It’s a Sorry World

I took the title of this blog from a song by a comedian I always liked: Tim Wilson. The opening lyrics are as follows:

You can go to war when you’re 18,

But you can’t buy a beer.

You can launch missiles from a submarine,

But you can’t buy a pistol here.

You can breathe chemical weapon fumes,

But they don’t want you to smoke.

So if you’re shooting up a bar in Baghdad,

Don’t order a rum and Coke.

I spent the new year with some near and dear friends as I do every year. We talked about things normal people talk about: funny shit from the past that we did, religion, how much everyone and everything sucks, politics, etc. I was not aware that a federal law had been passed that bans the sale of tobacco products to anyone under the age of 21. Since when did the Republicans start meddling in state affairs? I thought they were the party completely and totally against that. I guess it just goes to show you that Carlin was right. This country was bought and paid for a long time ago by people with deep pockets. None of them give a shit about you or your rights. They believe in taking your money and telling you what to do.

I’m a firm believer in being able to do as one wishes as long as you’re not hurting another human being. If you want to smoke, drink, do drugs then that’s all fine and good with me as long as you’re not inconveniencing someone else or causing them any physical harm. I’m sure you’re harming those around you who care about you, but that’s a post for another day (another day where I’m probably not going to feel like writing.)

You now have to sign up for the draft at 18, you can buy a gun at 18, you can go and fight in a war you don’t believe in, kill others in different countries, and bomb the shit out of said countries all you want … just don’t you go thinking you can come back home after doing all of that and enjoying a smooth cigarette or a delicious beer. You can kill people by the dozens, but you’re way too irresponsible and immature to handle your alcohol and tobacco.

Welcome to America. You are free to do as they tell you.

Drinking Bourbon that Isn’t Mine

Technically it’s mine since I bought it, but I bought it for my cousin’s kid. He’s 20, which is not the legal drinking age here. It’s 21. I hold the belief though that if you’re able to go and die in a war that you don’t believe in then you should be able to get plastered (even while going to die in the war you don’t believe in.) So I bought the kid a bottle of Wild Turkey.

We had every intention of partaking tonight, but I wasn’t feeling it today for the most part. I woke up in a shit mood, just one of my moods that I have. I had a doctor’s appointment with my neurologist and we discussed my migraines and seizures. I had had a migraine the night before and informed her of this so I’m switching meds again. The medication she is putting me on comes with some serious side effects so I’m a bit concerned about that, but we’ll see how it turns out.

I got home and popped a couple of my anti-anxiety meds and smoked some weed just to see if it’d put me in a better mood. It did after a while, but it also made me tired. I fell asleep around 5 and woke up around 9. Now I’m awake and bored. My cousin nor his kid seem to be anywhere around so I just said, “Fuck it. I bought the booze so I’m drinking it.” Sorry, kid. You missed out. I’ll get him some more eventually, but tonight is my night to drink and forget whatever is ailing me.

I don’t even know why I’m blogging right now seeing as I have nothing to say. I jotted down a lot of my thoughts in my journal earlier and pretty much said everything that was going on in my head. I wonder about when I die and when someone is reading my journal what they’ll think. It’s not just a bunch of “woe is me” shit in there. I’ve written down parts of stories I want to complete. I’ve jotted down ideas for comics I want to start. Tonight I just wrote down a conversation I was having with myself in my head and wanted to put it on the record so to speak.

Right now I’m drinking this Wild Turkey and blogging, trying to make myself tired enough to go back to sleep because that’s the only relief I seem to get from the world around me, a world that I don’t think I belong to anymore; a world that I don’t think really wants me in it anymore. If there’s one thing I took away from the acid trip a couple of weeks ago it’s that this isn’t all there is to it. All the bullshit we have to go through on a daily basis, all the stress, all the worry, none of it is going to matter in the end. We’re all going to die and none of that shit goes with us (at least as far as I know. I’ve never been dead before.)

I had a friend that died the other day. He died for a minute or two and was revived. I asked him what happened. Is there a heaven? Did he see a bright light? No. He said he saw Randy Travis. So apparently Randy Travis is the afterlife and we’ll be sitting around and listening to “Digging Up Bones” for eternity. At least I enjoy that song.

Drinking, Drugs, and Skydiving

I’ve mentioned that my grandmother has Alzheimer’s. I’ve been helping my mom take care of her for the past five years. On Monday she had a stroke and was unable to communicate with my cousin or myself. She had fallen off her bed and was unable to get back up. We could tell she was in pain, but we didn’t want to move her because we didn’t want to further damage anything she may have broken. We sat there while I was on the phone with 9-1-1, waiting for the paramedics to arrive. None of us knew what to do. My cousin was a mess. She could do nothing but cry. I’ve never been good at comforting others. I can tell jokes and make smart ass remarks all day to make you laugh, but I’m not a hugger and never have been. The only thing I knew to do was to give my cousin one of my anti-anxiety meds to calm her down.

My grandmother is still in the hospital. It was determined she did indeed have a stroke and she has bleeding on the brain. We’ve been told it’s only a matter of time and that we should be thinking about hospice care for her at this point. I’ve made my peace with it. I think it will be a relief to myself as well as my mom. I don’t know what triggered it, but I had a breakdown tonight, just thinking that “So that’s what life has in store for me if I live that long?” I want know part of it. I was looking up states where it’s legal for assisted suicide and I believe that’s what I want to do. I’ll sign whatever papers I need to in order for someone somewhere to take me out of this world if I can’t do it on my own.

I don’t want to be trapped inside my own body that’s no longer working. I don’t want to be trapped inside my own mind half the time already. I mentally shut down tonight and could do nothing but let the tears flow. I guess I’m only human after all and I hate it. None of us are getting any younger. I try to ignore it and mask whatever pain I feel because of it with whatever drugs I have readily available, whether they’ve been prescribed to me or I’ve bought them from a friend or a friend of a friend.

I don’t know how normal people deal with life sucking so much, but I’ve found my way and it’s through substances; substances and sleep. I just want to drift off into darkness until the next day arrives and do it all over again. Is that what we all do? Does everyone just find ways of distracting themselves from the pain of reality and daily life? Do we all take whatever drug is thrown our way whether it’s pills, alcohol, sex, sleep, television, etc.? I even wonder about people who jump from airplanes and parachute and bungee jump. Are they just looking for some type of escape from the emptiness that consumes their lives?

How can we judge people who take drugs or drink when we’re all just looking for our own way to get by in life?