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Showing posts from 2017

Thin Blue Line

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           I pride myself on being attentive and courteous to people around me and also super respectful even though they are strangers. The way I look at it, we are all stuck here playing the same game, each in our own lives, but loosely connected to those we encounter daily. If I pass through your domain without causing you hardship or grief then I feel I did okay by you. Matter of fact, I consider it a personality flaw that I often times go out of my way to be extra nice or helpful to those I (or my actions) interact with. A recent example: when I was walking across the truck stop parking lot this evening I carried my shower bag and a trash bag all the way to the main building and tossed my trash into the huge container that a garbage truck will mechanically dump instead of tossing it into a regular garbage can a few feet away from where I was parked. Why? Because the garbage bag was super heavy due to a gallon sized jug of piss inside (yes, truckers piss into jugs, but unlike

I'm Trying To Become A Positive Light That Doesn't Fry Flying Insects (But It's Hard, So Hard)

I think I'll start this blog entry with an example of why I hate trucking. In the last one (or the one before, I can't recall) I mentioned I love trucking because of feeling free while driving all over America. No walls, no annoying coworkers or bosses nearby, take my breaks as often and as much as I want, great money, listen to music and podcasts all day, etc. Sure sure, those are sweet perks, but let me highlight some horrors. A trucker can do everything right and still have his/her day (and week even) completely messed up due to other peoples' negligence. I can drive my ass off for 1,000 miles being as perfect as I can be. Turn signals used every lane change. Mirrors checked every few seconds. Cushion of space between me and the next vehicle. Looking far ahead to anticipate situations. Using the left (passing lane) to pass and then getting over. Knowing which exits I need ahead of time and never cutting people off. Doing the speed limit or five over. Paying attention at

The Earth Is Your Oyster

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My last post was terrible. I hate it and I apologize for being such a shit, but I'm going to leave it up because that's what this blog is all about. For those of you who read me, you know I don't really hide behind anything (i.e. my domain name). I am sometimes harshly opinionated, often drunk, and always as honest as I can be with the stuff I write, even if it's brutal. That last entry was no exception. Lately I've felt upset with myself and bored and confused and feel like I'm letting go of huge part of who I am. It takes a lot to excite me and I lashed out at internet strangers in general because I was reading blog pages and it felt to me that people don't really have anything to say anymore. I bet I spent nearly an hour perusing various blog sites, reading everything from food related to online dating to cultural events. Honestly, not a single page sucked me in. Everything felt fluffy and I certainly wasn't in a fluffy mood, so I lashed out and pitch

To Those Alive And Reading

I thought writing would always be a part of who I am. It has always been there, ever since that first shitty poem and story I wrote back in high school. I knew way back then that I had found something I loved, but I didn't quite understand what kind of driving force it would be throughout my entire life. Those of you who don't write will never understand the charge a writer gets when he/she first sits down at the keyboard and places the pinkie fingers on the A and semicolon keys and slowly rolls the other fingers inward onto S,L,D,K,J,F and then looks up at the empty screen glowing in front of you and realize you can create anything you want. And if what you create is good enough, or clever enough, or exciting or inspirational or heartbreaking enough... people will read you. And not just people, but history too. If you write something so exceptional, history may remember you forever, your words etched into the fabric of time. That's pretty powerful shit, right there. I do

Pretend I'm Human

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My last blog entry was about a sociopath and a broken boy and according to my email inbox and my comment box, nobody reads me anymore. Perfect. I think my blogging hiatus was long enough to have lost any followers/readers I may have gained over the past many years. Now I can write in solitude, knowing that only the walls are listening. And these walls look hungry for absorption. Vertical flatness of being. Manufactured existence. I can hear their bones bend beneath painted skin. They probably need something more fulfilling, but I'll give 'em what I've got and hope they don't start closing in on me mid-sentence. Okay, so now that I got that over with, what's next? Sex . Sure, why not. Seems like a logical flow of thought. My brain moves straight from "the earth sucks and humans are ridiculous blood bags" to "let's talk about sex, baby". Sure, let's do it. After I'm done writing this blog entry I'm going to watch the following fi

I Am Not A Sociopath, But I'm Pretty Sure This Guy Is

Hello readers, I have a question. I realize I've abandoned you all and I barely write anymore, but for those of you still hanging around and reading this, I have a question. Do you ever grow wary of meeting new people? Does the idea of getting to know someone for the first time excite you or cause anxiety? I used to think introducing new people in my life meant new ideas, new stories, new adventures, but I'm beginning to question the whole thing now. Maybe I've surpassed my own Dunbar's number of people I'm supposed to meet and have in my contact circle. I've been called a sociopath twice, both times by someone new in my life. The first occurrence affected me deeply and I spent numerous therapy sessions discussing the possibility that I might lack empathy for others. It was decided that I am not a sociopath, but rather a victim of childhood abuse who has difficulty connecting on a deep, meaningfully intimate level. I agree with this, but I also know that until

East Coast Fury

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I have left Oregon. The Pacific Northwest is no longer my home and the snow covered mountains I grew so accustomed to seeing every day no longer punctuate my horizon. In December of last year I made the decision to move back east. I quit my job of ten years and said goodbye to dozens of friends I made in the decade that I lived there. It wasn't easy this time. Over the course of my life I have relocated many times and experienced many fare thee wells, all of which were relatively easy for me, but this last time around wasn't the same. Something changed. I think the man I was learning to become allowed himself to grow closer to the friends he made. The goodbyes were difficult and four months later I find myself missing them and thinking about all the fun times I had with everyone. Fuck all, I miss Oregon and my people. So, what am I doing now? Driving a big rig all over the place. Mostly up and down the east coast, but dispatch knows I'm willing to go anywhere in the co