the statement above is one I understand all to well. I am always chasing the next great thing. Something to make me feel alive. I embrace and fight that feeling all at once. I wish I was content to…just be…to be satisfied. At the same time I am utterly horrified by the thought of life spent sitting still, at my time suddenly coming up and my son saying “he never got to take me to that ball game.” As it stands right now I’ll get to take him, and he might not remember anything about it, but knowing me he will have pictures to prove it happened. My memory is too long. I build time lines in my life through things, not just possessions, but shows that were on during my life, movies, books, anything I can absorb and make into a person quirk or gimmick. I am built so much upon indentity that I spend all my time reinforcing my own. Making sure that I collect things that go with my passions (sooooo many copies of The Lord of the Rings) and trying to teach my son the things I love so that he will understand me. There is the rub of the situation, I spend so much time trying to fit so much in and record it all (I actually keep lists of every movie I watch, every book I read complete with dates. Repeats are especially included) so that my son can say when I die “my father last watched the crow on 5/21/2015”. It is almost insane the lists I will make trying to track the posterity of my life so that all those left behind can track it. Pictures, God do I love pictures. Anything I can tag a timeline or personality quirk to, even brands (Tupperware, cocacola, twinnings) anything that can be pinpointed as something I love and make you remember, I will use it, I will keep it close, I will absorb it and allow it to be something that keeps my memory going, or more importantly others memories of me. I spend so much time trying to fit things in, to get high off of nostalgia that I get afraid for time, that I won’t have enough. I suppose the problem is that I have confronted my own mortality, that the war in Iraq, the yard stick against which the rest of my life shall be held, has already come and gone for me. I love my life now. I love my wife and son, but that mortality has made me manic in life. It makes me rush to fit in so much, and to record it all. Someone once asked me to why I joined the army.later someone asked me why I do Spartan races. The answer was the same in both cases, to make my obituary more interesting. I do love life, but I am always searching for that next thrill the next thing to chase. I record so much that some sorry soul who is making money off of the wet dreams of OCD patients made a book called “listography.” It is exactly what it sounds like. It is a book, with lists, and you fill it in. I admit it. That noise is my drug of choice. There is nothing like a good list to me. I live life so fast chasing the feeling of being alive that sometimes I drink just to slow it all down, to drag it all out and make it play by in slow motion. Now is of course one of those times. I don’t do this often and in all fairness sometimes I drink to dull the pain in my eyes (better than narcotics) and it even becomes a new thing to chase and record to see how long I go without doing this. Tonight however it was time. That’s why I made this blog. To share with my friends (within reason) a controlled measure of all my nonsense. To focus it all in one place and let them read it or not. It’s not like I could just not say it! What good would that do? I’ve learned leaving it unsaid is bad. And I feel found horrible because I have friends with real problems and I’m sitting here talking about this. However we are each concerned with ourselves at least a little bit so that is tonight’s conundrum…”I just wish I was a little hungry again.”
Hrolf the Ganger.
P.S. I go through a ritual of self punishment with photos like that. It reminds me of the kids in Iraq and of how good we have it and yet here I am doing this.