Haiku-palooza

Quarter can of Coke
A half dollar and some change
Iconic sugar

Holiday work week
Post-apocalypse office
Workplace solitude

Meat tenderizer
Consumer-grade wood chipper
Soft particle steak

Discarded cable
Still in bag, bound by bread-tie
Junk drawer inmate

He she you we they
A carnival caravan
All in together

Unintended act
Bounced once after hitting floor
Severed fingertip

Mr street sign man
He's observed and recognized
Stoic and unfazed

One hundred four keys
A to zero to space bar
QWERTY, if you wish

You Know What I Mean?

On the surface, I like to believe I mean well and in the ongoing search and definition of my life's meaning, I have made it a habit to actively contemplate/capture that meaning, at times in the immediate then and there and at other times in a more cumulative fashion. While I've done my best to be honest and forthcoming, one can argue that complete objectivity is impossible, due to the simple fact that I'm me and even with a well-lit mirror, I don't always see all of myself.

One of the primary purposes of this blog is to attain a bit of that objectivity by putting myself out there and moving on, then reviewing and critiquing the me that was/is and hopefully realizing and enacting the necessary changes to effectively continue "meaning well". I bring up the topic of "criticism" because when hindsight is brought into the equation, we inevitably find that some of those well-meant intentions go sour. The amateur therapist in me (using the title as evidence) loves nothing more than going back over past entries and mining for golden nuggets of wisdom that will lead to solutions to yesterday's/today's/tomorrow's problems, but that's rarely the case. What I've typically found is that I've merely got wild dreams of romance and fantasy that come out in wordy posts and poetic jibberish.

What am I getting at? I'm not sure, but I've had a lot of free time lately and a lot of that time has been spent looking for meaning in various angles of my life story and I seem to keep coming up short. Short of what? The same meaning that philosophers and great minds have filled volumes with various thoughts and opinions while still coming up short of a consensus. When I put it to myself in that light, I begin to realize that while I'm not wasting my time, I'm joking and essentially lying to myself if I ever think I'm going to find a single or definite meaning to anything I see/think/do... life is far too infinite to ever be pigeonholed.

So, with all that said, I guess you nor I know what I mean.

4

Number 4. Those are words I never thought would apply to me, yet its not really a surprise now that its here, considering that I... continue to credit myself for intelligence that's not really there... continue to turn a blind eye to the obvious... and continue to think and act like I'm in a position to give advice and judge, when its pretty clear how much of a directionless plop I have become at the tender age of 37.

"4" refers to a situation I'm currently mired in, thanks to my dear associate, alcoholism. A dear associate that has stuck by me through thick and thin, in good times and bad, and for all intensive purposes, is bound and determined to be there "till death do us part". Depending on the day and mood, I have called it far worse things and conversely, have even joked about it's place in my life, which is probably one of the many reasons I'm writing about this subject instead of sharing my thoughts on something else, such as... the sand in Barbados.

On one hand, I almost fear putting down additional words about this topic for the same reason reason kids are scared to say "Bloody Mary" or "CandyMan" and that's the fear it may show itself again. On the other hand, burying it (along with other things) has allowed it to become a festering parasite that has made me into a shell of what I believe I am capable of being.

And it's at this point that I need to say "Whoa". Take it down a notch and re-read the first paragraph. The whole mantra of perpetuation is what needs to be interrupted before the count increases. Maybe even blogging is counter-productive, because it continues the trend of self-talk that has me trying to self-diagnose myself. Whatever the solution may be... what I'm doing isn't it.

So I've started to believe and live the cliches (keep it simple... one day at a time... we have twice as many ears as mouths for a reason - one should be used twice as much as the other). They say a lot more than I've said over the span of this post and this entire blog. And while I'm obviously sorting through a lot and still feel like a bit of a directionless plop today, I'm not limiting myself because of "4". It's happened and it's a significant hurdle, but it's not the end. Its going to only be what I allow it to be and what I decide to make of it.