Getting Personal

I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is
immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice,
but because he has a soul, a spirit capable
of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.
-William Faulkner,
Nobel Prize Banquet Speech

If you’ve been a reader of this blog, you might have noticed that I’m not a fan of divulging much personal information. Instead, my audience is presented with thoughts, ideas and some arguments about the day’s hot-button topics but rarely ever more. Lately, as I work the night shift for 70+ hours per week, my output is diminutive at best. Consequently, I’m unable to fulfill the wishes of a friend who wants it longer and more often; my blog posts, unfortunately, especially since she is cute. I wouldn’t mind filling up her day with words, on second thought, more so a pulchritudinous stack of words.

Other reasons abound. Primarily, I don’t have either a child (at least that I know about) or a spouse struggling with some horrible disease to write about. In other words, my life isn’t that interesting, If I had an obstreperous daughter making my home life miserable because she was unable to fulfil her boyfriend’s (with Asperger’s) fantasy of having peanut butter licked off his cock due to being allergic (to peanut butter, not cock), then we would be in business. Next, anonymity on the internet is about as reliable as an elder person’s bladder. Companies feel that if what you do outside of work, and your personal beliefs are not in line with the status quo, your employment is a threat to their business. Furthermore, the internet has become quite oppressive. People love to take what you say out of context and use it as a weapon to assassinate your character. As many as 140 characters stand between you and getting fired or worse be labelled anti-Ke$ha.

Today is the exception!

At this juncture in my life, I’m debating whether or not I should bring children into the world. This is more than an inquiry into the prolonged ramifications of not using condoms in a long-term monogamous relationship which I wonder if is worth being in at all?

I was the second person to see my nephew after he was born. I named him, watched over him, applauded his attempts at speaking. We give each other the best hi-fives and now when he’s happy he screams out ‘Yeaaahhh!!!!’ just like I do without the preceding ‘fuck’. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what it be like to have my own little knucklehead. But then would involve finding someone who doesn’t make me want to exit this plane of existence prematurely.

I’m having mid-life crisis well, maybe, an end of life crisis if you look at the life expectancy of my demographic. By the way, I’d love to find the author of this article and punch him in the face: It’s official: there’s no such thing as the mid-life crisis. This conclusion was reached based on a study of Canadian teenagers followed for 25 years. For starters, I neither love hockey nor believe Canadian Bacon to be bacon.

Moving past that I’m working jobs I either don’t like or have any emotional investment in to maintain a life I find to be at its very core absurd and unfulfilling. Thursday someone very dear to me died from complications to a long battle with cancer.

So that’s it: death, absurdity, late night hours and painful loss.