I am so so aggravated about everything. I do not think that is an overstatement or an exaggeration. Can a person really be aggravated about EVERY THING? The older I get the more I think it is possible.
Age can throw an entire bunch of new challenges your way. With eyesight fading and body parts aching that never ached before, the total number of grievances is increased before you even open your eyes in the morning to start another exasperating day. I woke up with a headache and realized I was having a dream about getting the hell beat out of me in a hotel bathroom. Symbolism aside, why was I in a hotel bathroom at all? While sleeping, I had a pain in my knee that made me jerk myself almost completely out of my bed. It was obviously a misfire of the nerves because as I was flying off the bed I was thinking "I wonder if narcotics would help prevent this flying out of bed shit?" My meth-head neighbors could enlighten me on a possible solution.
I think a shift in my attitude started last week at work when the Safety Committed was and still is suggesting that we initiate a "fatigue" evaluation form, more useless paperwork, for people who are going to be working overtime hours. They want to make sure we do not fall asleep on the drive home after working overtime and blame it on the company. Ninety three percent of the people where I work are resting with their heads up there butts seventy nine percent of the day anyway. The drive home is the most exciting physical and mental challenge of the day. We are not garbage collectors, who by the way in my city do not even get out of the truck anymore. They just scoop up the bin with a noisy pincher like thing and dump it in the back of the truck. We are not ditch diggers or Wichita linemen so sitting in the fetal position for another few hours is not taxing to anything. They pay us straight time anyway so the company could not give a shit what we are doing after hours except if they can show the lawyers that it looks like they care about us.
Grammar, now there is a real peach. I have used many words so far that have double letters in them. The "double g" thing always looks wrong. Then there is the "i before e" thing and the words you want to pluralize that end in n. Do you use "es" or just "s" or shit for that matter. There are words like "everything". Is it one or two words? With "butts" and "diggers" and "aggravation" all rushing to my head the instant I wake up and trying to write this rant down before I forget it, there is a possibility I am dropping wing nuts right and left. I just changed that last sentence because I could not remember if the word loose as in loosen or lose as in losing my mind was correct. I know now I do not give a fuck. It is not like anyone is going to be reading this blog. Well there is those two hackers from the Ukraine that seem to be trying to read this stuff.
And about waking up. Every morning when I wake up, a song streams into my head. This morning it was "Martha, My Dear". Yesterday it was "Lolly, Lolly, Lolly get your Adverbs here". Why is Grammar (double letters, shit) Rock getting in my brain? If that is not bad enough, last week I woke up to "Beat It". This went on for three days, and I do not even know the words to Beat It. I would be at the ATM trying to skim someones account and my head would be bobbing (shit) to the beat of Beat It making up words as I go. Sometimes my morning jingle is a TV commercial like "Zestfully clean". Aggravating!
The top of the list of things that are bothering me is the fact that really I do not have any friends. Who would want one that has joints that make more noise than a freight train and who runs around singing "zestfully clean" as he searches for his car in the mall parking lot. I have a pen pal (without looking it up this could be one word) that answers with one sentence answers, not much bonding going on there. I remember reading the letters of Ernest Hemingway and the journal letters of Emily Dickinson and thinking how great it would be to have pen pals like that. My friends are the people I work with and whenever I try to get together with one of them outside of work I get an answer like "I have to cut grass with my wife's vagina" or my son has a Cricket game in NJ that week end. My wife is not my best friend, well she is steadily climbing the ladder partially by default but also because increasingly she is the only one who puts up with my bullshit.
My children have finally reached the age where I barely recognize them and I guess it is supposed to be that way. They are a faint vision, a mere whiff of the little kids I laughed with and at All Those Years Ago. Oh no, another song in my head. The kids say and do things I do not approve of or I am sure I never hinted they do. They are grown and I have to hold my tongue sometimes. I need to refresh their memory that I am still their parent and I can say anything I want. It is there fault I hate kids. My grand-kids are getting the brunt of that new attitude. I am a grouchy old man. I am not apologizing (damn, one "p") for it. That is the way it is. I fully understand how a drug fiend of a drunk could abuse a child. I am inches and seconds away from it most of the time. If my resolve was weakened by drugs or my fortitude was dulled with alcohol, any child screaming "don't touch me" to his sibling for the three hundredth time would push me way past the edge of reality. I cannot take it much longer. I may have been a shinning example of parenting long ago but now I am a danger to myself and others. I tell them, "if you play by the street and you get hit by a car I am not taking you to the hospital, you can bleed all over somewhere else and wait for you mom to come get you, it is your choice."
At my residence I have seven horses, a pig, two ducks, two dogs, five chickens, four cats and one teenager. I had a hermit crab, Herman of course, but he ran away under the house. One of the cats went missing last month and I think the hermit crab got him. I found a giant discarded conch shell in the pasture. Yes, I hate animals. Actually, I love animals but something has to give. Jeffery the pig is the cutest thing even though he now weighs ninety pounds. He was raised in the house but now he lives on the back porch. He has a wading pool, a hovel and fifteen acres to roam in. Animals are everywhere and my grand-kids torment the shit out of all of them. The animals run for the hills when the kids come over. The cats are under the couch and in closets. My kids love animals but do not want to take care of them. I cannot walk in my yard without stepping on, in or around something. I cannot leave the door open or a barnyard animal my come in the house. The chickens and Jeffery like the air conditioning. The horses like the porch and the ducks are just nasty creatures and I wish they would run the cats off. The dogs are useless barking fart machines. Three barks a fart and a bark. That means the mail man is coming or the Nazi three houses up is flying his plane again.
I am missing three window screens. They are metal and they are not ambulatory. I could see one disappearing because of the wind or the cat pushing one out but not three. There is some kind of conspiracy concerning window screens. Why I do not know. It is a devious and dark thing I tell you. I am missing a machete, a saws-all, a catcher's glove and pogo stick. If you see a crazed maniac boinging down the road on a pogo stick swinging a machete with a tree trimmer in his belt yelling "strike three you are out" he stole all of that stuff from my house and he needs analysis because the machete is dull, the battery on the saws-all is dead, the pogo stick veers to the left and the glove has a hole in it. Ask him about my widow screens. Ass hole.
I have no money, no sex, no prospects for either, a mortgage, an old car, animal shit all over the place. I do get fresh eggs from the chickens but my family will not eat them because they taste funny and it was my idea to eat them in the first place. If it was my idea to go somewhere, eat anything, do anything, fix anything the answer is no thanks. My son says, Dad, can you go buy me a milk shake? No son, I can make you one with the ice cream we have in the freezer. No dad, it will not taste the same. My wife acts like I am trying to poison her. No dear, even though I am hungry, it looks good I just do not want that right now, did you spit in it? No, I did put hemlock in it and I found something in the back of the fridge that I used for blue cheese dressing.
There are actually more things to be aggravated at than I can even write down or remember at this time. I wish I could say this venting helped but it really did not.
Age can throw an entire bunch of new challenges your way. With eyesight fading and body parts aching that never ached before, the total number of grievances is increased before you even open your eyes in the morning to start another exasperating day. I woke up with a headache and realized I was having a dream about getting the hell beat out of me in a hotel bathroom. Symbolism aside, why was I in a hotel bathroom at all? While sleeping, I had a pain in my knee that made me jerk myself almost completely out of my bed. It was obviously a misfire of the nerves because as I was flying off the bed I was thinking "I wonder if narcotics would help prevent this flying out of bed shit?" My meth-head neighbors could enlighten me on a possible solution.
I think a shift in my attitude started last week at work when the Safety Committed was and still is suggesting that we initiate a "fatigue" evaluation form, more useless paperwork, for people who are going to be working overtime hours. They want to make sure we do not fall asleep on the drive home after working overtime and blame it on the company. Ninety three percent of the people where I work are resting with their heads up there butts seventy nine percent of the day anyway. The drive home is the most exciting physical and mental challenge of the day. We are not garbage collectors, who by the way in my city do not even get out of the truck anymore. They just scoop up the bin with a noisy pincher like thing and dump it in the back of the truck. We are not ditch diggers or Wichita linemen so sitting in the fetal position for another few hours is not taxing to anything. They pay us straight time anyway so the company could not give a shit what we are doing after hours except if they can show the lawyers that it looks like they care about us.
Grammar, now there is a real peach. I have used many words so far that have double letters in them. The "double g" thing always looks wrong. Then there is the "i before e" thing and the words you want to pluralize that end in n. Do you use "es" or just "s" or shit for that matter. There are words like "everything". Is it one or two words? With "butts" and "diggers" and "aggravation" all rushing to my head the instant I wake up and trying to write this rant down before I forget it, there is a possibility I am dropping wing nuts right and left. I just changed that last sentence because I could not remember if the word loose as in loosen or lose as in losing my mind was correct. I know now I do not give a fuck. It is not like anyone is going to be reading this blog. Well there is those two hackers from the Ukraine that seem to be trying to read this stuff.
And about waking up. Every morning when I wake up, a song streams into my head. This morning it was "Martha, My Dear". Yesterday it was "Lolly, Lolly, Lolly get your Adverbs here". Why is Grammar (double letters, shit) Rock getting in my brain? If that is not bad enough, last week I woke up to "Beat It". This went on for three days, and I do not even know the words to Beat It. I would be at the ATM trying to skim someones account and my head would be bobbing (shit) to the beat of Beat It making up words as I go. Sometimes my morning jingle is a TV commercial like "Zestfully clean". Aggravating!
The top of the list of things that are bothering me is the fact that really I do not have any friends. Who would want one that has joints that make more noise than a freight train and who runs around singing "zestfully clean" as he searches for his car in the mall parking lot. I have a pen pal (without looking it up this could be one word) that answers with one sentence answers, not much bonding going on there. I remember reading the letters of Ernest Hemingway and the journal letters of Emily Dickinson and thinking how great it would be to have pen pals like that. My friends are the people I work with and whenever I try to get together with one of them outside of work I get an answer like "I have to cut grass with my wife's vagina" or my son has a Cricket game in NJ that week end. My wife is not my best friend, well she is steadily climbing the ladder partially by default but also because increasingly she is the only one who puts up with my bullshit.
My children have finally reached the age where I barely recognize them and I guess it is supposed to be that way. They are a faint vision, a mere whiff of the little kids I laughed with and at All Those Years Ago. Oh no, another song in my head. The kids say and do things I do not approve of or I am sure I never hinted they do. They are grown and I have to hold my tongue sometimes. I need to refresh their memory that I am still their parent and I can say anything I want. It is there fault I hate kids. My grand-kids are getting the brunt of that new attitude. I am a grouchy old man. I am not apologizing (damn, one "p") for it. That is the way it is. I fully understand how a drug fiend of a drunk could abuse a child. I am inches and seconds away from it most of the time. If my resolve was weakened by drugs or my fortitude was dulled with alcohol, any child screaming "don't touch me" to his sibling for the three hundredth time would push me way past the edge of reality. I cannot take it much longer. I may have been a shinning example of parenting long ago but now I am a danger to myself and others. I tell them, "if you play by the street and you get hit by a car I am not taking you to the hospital, you can bleed all over somewhere else and wait for you mom to come get you, it is your choice."
At my residence I have seven horses, a pig, two ducks, two dogs, five chickens, four cats and one teenager. I had a hermit crab, Herman of course, but he ran away under the house. One of the cats went missing last month and I think the hermit crab got him. I found a giant discarded conch shell in the pasture. Yes, I hate animals. Actually, I love animals but something has to give. Jeffery the pig is the cutest thing even though he now weighs ninety pounds. He was raised in the house but now he lives on the back porch. He has a wading pool, a hovel and fifteen acres to roam in. Animals are everywhere and my grand-kids torment the shit out of all of them. The animals run for the hills when the kids come over. The cats are under the couch and in closets. My kids love animals but do not want to take care of them. I cannot walk in my yard without stepping on, in or around something. I cannot leave the door open or a barnyard animal my come in the house. The chickens and Jeffery like the air conditioning. The horses like the porch and the ducks are just nasty creatures and I wish they would run the cats off. The dogs are useless barking fart machines. Three barks a fart and a bark. That means the mail man is coming or the Nazi three houses up is flying his plane again.
I am missing three window screens. They are metal and they are not ambulatory. I could see one disappearing because of the wind or the cat pushing one out but not three. There is some kind of conspiracy concerning window screens. Why I do not know. It is a devious and dark thing I tell you. I am missing a machete, a saws-all, a catcher's glove and pogo stick. If you see a crazed maniac boinging down the road on a pogo stick swinging a machete with a tree trimmer in his belt yelling "strike three you are out" he stole all of that stuff from my house and he needs analysis because the machete is dull, the battery on the saws-all is dead, the pogo stick veers to the left and the glove has a hole in it. Ask him about my widow screens. Ass hole.
I have no money, no sex, no prospects for either, a mortgage, an old car, animal shit all over the place. I do get fresh eggs from the chickens but my family will not eat them because they taste funny and it was my idea to eat them in the first place. If it was my idea to go somewhere, eat anything, do anything, fix anything the answer is no thanks. My son says, Dad, can you go buy me a milk shake? No son, I can make you one with the ice cream we have in the freezer. No dad, it will not taste the same. My wife acts like I am trying to poison her. No dear, even though I am hungry, it looks good I just do not want that right now, did you spit in it? No, I did put hemlock in it and I found something in the back of the fridge that I used for blue cheese dressing.
There are actually more things to be aggravated at than I can even write down or remember at this time. I wish I could say this venting helped but it really did not.
