Saturday, September 30, 2017

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 don't expect a Biblical level of remembrance for anything I write, but I did expect to continue writing all the way to the grave, which brings me to this blog entry. Ever since I left Oregon and started trucking all over the goddamn country, I've lost my inspiration to write. I picture my muse out there somewhere trying desperately to keep up with me, but she can't. I drive across too many roads, stopping only for a quick shower and bite to eat, then sleep. Up again way before the sun. There's no time for creativity, you see? The writer in me is dying. Asphyxiating. The vine that once grew my wine no longer grapes. In just ten quick months of life change, it feels as though my roots are buried in sand and I will never produce fruit again. And for those of you who know me, you know this crushes me flat. My fingertips have always been my best voice. I convey my thoughts via writing with a clarity that the spoken moment will never understand, and yet here I am struggling with it. I cannot seem to find the time to sit and write like I used to do. Being a truck driver is like nothing I've ever experienced before. I literally have no free time anymore. When I am awake I am dedicated to The Job and let me tell you what, The Job is extremely demanding and exhausting and stressful. I do not enjoy this level of adulting. It goes against the wildling side of me, but ironically it also accentuates and excites the very same nomadic part of me.When I am driving across the United States in my truck I feel alone and free and part of something not many other people get to be part of. Think about it... you regular nine to five'ers are stuck in buildings surrounded by people you barely tolerate, every day of your life. You clock in the morning and immediately start counting the hours leading up to you clocking out, trapped within walls of restriction. Your coworkers annoy you and your boss is the biggest pain your ass has ever seen, yet you still keep going in. Your paycheck doesn't come close to what you feel would be worth the bullshit you endure everyday, yet you still go in. We are all slaves to something, am I right?

I've allowed myself to become a slave to money. Trucking is good money; more than my nitwit ass has ever made before. I never allowed myself to pursue a career in writing, mainly because I lack the faith in myself that it would take to get my creative ass into gear like that, but here I am now making a lot of money doing this trucking thing and it's all I can think about. For the first time in my life, I've become a small business owner and DOLLARS IN are all I can compute. The old me from ten months ago would give zero shits about this stuff. I hate nearly everything about modern day, normal society. I hate paying regular taxes, let alone small business ones. I hate every republican and democrat President that promises to make things better. I hate Antifa and I hate Nazis. I hate people who have no clue how to merge onto an interstate and I hate the stupid beach scene pad my mouse sits stationary on. No really, it's hella dumb, trust me. I am the most cynical person you'll ever meet in life, I realize this, but it's not due to lack of faith... it's due to lack of interest. Nothing excites me. Seriously. LIFE bores me. Is everything purposeless? Maybe it's not me after-all. Maybe everyone and everything is dying and I have neglected to see the situation clearly.