“I’m on the front line, don’t worry I’ll be fine, the story is just beginning.
I say goodbye to my weakness, so long to the regret, and now I see the world through diamond eyes.” -Shinedown-
As winter approaches, I’ve felt fatigued, sluggish, and slightly grumpy. Winter in Maine, while beautiful and magical, can also be looooong and gray. The things I enjoy, are now the sources of great stress. What should feel easy, is exceedingly difficult. I can’t even finish reading a book by a favorite author for some reason. I get to the good parts, the slow burn is paying off, and I shelve it. The things I love to do, (no matter what it is) feels more like a chore than a positive experience. Recently thinking of a new hobby to mix in with the others.
I am indeed the creator of my own misery.
Falling off the wagon, sucks. It’s a tall wagon I’ve been riding for quite some time. A custom made vehicle built with layers of impenetrable protection from all outsiders and made for one rider. When I fall off, however, those few moments where the wagon hits a rut in the road, I make an impact crater when I land which takes forever to climb out.
I try not not gripe about it. Griping will get no one, nowhere,… real fast. I try and suck it up and make due with what I’ve been given. Make lemonade from rotten lemons and no sugar. I don’t communicate much to those around me about the things that stress me out, or piss me off. Instead, I come here and vent.
I become a recluse. I revert back to a hermit mentality. I ignore social media unless tagged or mentioned. I sit in my chair, daydream, ponder, think, and ignore everything around me.
Since disconnecting cable from the television, the methods for escape have diminished substantially. Sure–The internet, the gaming system, YouTube, Netflix, Hulu and CBS All Access have filled in a few spaces here and there, but when an app crashes or the connection is interrupted… it stresses me out to no end. Like a big frigging baby who isn’t getting his way.
And yes, that’s all on me.
I have so many unfinished projects strewn around, I wonder why I even started them in the first place. Incomplete crossword puzzles. Starship models half done. Household chores waved off and ignored for another time. Partially written emails and some waiting to be sent. Writing projects now collecting dust high up on the digital bookshelf waiting for me to get off my fat keister and do something productive about it.
Hell… I haven’t even started winterizing yet, and the first snow fall happened today.
You have to get on that. That shit’s supposed to be done in September.
Losing power for six days, after the last storm, really put a dampener on my way of life and I’m not sure why… and I haven’t climbed back on my wagon yet. It’s been easier to just turn on YouTube down in my hole and watch mindless videos or research topics I will probably do nothing with in the future. Simpler to just stare off into the distance and hope the time passes. It’s not a depressive state of mind. I know that. Been there, done that, and no plans to repeat. I know I’m not in any depressed state.
I think I get bored and don’t want to admit it. I shouldn’t feel that way. I’ve always told my children, “Boredom is a lack of a creative mind,” and I feel as though I should practice what I preach. But my interests are so varied and unorthodox and outside all of mainstream, I feel as though I engage in these activities, as a solo entity. That can be tiresome.
Which, (now that I think about it) might be a good thing. I don’t know many people who I can chat with about Thoth’s emerald tablet, or why… if the land masses and continents continue to drift a certain distance each year, and always have… why certain stars can still be seen through holes in stonework, designed and carved to watch those specific stars, constructed thousands of years ago.
Einstein once said, “The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind.” I believe this to be true. But the places my mind leads me into… I have difficulties sharing with others. So… I keep that stuff to myself. Then I get bored.
I suppose when you don’t pay attention to politics, the news, war, sports, the media, trendy topics, popular music, Insta-Snap, and now mainstream entertainment, the topics for conversation stay mostly within the confines of the mind.
I guess it is what it is.
With that said, I want to take a moment and thank everyone: My Twitter followers, subscribers and Facebook friends who continue to read this madness called, Tales of the Chronicles. This crazy project is something I thoroughly enjoy and without you guys, I wouldn’t do it. So thank you. I never believed it would have gotten to this point.
I’d also like to take a moment to thank the few of you who’ve really helped me over some hurdles in this journey of life. Especially the current leg of the race. You’ve helped me in ways I can’t explain. The road may still be long, and winding, but it’s getting easier to navigate.
Some paths just take a little longer to walk. Some wagon’s are taller than others.
In the beginning, all I had was figments of my imagination to show me what I enjoyed. Conjured specters appearing from the mist pointing towards a path. Quick visits. Brief glimpses. Knowing they weren’t real, but just as real as anyone else, made the experiences more difficult at first. Ray McKay said, “you need to let go. Give into it,” and those words of inspiration made no sense to me.
How am I supposed to let go of something when I don’t know what it is?
Are you supposed to cry again? Let the emotions go? What does that even mean?… Let it all go…
I still struggle with what it all might mean. When provided cryptic replies and answers, one can’t help but to speculate on the interpretation.
Just like with anything else, we make due with what we’re given.
The dreams stopped for a time. I estimate two, perhaps three weeks passed before experiencing another vivid, jumble of weirdness. Life moved on.
I ignored Pastor McKay’s words of wisdom, and his puzzle metaphor, and sallied forth.
Maybe that’s what I was supposed to do.
Because the next time I visited the dream realm, I bypassed the Rillian Sea completely and landed on the beach where I met the strangers in the storm. Joe was nowhere to be seen and never once made his presence known. I wouldn’t see him for another five nights. The strangers were gone, and the fire was a smoldering coal pile in a shallow pit.
Barefoot, I walked the beach’s coastline towards the rising sun.
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