I am not a role model

I get scared when it’s easy.

That’s what the 27 year old kid said to me about writing the other day. He’s followed too many of my paths in life, but he seems to keep coming out of it on the right side. Smart kid that one. Except that whole using me as a role model part.

After that conversation I had to sit down and think about it for a bit. Who was my role model? I mean, I take after my dad in some ways. I am really bad with my money. I get drunk too much. I’m bad at relationships.  But, I have to say nothing much else.

My grandfather? I always wanted to be like him. He was quiet. So am I. He followed his heart. I do that. He was an accountant who never missed a day of work. I have only used one sick day in my career as a journalist.

But, once again, I don’t see enough. I didn’t model myself after him. Or anyone I guess.

Is that strange? I have no idea.

This is why I find someone emulating me to be a bit disconcerting.

But, lines like “So what if all my heroes are the losing kind” have to come from somewhere, I guess. So who am I to stop a kid from being whatever he wants to be. Even if it’s like me?

A couple of police cars are circling my house at the moment. I was outside just a few minutes ago, looking under my car with a flashlight. I wonder if my awesome neighbors, of who there are just motel guests, called them on me? It’s not a good thing, not being able to just check out under your car at night without a drive by of two cop cars. One, peering into my house with a light while slowly creeping by. I raised my bottle of beer in a salute to him, and then they just parked in the empty parking lot across the street. Guess they’re going to “Keep an eye on that one!” Good luck kind sirs. Why don’t you just go back to harassing folks driving their cars on a public road at night. It’s certainly what you are good at. But, like I said, you’ve got to pick something and try at it. And when you fail, take it as an omen.

The keyboard fights back sometimes. It doesn’t seem to want to produce for me. I sometimes wish it were easier. Just to sit down and type and see results. It probably is, but I don’t take the time to just say fuck it and do it. That’s certainly the next goal. To have the nuts to do that. I’m 41 and not getting any younger. My eyesight is failing faster than my teeth are rotting. One day it’ll be interesting to see if I can still tell the difference between foods when I can no longer chew or see it. Happy days indeed.

A paragraph can be one sentence.

Or it can be two. Like this.

But it never seems to matter, unless you are keeping track. If they run on and on and on and on together. Or just stay apart.

I met a lady yesterday. She seemed oh so happy to meet me. I didn’t buy it for a second. Her office had no windows. And she dressed like she shops at Kato. I hope one day I won’t marry a woman like that. It would be enough to put the gun in my mouth for me. I wouldn’t even have to think about it.

It also dawned on me that for over a decade I was ruined by one person. At first, it wasn’t ruinous, at least in my opinion. Then it was. And it festered. I like the word fester. But not when it pertains to my life and the way it has been wasted. Like a limb with a cut that isn’t treated and eventually becomes infected. It will either be cut off or saved. But a lot of that has to do with effort.

I once was told to never give up. But that seemed so silly. I learned early on that you can’t win every time. And if you expect to, that’s a lot different than actually doing so. And I’ve yet to meet that one person who won all the time.

My neck and back hurt many times now. I think it’s from over sitting.

Last week I had some money. This week I have none. Next week I still won’t have any.

It seems darker outside than usual. I think it’s because my eyes are failing. Will my eyes failing become my new teeth are rotting? Only time will tell. At least that’s what Jimmy Cliff once told me.