Okay, look, I know I am not the most conventional guy in the world but does that make me weird? For some reason, this little thought popped into my head today and it hasn't quite finished its sweeping arcs around my mental lobes. Thus, I thought, it was worth pursuing a little bit, at least. I don't think I am going to make a whole lot of sense in this post as this is more of a stream of my random thoughts but do keep reading. I am sure there is a gem in there somewhere.
I assume that anyone reading this (hellooooo, out there?) has had a moment at some point in their life where they thought they were some sort of "out of bounds" kind of person. They may have thought they were different in some sort of negative way or thought of themselves as being "different". I think many stumble across such mental musings when and outside influence decides to mention that they may or may not be weird.
There is a scene in the film Stand By Me where the character of Gordie LaChance asks his best friend, Chris Chambers, if he is weird.
"Do you think I'm weird?"
"No, man. Seriously. Am I weird?"
"Yah, but so what. Everybody's weird."
That little exchange has saved me from many situations where some crazy individual tells me that I am weird. Combined with most of these comments are finishing sentences like "grow up" or "start acting your age". It is these comments that tend to hit me the hardest. I have learned over the years to just accept that my attitude about the world is a decent construct of thoughts and personal belief. And that everyone else has just the same structure but not the same content.
There is a simple truth in the world. People are silly. No, seriously, they are silly. I have run into so many inflexible individuals in my short time on this planet that I have determined that we're either all weird or just insane. I tend to lean towards the latter conclusion but that would, of course, mean that I was also insane. It is a twisted world we live in when I can start off talking about whether or not I am weird and end up in the bowels of self reflection of whether or not I am sane or insane.
Of course, I am forced to conclude that I am incredibly sane otherwise I wouldn't be having these little discussions with my inner self. But back to the topic at hand. Are we weird? Or am I myself weird.
I don't think I am weird. I suspect that I may be more comfortable with myself than some others. This usually manifests into more "crazy" behaviour (which I attribute to my many years of improv theatre) and I tend not to be afraid of what other individuals think of me. Sure, there are people I know and respect their opinions but, you see, it is those people who also take me for who I am. I attempt to do the same.
I have also been told that I should never change. I don't ever intend to change. I like who I am and I like where I am going. But, dammit, don't tell me who to be. Most of us out there are full of shit and I tend to be one to call people on their crap. As I get older, it seems I am doing that more freely too.
When will the world "grow up"? It won't. I am sane. It is the rest of the world that let the cheese slip off the cracker.
Well, as most of you probably know, it was sunny today in our fair town of Vancouver, BC. This detail by itself is not amazing but, for those of us who call Vancouver home, it is pretty darn cool. (Oh, and I walked in a shoe for the first time in months. Did I mention that yet?)
Yes, I did. I walked while wearing proper shoes on both feet. I won't be doing that again for another couple of weeks because it hurt like a bastard once I had the shoe on. Hopefully, the surgeons from the St. Paul's Foot and Ankle clinic won't ever read this but -- I assure them -- no damage was done. It was just an experiment for an hour to see how my foot was feeling about the whole "shoe thing" and it told me quite happily that putting on a shoe (is hard) and walking around (is not too bad) is something I need to wait on.
But why would I subject myself to such a torture? (You really need to break your ankle to understand the pain you are able to cause.) We've had a pretty grey winter (more so than usual) and this town has lacked a decent sunny day for what seems like months. There were a few moments in early December where we didn't feel entirely in the dark but that was such a long time ago we have collectively forgotten. You'd really have to live here to appreciate how much sun one needs or desires.
But it was such a nice day, how could I not entertain the idea of stepping out and getting "some D". I won't do that again, however. The pain of getting the shoe on was crazy insane. I never would have guessed that the process of putting on a shoe would cause so much searing pain.
I think, perhaps, a new set of shoes is in order. Something to treat my ankles with. They have worked over time these past couple of months and deserve something with fur and comfy goodness. Any suggestions?
There is something fascinating about reviewing things I have written in the past. I wish I could describe it better than just being "fascinating" but I am having a hard time coming up with a proper way to elaborate on the experience. I suppose an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation may have an easier time at making sure every nuance of my thoughts on this particular experience would be clear enough for those reading this but, as much as I would love to live on a holo-deck, you will have to survive my commentary a bit longer.
If you've been hanging around my web site, you'll know (or at least have an idea) that I hurt myself at the end of 2012. This injury has made my 2013 much different than I had imagined. During my recovery, I have had a bunch of time to catch up on personal projects. One of these projects is my own personal web site. It is the curse of the typical blogger that allows their talent to be sucked up with paying work that is similar to their personal interests. It is almost cruel. Many people find themselves in the same boat. Almost trapped between two worlds.
Of course, there are those who find or create a balance between the work and the personal. They are able to separate their day from their nights (or vice versa). They are able to create for themselves a dividing line to keep their work and life apart. There are also those who are lucky to find that their personal interests are identical.
I wish I were one of those who are able to keep their "two lives" completely separate. I understand that I am not in the minority. From what I had read, the majority of people are in the same situation. There is very little difference between the work they do for a living and the work they do for themselves. This creates an issue regarding either time or money. It depends highly on how the individual deals with finances or personal desire.
But that is not what I started out talking about. As a matter of fact, I don't recall what I was intending on chatting about. How odd -- but not entirely out of the ordinary for this blogger. When I write for my own personal things, I don't tend to plan it out. I prefer the thought of the day as being a starting point. I can usually go from there and, more often than not, it all works out and makes some form of sense.
Ah, yes, my ankle and blogging through the pain. It is fascinating to read things one has written during a time of stress and pain. I wrote everything by hand and having to go through those written pages brings up all kinds of emotions. My broken ankle hasn't been a "huge deal" overall but the moments where I have lost my sense of hope or fell down the rabbit hole of frustration are documented in some fashion and are still very raw. I am not doing the best job at describing this. All I can say is that I will continue to go through them and post them as I get them typed in. There are some that make no sense at all and I will probably ditch those as "drug addled" writing but, maybe, I will choose a some gems from them to share.
I am glad I stuck with writing since I broke my ankle. It has proved to be a time of reflection that will not go unused. Just how I will use it remains to be seen but, whatever I do, I am sure it will be amazing.
There is something disturbing about losing control. I don't know about you but I am not a fan of being unable to control my mental state. I am quite good at it. I am able to talk myself in and out of different mental spaces and I like to feel like I am "in control" of myself in any situation. I don't want to control the situation, just how I am reacting to any experiences I encounter.
But not so much these days.
I have mentioned this before about the whole "not being in control" thing. I don't remember when I mentioned these thoughts (even though I know I wrote them down somewhere)...
"I wrote them down so I wouldn't have to remember."
-- Henry Jones Senior
...but I know I have, you know, thought them. This is what I mean. I don't have the control I normally do. It is either pain, depression, or something worse. Maybe i am being infested with alien bugs intent on taking me over.
Yes, that must be it. Of course it is, Shane. Alien bugs. What else could it be?
It would be almost simpler if it were alien bugs. I wouldn't feel down, out of control, or... anything. I think that is the saddest part of this whole situation. I feel useless and I just want to go to sleep until my ankle is solid as a metal-infused rock again. I just can't help but feel this way.
But I am glad I am documenting it. It makes for fascinating reading, yes? NO? Damn you all! Daaaaamn you! But I know I was thinking about writing something else regarding this loss of control but I can't remember.
Oh, yes. Hot nurses. I mentioned the other day about how it would be awesome to have a hot nurse bathe me. Someone suggested that one's spouse do it.
Let me fill you in on a little secret. When you are grumpy, smelly, and just trying to get through each day with some dignity -- you don't want the person taking care of you all day (cough, all week, er, month long) to wash you. It just isn't in the cards. At this very moment in time, I feel the least sexy individual on the face of the planet. I have never felt so incredibly horrific. I don't want someone I care a great deal about to look upon me any more than she has to.
I want some hot nurses to do it. I want them to look upon my fat, bloated, not-quite-a-corpse to look upon my greatness and bathe me as if I were a Greek god in the flesh. Yes. It is very weird to feel this way about my broken body but, dammit, I want to feel a little more desirable and why not dream about women (I don't have any chance with at all) to wash me down.
Yes. This is what I am talking about. The loss of logic. I hate that. I don't mind a fantasy now and then but can't I have a fantasy where I don't feel gross and broken?
It has been just over two weeks since my surgery. I do not feel normal. I visited the doctor earlier this week for the post-operation "looksie". Apparently, everything is going swimmingly. If I could swim, I would. I feel a lot like drowning these days.
"Tits on a bull." I said to the doctor.
"You'll feel better but not very soon." He replied.
I had expected him to smile or something but he was just an intern or student or whatever it is they call you when you're learning. He was nice enough but my attitude has been really negative. I hate feeling useless but I also know it is good for me to rest and do nothing. Keep myself busy with what work I can do and confirm that I do have some form of usefulness.
Time is also speeding up.
I don't know if it is because I turn forty this year (fuck, turning forty) or if it is because I am sitting on my ass all the time. I wonder if there is some correlation regarding the passage of time and how many showers you can't take.
Ugh. I can't shower yet. This is a problem. I am washing my hair in the sink and sponging myself. You'd think I would at least have a young, hot, and loose nurse to take care of that portion of my day. I think this must be the drugs talking...
"I heard that you were feeling ill..."