One of THOSE days

This will most likely be the last thing I write in my “40’s”. I may consume too much wine and spoil some space on Facebook but as for real writing, this is going to be it.

I can recall how much I loved saying ‘I’m Forty”! I liked saying that so much I started to say it when I was still only thirty-eight. I just dug the way it sounded. I felt the same about forty-five but at the time I was sober so didn’t really carry on as much about it.

At sometime near ten am tomorrow, November 6th 2012 I will be fifty years old. I have LOVED saying “I am fifty years old”! for the last year. Much like I did turning forty.

That is up until about 72 hours ago. Over the last few days I have had reason to look back and evaluate. Not because I am turning fifty, that is purely coincidence. The reason(s) are convoluted, too confusing to try and put into words. Personal and quite honestly, blatant in-your-face honesty, the kind I used to be so proud of myself for being here, would be unproductive.

So – what killed the joy? Why the sudden lack of passion to shout from the roof-tops “Hey you sorry, live like the masses fucks, I made it to fifty – jokes on you’!!!

I had to look back. Look over. Review. Dredge up the what did’s and even more manically evil, the did not’s. I had reason to look back and ask a basic question. “What have you done productive this past decade”?

A solid twenty-four hours went by before I put down the pencil, tore the page from my notebook and cast it away. All those lovely question mark doodles now destine for a landfill. Forgetting ALL of the decade I am really wrapped up in the last 30 or so months.

What was the last book you read? Hmmm. Bits and pieces of the bible, the teachings of Buddha and some of the I TaoTe Ching. I’ve delved into some self-help only to bury them on the nightstand beneath Grimms fairy tales, the art of war and big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. What I have mostly accomplished is making it ginormous pain the ass to reach or see my bed side clock while simultaneously creating a non-stop source of entertainment for the cats. They just LOVE to kick the books onto the floor so they can watch me pick them up. I think they may actually be making pets with one another over which I order I will re-stack them in. Judging my mood and attempting to guess which I think will actually be helpful.

The joke is on them, the little food converting machines! NONE WILL HELP IF I DONT OPEN THEM!

Oops, took a break to eat and drink more and now not sure where I was going with this.

I suppose it is about the realization that I have not been stagnant for the last few years but have actually regressed in many areas. Any progress I had made in my early to mid forty’s has been dashed to shreds in the my later forty’s.

I am living up to the expectations that I will be a lonely old man. The kind that screams at kids to get off the lawn an has no decorations of any kind on his home, ever. Now the joke is on me. My home will come with it’s one decoration – either Albertson’s or Ralph;s logo on the basket I will be living out of.

I have failed. My acknowledgment of this just happens to coincide with my birthday. My big birthday.

I had so much more I wanted to say, was thinking about and feeling. NEEDED to release. Only to fail again. I should not have stopped to eat. I fucked up again.

This post is a prefect example of the last fifty years.