neil and johnny

I put on P.I.L.’s “First Issue”. I look at myself in the mirror. I’m not a geeky kid anymore. Why am I listening to an album that only geeky kids would listen too?

There’s a reason people get stuck where they are. It’s because they decide to stay there. It has nothing to do with circumstances or health problems or their fucking girlfriends. It’s just because you decided the status quo, no matter how good or bad it is, isn’t worth giving up for the unknown.

Take my speeding ticket. It’s going to cost $290 to make it go poof. Disappear as if it never happened. There is slightly over $700 in the savings account. But, instead of using that money to pay for it, the decision is made to put it on a credit card. More debt to pile on top of the old debt. And why? To have that money available when the bottom falls out. But really, what good is $700 going to do? It’ll pay a month’s rent. Or it will allow me to drive for a few weeks. Or make a few car payments. Depends on what the priority at that moment is.

Fucking stupid ain’t it?

I wonder if she listens to Johnny Rotten yell on top of bass beats? It seems like such a simple pleasure to have. Such an awesome thing to find out about too. Will it ever happen? Who fucking knows. Probably. Probably not. Depends.

Isolation also makes one wonder a bit. That is definitely what’s going on here. This was the fourth year now in a row that I haven’t been working on Super Bowl Sunday. The first one, I went to a friend’s house for a party with the newly minted GF. It was awkward and cool at the same time. The last three years, I haven’t done a thing. I can’t remember the other two, but last night I watched the game on the computer. Kept fading in and out. Kind of reminded me of the old days of the 9 inch black and white TV, stealing away late nights watching such things. Always having to adjust the antennae back and forth to get a picture, just substitute the F5 button for the antennae. I ate some good food. Enjoyed a few beers. Listened to the club across the street rock back and forth. Then, all of the sudden I started to feel ill. Could I finally be succumbing to the awful grunge sickness that everyone else has? I’ve done all I could to avoid it. Not shake hands. Wash them all the time. Use napkins on door knobs. Shit. I can’t get sick. I tell myself. I have no insurance. No money even if I did. So, I took some Nyquil and laid down on the couch. I don’t remember much after that. I woke up with a little over a minute left in the game. Saw the end. The rest? Didn’t see it. Wonder if I missed anything? Is this what happens to you when you get old? Or just lonely?

It really didn’t matter. No interest really. Kind of wish I’d been bowling or leaping over fences or dancing in the dark. All of those things seem so much more interesting than watching a collective advertisement for how great America is, when in reality, the country is in the shitter. And the shit is getting deeper every day. It’ll be an interesting day when the bill comes due. When there’s nothing but misery for everyone.

But that’s just depressing and awful. I’d rather think that in the future we’ll all be serenaded by Johnny Lydon and roll around in the periwinkle after he’s done.

It’s a future. Your future?

As I stare at myself in a reflection in a dirty window, Mr. Rotten/Lydon yells about religion. I tried to have religion. It just doesn’t settle into my head the right way. I want to believe in it. I do believe in something. Just can’t put my finger on it.

The reflection stares back at me. It’s an older version of the me that I picture being me. I suppose that’s what everyone sees when they think of themselves. Only to be startled by the real thing when the lighting changes.

I walk outside. Maybe she’ll be there? I’m an optimist about that one thing in my life. That one day, Neil Young will be right. Those words he once sang, he believed them, right? I hope so.