Called up the nice folks at the Community Care Clinic and moved my next Wound Care appointment from 11 am tomorrow, where it conflicted with my very important phone call with Doctor Chao, to Friday at 11:30 am, where it does not.
So yay, I did something productive and intelligent instead of refusing to deal with things and burying my head in the sand.
In this case, the sand is video games.
I’ve come to realized just how much I have done that : refused to deal with things I really should take care of because dealing with them is too hard, too scary, too weird, or too whatever else for me at the time.
And it fills me with shame. That’s not who I am. I’m not someone who can’t face reality head on. I’m not some intellectually weak coward.
From now on, I am going to respond to things I find hard to deal with by rising to the challenge instead of running away with my tail between my legs from something that is less of a threat than my own shadow for fuck’s sake.
And my incentive for doing so will be the feeling of victory it will bring and that oh so rewarding feeling of self-mastery, when you know you could have failed in an allo too familiar way but instead you conquered yourself and Got It Done.
This is one benefit to tapping into my anger and aggression : the thirst for victory.
It’s enough to keep the thought of the pleasure of getting things done in mind as an incentive for overcoming my usual bullshit instead of folding like a crappy old card table the moment things get difficult.
A lot of life gets way easier when you just stop looking for a way out all the time.
And the thing is, I am a naturally feisty person. Give me an actual opponent and I will fight like a beast. I am fearless, brilliantly innovative, and can go ten rounds and still be hungry for more.
So why have I been such a pussy about everything until now?
Not sure, but I think not wanting to grow up and face reality was a big part of it.
And being dominated by that Wound of mine. It had me stuck in Freeze Mode and feeling weak and tiny and puny in the face of even the mildest of challenges.
But I don’t have to be that way at all. I can be brave and strong and fierce. I can be a hard-muscled champion always eager for a fight.
In fact, I can be whoever the fuck I want to be.
Why? Because I am fucking awesome, that’s why. I’m so incredible it’s like magic. I have the intelligence, charisma, personality, and talent to make it huge in whatever I decide to do. All I need is the courage.
And you’re always as courageous as you are willing to be.
And I am ready to bury the needle, baby.
More after the break.
Kickstart my heart
Yup. Another :”the song Fru has stuck in his head” entry.
If I ever have a heart attack – and it’s likely – I want that song playing in the ambulance as they rush me to the ER.
And to think, when I was a highly dogmatic teenage metalhead, I had nothing but contempt for bands like Motley Crue and Poison for being mere “hair metal”,
I only liked REAL heavy metal like Metallica and Iron Maiden. You know, SERIOUS heavy metal, not that superficial hair metal crap made by pretty boys who only cared about doing whatever it took to become rich and famous and get their sex drugs and rock n’ roll lifestyles.
Personally, that lifestyle never seemed all that appealing to me. Probably because I’m an introvert so all that “party hearty” bullshit seemed like nothing but a headache and a nightmare to me.
No thank you, I would rather not go to a loud crowded party right after I perform and put all my energy out there on the stage.
I don’t want to take off, take drugs, and take a groupie to bed.
I want to take off, take a bath, then take a nap. ALONE.
Anyhow. Back then, I had a lot of opinions about what was “serious” and what was not.
Marvel was “serious” because they had stories that were gritty and dark and had complex heroes with problems and struggles.
DC, on the other hand, was the fucking Superfriends. Kiddified pablum with simplistic storylines suitable only for those with single digit ages and/or IQs.
Admittedly, when I read Frank Miller’s “The Dark Knight Returns” in Jason Heisler’s bedroom, I had to adjust my thinking on DC a little bit.
Well, on Batman at least. He wasn’t just Adam West to me any more.
And “star Trek” was “serious”. Star Wars was not.
Yes, I was one of THOSE nerds for a while, looking down my nose at Star Wars as being nothing but adventure movies and not “real” science fiction.
Despite having been as rabid a Star Wars fan as every other child in the known universe back when the first one came out and I ended up seeing it three times.
But is there any contempt more venomous than the contempt a teenager has for the “kiddie stuff” they used to be into?
Thank God I got over that bullshit, and more importantly, over myself.
Now, I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks of any of my tastes. I openly love cartoons and animated features and plush animals and all sorts of “kiddie stuff”.
Because for us nerds, the “giving up of childish things” is strictly optional. Thanks to differential development, our overdeveloped intellects and underdeveloped social instincts combine to let us retain our sense of childlike wonder well into our adults years, and thus we stay curious, creative, and open to new things.
And to me at least, that’s the right way to be.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.
It would be funny to hear Flava Flav say, “I wouldn’t give him the time of day.”