it was good enough to make their daughter happy.
But he was not right.
He was wrong.

The Miserable Fuck went to sleep.
In the middle of the night, his wife woke him up.
"You're snoring and I can't sleep," said his wife.
So the Miserable Fuck moved to the couch, away from his wife.

The Miserable Fuck made doctor's appointments in an attempt to move back into his own bed with his wife again, but he was unable to afford these appointments without accepting his mother's help to pay for them.  The Miserable Fuck had insurance, but he was still unable to afford health care.

"Insurance really helps people pay for health care," said Miserable Fuck's mother.
The Miserable Fuck tried to explain how he felt that introducing a Middle Man, like insurance is, into any situation actually increases the cost of health care and decrease the care of health care, making the statement "insurance helps people pay for health care" fundamentally incorrect on at least two different levels. 
But Miserable Fuck's mother insisted that, sometimes, insurance helped.  It had, after all, helped her.
Miserable Fuck stopped talking.

Miserable Fuck used to be an actor.
But lawyers told Miserable Fuck that being an actor would be a liability, and his wife's children could be stripped from her if he continued to say he was an actor and act like he was an actor.

Miserable Fuck used to be a comedian.
But lawyers said Miserable Fuck's wife's kids could be stripped from her if he continued to attempt to be funny, which, they ultimately decided, he was not.

There was no place that Miserable Fuck felt he could be around other people without hurting them or being a liability.

Miserable Fuck hated his job, but he couldn't stop or change because he had a family to support.
Miserable Fuck wanted to receive health care for his snoring and mental health issues, but he didn't have the money to pay for those things.
Miserable Fuck was working a job he hated, with no end in sight, in order to make not enough money to care for the people he needed to care for.
Not only did Miserable Fuck feel poor, but he also felt incapable.  Dependent.  Bad.

Miserable Fuck felt really alone and stuck.  He didn't know what to do, which direction to walk, how to change his situation.

Then, one day, Miserable Fuck died.
And nobody in the Town gave a shit, because nobody cares about Miserable Fucks.

The Continuing Saga...

THE CONTINUING ATTEMPT TO NOT GET SCREWED OVER BY THE PEOPLE I WORK FOR
By Zon


SONYA enters ZON's office.

SONYA: I got your email, asking for a letter. 

ZON: We had spoken about a letter months ago, and you said you'd get something to me, and I was just checking back with you because I hadn't heard anything and I still haven't received a letter.

SONYA: Did Rose send you any paperwork about your promotion?

ZON: No.  Not yet, at least.

SONYA: Okay.  See, what it is is that you haven't been officially promoted yet.  You've been placed on what they call a Detail to Duty.

ZON: Right.  I knew that.

SONYA: And what that means is they work you for some months before they officially give you the promotion.  Did your pay increase?

ZON: Yes.  So far, everything is fine except that I was told I would receive a letter or email saying that I had been placed on Detail to Duty and that's when it would become official.

SONYA: Okay.  See, what it is is that there is no paperwork for Detail to Duty.  You actually fill out your paperwork when you get made official.

ZON: Well, I understand what you're saying.  Except that my supervisor told me there would be a letter, Amy told me there would be a letter, and one of my colleagues showed me her letter telling her she had officially been placed on Detail to Duty.

SONYA: Okay, according to Amy there is no paperwork.

ZON: When I spoke with Amy personally, she told me there was paperwork.

SONYA: Well, I have never seen any letter telling anyone they've been put on Detail to Duty.

ZON: I have.

SONYA: Who?

ZON: Let's go see her.

ZON and SONYA walk to COLLEAGUE's office.

ZON: Hey Colleague.  You were sent a letter telling you that you'd been placed on Detail to Duty, right.

COLLEAGUE: I sure did. 

SONYA raises her voice and is obviously defensive.

SONYA: Who sent it to you?  Who was it?  Who, when did you get it?  It wasn't for Detail to Duty!

COLLEAGUE pulls out her letter and shows it to SONYA.

COLLEAGUE: Whoa, whoa, whoa!  It's way too early to be speaking like that!  Here's my letter that I got telling me I had been placed on Detail to Duty.  Sent to me by Rose.

SONYA: Was it sent through the mail?!

COLLEAGUE: It's okay.  Everything is okay.  I'm pretty sure it was in an envelope placed on my desk.

SONYA: It wasn't sent through the mail?!

COLLEAGUE: No, I don't think so.  And this is the letter I got, also placed on my desk, telling me that I had officially been promoted to a level 4.

SONYA: I had never seen anything like this before.  I had never seen this kind of letter.

COLLEAGUE: Well, there it is.

SONYA (quickly turning to ZON): I'll get you something to ya.

ZON: Thanks.

Gregor and Mike

Mike was in conveyor belt-mode.  Government employees came to him one at a time.  He took their photo IDs, as well as one other government-approved means of identification, scanned them into his computer, took the employee's picture, and then called for the next government employee to sit in his chair so the process could start all over again.

Zon sat waiting to get on this conveyor belt.  He observed Mike making the same joke, employee after employee.  "I take your ID," said Mike, taking the ID cards from the employee, "and put them into the scanner and then send them to Gregor in Russia so that he can steal your identity and post it on Facebook."  The employees then would laugh uncomfortably, and shake their heads "no" as Mike assured them that he was just kidding.  Zon watched this over and over again and saw the opportunity to play.

"Next!"

Zon made his way to Mike's chair and sat.  Mike was kind, with the socially-appropriate amount of eye contact as he asked for Zon's ID cards.  Zon gave them to Mike as Mike put the needle back at the beginning of his record.  "I take your ID, and put them into the scanner and then send them to Gregor in Russia so that he can steal your identity and post it on Facebook."  Mike smiled to himself and was so accustomed to having the uncomfortable laughter that he almost missed Zon's response.
"Gregor's really a decent guy once you get to know him."
Mike spun to stare at Zon.
Zon smiled at Mike.
...Mike... didn't quite... know what to do.
Mike stared.
Zon smiled as he thought, "Is this like the airport where you can't make any kinds of jokes at all?"

Mike then shook his head.
"Don't do that," Mike told Zon, his smile gone.
Zon stopped.
Mike stared at Zon.
Mike was really not playing.
The awkward moment lingered.
Zon let his smile drop, and nodded as if to punctuate the moment in the hopes they all could move forward.
Mike then turned away from Zon, and returning to his scanner he said, under his breath, "Gregor's really a decent guy once you get to know him.  He's got a wife, Sonya.  She's nice, too."
Then Mike and his helper talked about football.  Mike had coached defense.  Both men wore lots of gel in their balding coifs.

Purpose and Action... yawn...

I'm having a new light shined on religious services and churches recently.

When I was a child, I went to Sunday school where I was taught about the Bible.
I went to regular school, where I was taught whatever they wanted to teach me.
I went to violin practice, soccer practice, tae kwon do practice, etc., because I was engaged in those activities.  I didn't go to violin practice to hang out with my friends because the purpose wasn't to hang out, it was to practice violin.  Socialization was a byproduct of being around people, but it wasn't the focus of the activity.

My wife has been telling me about her religious/church experiences as long as we've known each other.  She's told me that people in her world go to church mainly to socialize.  This doesn't just include the Sunday "message" (service), but also a "pre-service hang", and Wednesday "outreach" services.  Last night I heard our youngest talking with his cousin about going to service today (Wednesday) and neither of them expressed interest in going if the other one wasn't going.  This told me that neither of them really cared about the "outreach", they were primarily focused on socializing.

I have no problem with socializing.  I like to do it every once in a while myself.

I don't fucking know.
I've bored myself again.
Just bitching and complaining.
Going to church to socialize is fucking stupid.
Religion is stupid and dangerous.
I hope my son is happy.
I wish he would stop hurting my wife.
Correction: I wish my wife could stop hurting.
I wish everybody could be happy.
Church can bite it.

The Death of Blockbuster Blues

Been on Effexor and Trazadone for 5 days now. 

Yesterday I thought I could feel the positive effects.  It was nice.

Today, I'm exhausted from too little sleep.  When I got to work this morning, something got me thinking about Blockbuster Video, so I looked them up and got really sad when I read about how they used to be huge and now they're not.  I think more than that I got sad that DVD ownership is going away, like VHS ownership before it.  I got sad about that, too.  I've loved owning movies since the 80's, and I've loved all the special features you could get on some VHS tapes, and even more DVDs.  I love movies, and I love hearing about the making of those movies.  And I think it saddens me to think that we're moving to digital copies of movies that won't have special features.  There won't be any boxes anymore.  I mourned my LPs when they died.  I owned CDs and cassette tapes for a long time, each one with a purpose: CDs were for my home, cassettes were for my car.  And cassettes were just what I was forced to go to when LPs died, so when they left, I didn't mourn them so much.  But when I sold all my CDs, realizing it was more practical for me to turn my music collection into a totally digital beast, I mourned my CDs.  So I suppose Blockbuster's death sounds the death of my DVD collection.  I entertain the idea of one day having a place people will come to in order to watch movies, new and old, and be entertained.  I have titles in my collection like "Schizopolis", "Ran" by Kurosawa, "Run, Lola, Run", "Run, Ronnie, Run", and a VHS copy of the American release of "The Big Blue".  These movies aren't common in America, and "The Big Blue" in it's American theatrical release format is no longer in print anywhere in the world.  I love having those things, not just for their rarity, but thinking about sharing them with others later in life, or even just watching them myself one day.  I love them.  I love movies.  Reading about the death of Blockbuster and DVDs made me really sad today.  And I haven't been able to get focused since.  My sadness seems to have snowballed and has now made it difficult for me to think about much else besides my sadness.  I feel like I missed a time when people were making film on film, and then making film on tape, and then making film on disc.  If I ever make a film, and I'd really like to, there will probably be no physical proof of my labors.  Maybe a poster, or a flier, but the actual movie will probably only exist as a collection of ones and zeroes being processed by some really fast machine that wouldn't know what to do with a 35mm piece of film, or tape, or even a disc.  I'm really sad, and I want to go home and go to bed.  And, of course, I feel stupid about feeling sad.  "People in China are starving."  Or as one of the sisters in my high school used to say, "people in hell want ice water."  Jeez, that's a fun thing to go around telling high school kids in a Catholic school.  Whatever.  I wish Bruce Lee would take me out for a sandwich.  I'll be he could make me feel better.  And kick my ass.

Feeling Okay... Until...

Woke up at 5 today feeling pretty good.
Back pain continues to get better, and I'm more mobile than I was yesterday.
Mood is pretty good.
Feeling pretty rested.

Texted with my wife about money and finances, and remained in good mood.

Feeling pretty focused, productive.


Then...

...I read this...

"She does not believe she is depressed.  However the vendor states he thinks she is minimizing her symptoms of depression to avoid losing her children, as her ex-husband is trying to get full custody of her children."


And I actually felt my heart sink a couple of inches in my chest and hit my stomach.  And I broke out in a cold sweat with shallow breathing.

We're never going to get over this, are we?

So stupid

I'm fucking mad as hell right now.
Just pissed as fuck.
And I don't know why.
I fucking hate that shit.
Fucking a lot.

Rocky and Adrian

At first, he was nobody.  He struggled just to get by.  He didn't have a fancy job, fancy clothes.  He didn't have good friends.  He couldn't even afford to keep a locker in his gym.  He didn't think highly of himself, and he was given no reason from anyone else to think anything more of himself.  He was a reject at everything.

Then he met this girl.  And he tried to get her to look at him the way he looked at her.  But she was shy.  Really, really, really shy.  She, too, had been told all her life she was a loser.  And she found little reason to believe anything different.

And somehow, these two rejects found each other.  And liked each other.  And once they did, that was enough.  They were hooked.  And there was never anyone else.  Just them.

And then he was given an opportunity.  One that he almost turned down.  But he didn't.  And he never thought he would win.  He never thought he would do anything.  And he and his girl kinda didn't know what to do with themselves, but once she knew he was serious about it, she helped him focus.  And when he came to her, afraid, she held him and told him to give it his best shot.  And he did.  And he got the shit knocked out of him.  A lot.  And he accomplished what he hoped he would accomplish, which taught him the most-- the very most-- important lesson of his life: He Was Not A Loser.  And once he learned that lesson, his girl came out to him and told him she loved him.  And then he went to the hospital.

But there's a wide gulf between Not Being A Loser and Being A Winner.  Some people never travel that distance.

And he was well on his way to not traveling that distance.

He got himself to Not Being A Loser.
But with one word, she fueled the fire that made him become a Winner.
"Win."
He told her he would do anything for her.
She said, "You know what you can do for me?"
He leaned in to hear her whisper her request.
"Win."

And so he did.
And he didn't stop for five movies.
She said one word, and he did that one word in five movies, over and over again.

I love Rocky for so many reasons.
The biggest is probably that one of my friends told me he saw many of Rocky's qualities in me.  "Life just seems to keep hitting you," he told me, "and you just keep getting up, like Rocky."  I hadn't seen myself like that before, and I don't really see myself that way now.  But I'd like to be that way.  And I strive to be that way.  And I really like being compared to Rocky like that.  And since finding my wife, I've liked Rocky even more.  I will always be there for my wife like Rocky was for Adrian.  And when my wife dies, I will open up an Italian restaurant in Philadelphia and name it after her, just like Rocky did.  And then I will reconnect with my boxing passion and I will fight my final fight, not only for myself but for my dead wife and the millions of fans who were disappointed with the previous movie and often don't even think of it as a part of the regular storyline.  And then I will make a startling comeback with The Expendables franchise.  But this I promise: I will NEVER become an outspoken Republican.  Ever.  And I will forgive Sylvester Stallone for such missteps.  He can't get everything right.