Dismantling the Machine, Part 3: Anticipation before being ripped asunder emotionally

The internet in the Crazy Doc’s waiting room was out as I attempt to write this. As much as I love my beloved Chromebook, I realize that without a signal I can’t do much on it. Thankfully I have enough music stored on it to keep me calm. That and tinkering with it I now learn that I can use my documents program to write. I always knew I could, I just didn’t know how to get to it. I know, odd. It’s almost like having an idea what to do in a blackout until you realize this is your opportunity to test out all that planning that you never conducted or bothered with thinking about.

So here I am, attempting to write with sloppy finger work and no use of any autocorrect to my grammar or spelling. I’m writing blind almost as if I was back in….um…..10 years ago? Ha, this would have3 been enough to make most laugh while I know most who have not endured past decades as of yet thinking back to such a time with almost a sense of savagery. We played in the dirty until the pony express brought us news of injuns attacks, who’s turn it was to die and primitive live before youtube. I mean, can you just? Can you?

….um, just what? I got nothing. Just wanted to make a cheap joke and I’m proud of my attempt. Not exactly executed, but a great attempt at a half ass thought of a try.

Either way, I sit in the empty room attempting to keep my mind still with George Baker and whispers of Tarantino in the back of my mind. I’m going to state this now since I think I’ve built up enough padding before I cut through it, that I would love to write fiction and yet, I know deep within me I’m going to have the roughest time doing so. Not that I don’t have stories, but that I flow so much easier simply writing about nothing in particular in mind rather than put my vision of worlds unseen into life. Somehow I am a bit more comfortable sharing my thoughts than my stories unless we are cozy enough with ourselves and there is no other medium with those above the age of 10.

I know, if I put an effort I can work that creative muscle and probably impress you all with the things that run through my head and yet I somehow have this infatuation with sharing with you all the thoughts in my head that have been kicked around long enough to form an odd argument. Perhaps this is a place I’m most comfortable with sharing, having a need to have both space and time altered to have a monolog with you. And that is what it is, a monolog that I finally have the comfort and safety of a distant time and place had where you are able to read this while I sit in a place safe from….well…..you. Not exactly you, but you. Savy? It’s not exactly you, Johnny Doe of Somewhere Elseberg at least 15 time zones away, but the idea of having this conversation with you here is as close as I can have it “live”

Did I mention in a past life I wanted to be an actor? I was even told I was good at it. A great sense of blah blah blah…..*replace blah with self-congratulatory bullshit*. And yet, my greatest moments were also monologs. I adored them. I used to ingest them by the lbs and even written my own stuff, yet life has a way of grabbing you by the throat and simply dragging you away from what you love as it laid in distant view in a glorious blaze of lost potential. So...yea….that.


And yet, I still love the idea of a monolog. I can see it’s value and need, especially in my situation where I have the hardest time trying to connect with people while defenses are not up and running. In this safe place of my choosing, I’m able to share with you a moment to time had that does not exist. I’m able to share with you the things that I somehow find worth, much like any pack rat attempting to bring value to the garbage laid askew about them.

There is a bit of sadness if you think about it. There may just never be a moment in life where I feel safe enough to bare this while among you. A moment where I am not protected, strong, and not looking after your needs. So while among you, you are my focus. You are my world and reason to have a conversation. Me….nah….not worth, but one day we shall have drinks and perhaps, mayhaps I shall think about sharing with you what I am not comfortable with….

And if you believe that I have many things to offer such a brilliant sucker you are.

I don’t know. I honestly don’t know why I can not share this with you. That’s why I’m here and that’s why I’m willing to sit in a room with someone who I take every attempt to remain vulnerable as we find what causes me to remove myself from you. I’m not going to being to say I’m not broken. I’ll even agree with you with the thought that I do not and probably will not see myself as a priority. Too much there to even attempt to change the subject when you can just say, “yes” and move along.

Looking at the clock on the wall, I know my time is almost up here. I have to go in soon and I can feel the anxiety slowly building knowing that this moment will also be lost. I will soon go inside and hour close to an hour tear myself apart and attempt to pull myself together untilI can function once more until that time comes in again. We’re losing this moment together. A moment we never had together and yet, I feel the sadness. This is all I have. This is all I have to give and I know very well that it’s not even crumbs to offer the smallest mouths.

These are the moments where I know I have nothing to give and the option of offering you anything is extremely limited. We have these moments and that is all. And yet, I try to give these as if they have any worth. I give them because it’s all I can give and I sit in the room in hopes for a little more to give.

*puts on Bowie’s Starman*

My music was a bit too….dismal at the moment and I need to at least try, no? I have to, even if I don’t think it will help, these are often the moments where I break through and ….life gets better. I gain an inch of progress and I’m rallied to push more. To try more and put myself in the positions where I am weak and broken rather than incredibly intangible.

Someone else just walked in. Soon four more people will pop up before I go in. When I leave it will be crowded and all I want is the elevator down and outside. Not really a great place for reflection. Everyone who leaves has that look, that pained look that begs for privacy and time to collect. Some people are on their phones. Some stretch and breath deeply. Others have rituals that I can never comprehend past outside of knowing they need them as I need mine. Distant strangers being distant and strange…...that’s a title. That’s a gem of one. Have to use it.

*plays A Little Bit of Soul*

Bowie didn’t last long, so this. I can do this…..I don’t have a choice. I have this. I have this and I can do this…...yay…...nothing at all that I can do to prepare for this…..YAY! That’s what kills me, I can’t prep for this...I can’t stack the deck or even prepare myself for the

….oops…..have to go…...bye…...