Frankly I Don't Give a Shit.

Don't give a fuck.jpg

Not long ago a friend of mine mentioned Steemit to me. Via text message he suggested I write a blog. I hate texting. I hate writing. I certainly don't anticipate myself appreciating blogging. I like to talk. I like to use gestures and wave my arms to the point I scare my fragile grandmother whom I believe is now under 4' tall. My single arm flying over her head has more to it than the remainder of her bodily remains. I'm also well known for my lack of spacial awareness. So she has it on good authority to be nervous while I soak with enthusiasm, but she's just about the only person alive to stir much excitement out of me these days. This for the concerned reader means I'm usually looking at her and not elsewhere while I'm talking about anything worth waving my arms over and she is rarely actually in any danger. I love you GMA.

I really do feel like writing online and texting on your phone loses a lot. Facebook has in a way begun a transition back to truly expressing yourself even if it is through a screen with the Your Day feature. If that is what it's referred to as. Frankly I don't give a shit. It usually pisses me off in fact. I don't give a shit because it too still misses the point most phone calls can portray through even a brief awkward moment left floating as the person's voice on the other end of the static filed line echoes through your numb skull with the last word so graciously spoken to you.

None the less I see the light. There exists very few captive audiences left to try to reach. Maybe I'll find one here. Maybe I will not.

To those of you who may be interested I am going to try to find away to find myself right here with you reading my honest, albeit opinionated story of me being an asshole. I'm l not really sure how it will unfold. I have no plan. But as I said this is my story of me finding myself and rarely do I plan anything. Wow! Fucking ego this guy. Also in complete honesty I hope to quickly get kicked off the entire internet. That way I don't have to follow through with what might ultimately be quite regrettable. But, in the infamous words of myself and my giant ego, fuck it. Or was it my ego and not the words that were infamous (shrugging shoulders emoji). Anyways, like I said fuck it.

I am a 35 year old man boy child infant thing. Born in Vail Colorado and I learned to ski so early in life I have little to no memory of a time I couldn't stand on ice as well as I can stand in a hot parking lot. My mom killed herself, my dad/step mom combo and I don't speak and my true love is in prison as I write these bull shit words. My childhood role model was Sid Vicious. Yup, I did just admit that Sid was my childhood role model. Loved the hair. I also promised honesty so I'll admit I loved the idea of Nancy too. I have a drinking problem I solved with a drug problem. Fear not because my drug problem was also solved by wise decision making I just discovered after recently being diagnosed health problem. One more thing i have that others often do not is endless all day everyday/all night every night anxiety. My friends if I have any left all thought I was going to say endless words freely flowing directly from my face hole udderly unfiltered. Not there yet. But, I'm talking about the kind of anxiety not just found in one's head. I can feel it through my body. An empty and very uncomfortable vacancy unlike the cheap motel I live in literally, yes the literal kind of literally, with every other room occupied by felons. I only joke. I joke not about the motel. About the fact that most others don't have this never ending anxiety I joke. You see I can see in most people's eyes they too have a similar feeling.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1F5vuvdPRlYji1F22ZdQP7v926d4QNXSp/view?usp=drivesdk

Really though, I do have something going for myself. I remain optimistic in not just myself but in my neighbors. Why fucking not. Have hope and smile for fuck shakes. Dream a little dream. Dream a big dream. I learned this early in life while my dad still spoke to me and was later set in stone on a car lot where I thrived on and off for years. It's a choice you have everyday you wake up, if you in fact you require a wake up (winky face emoji here), to have a good attitude or a bad attitude. Your attitude that affects your day everyday is a choice. It also affects my day. To some this goes without saying, but I do so knowing I sometimes need a friendly reminder. To the rest of you that need further explanation, your fucked. Just kidding. Optimism baby! Just find someone who you think smiles too much. Follow their lead.

Think about it for about as long as you need about what good does your negative comment about my fucking aspirations to become a decorated fighter pilot with Hepatitis C and terrible vision at 35 years old do anyone. Does it server your purpose that is somehow greater than those of us that surround you that are eternally lost by choice in kindergarten using their awesome powers of imagination? Fuck no it doesn't. When I try to manifest my imaginative state of mind to the world and someone cuts my bigger than life idea to save the world with a simple smiling game is amongst the few times in life I nearly just scream out loud at another person (hater). The kind of scream you can hear for blocks and spit flies across the room so far the cat must now wipe it's face with it's paw and walk off showing you it's asshole making you wonder at the same time if that bare spot ever gets cold. The kind of scream you fear a massive vortex will open in mid air right above you sucking the oxygen directly from your tar dipped lungs, ripping your existence back in time leading you shaking in a cave where you just traced your hand on a dark smoke tinged rock wall without your cigarettes. Primal shit. From your core I think they say. My point is this. People need to remember that we all play the game. The game of Life. Right? I make my rules assuming you make your rules and assuming our actions are permitted by law (I'm always afraid I'm going to get arrested even for what I write) we are all going to make it to the end winners by dying. I just want to smile as I paint my pretty fucked up picture. What ever your beliefs, I know you can frown through your phone screen as you choose the alternative. But don't. Wake up and make a choice even if it seems to not fit well. Choose to have a good attitude god damn it. I promise to you your family, friends, co-workers and lover(s) will thank you later. Maybe not all lovers if that's the kind of lover thing you're into, but other than that exception to the rule it won't hurt you. Actual I stand corrected there too. If you're unfamiliar with smiling frequently your front teeth may need to readjust to the renewed air contact. Still quite worth it. In fact trade in the strange lover who approved not of having a good attitude for another type of strange lover. I'm guessing still more worth it than not.

My ex-wife, well actually my wife (in a complicated relationship box with check mark here), might disagree with the screaming thing. Sorry Stina. We just never saw eye to eye. And I had another lover(s) BTW. I loved her (them) much more than you. Alcohol. Drugs. This in contrast to a previous little sentiment on how to live life. Drugs and alcohol are great in regards to stopping the never ending imaginations if you have a good attitude about it. Hi my name is Adam and I am an alcoholic/addict that can't stand AA. I also can't stand being fucked up all the time anymore. I don't mean to talk down on AA either. Whatever and anything that works when you're ready you must do the sober thing. It's weird but lucky comfortable. The word part lead me to this next question. Why doesn't fight or flight kick in here like the first time I got slugged in the nose? I knew immediately to fight back or my reputation for the rest of my life would be permanently tarnished. With A and D that never even crossed my mind even with a reputation left well beyond whatever weird comes third after tarnished. I've drank, ate, huffed, snorted and shot up anything I could until, for the most part, the night my friend suggested I look into Steemit and write a blog. Fucking writing. Little did he know I just quit methamphetamines (again), Suboxone (that I loved to shoot up/again) and an onslaught of benzos (knowing this could be lethal/again). Thanks to the suboxone heroin wasn't on the list (this is an inside joke you'll only get if you've quit subs without tapering off).

For anyone who has ever tried to quit any one of these drugs independent from one another I definitely don't suggest quitting this combo all at once. EVER. Also, don't try them all at once either. EVER. Honestly it was the first thing I did like a fucking man in long while. Not taking them. Quitting them. Maybe ever. And so did my grandmother I might add. Like a man. One morning we even both wound up in the ER on gurnees next to one another. And no I wasn't telling any stories I was excited about. I'd also like to add she isn't addicted to anything other than her love for me and our family. At least I hope not. Gma? So for that good job ACE (me) and amazing job Goldie (Gma) . But seriously don't do that. It's very dangerous in many ways. Don't try it and don't sue me if you die trying. Coming off certain drugs and/or alcohol can and is often lethal. But I'm an asshole so fuck doctors. Really though quit drugs and quit drinking when your ready and definitely before you die. If nobody else loves you I do. When your mind connects vomiting with words that even resemble your chosen lover it becomes easier. Hair in my mouth... Blah! And today it looks like clear skies... Blah! Clear here in Colorado is a term for a particular lover I frequented.

Now without drugs fueling my daily activities I find myself tired. Most people would be almost human again by now, but this time I sober up to a new reality. The reality sucks and admittedly makes it very difficult to have a good fucking attitude. My new reality this Xmas was sent through an app on my God damn phone. It was a message from my doctor. My specialist I like to refer to them as. Like I can afford good insurance better then Medicaid that in turn affords me my specialists. My doctor's, sorry, my Specialist's message was good in a sense. Good considering previous presentations and thoughts I had been given. The good news is that I don't have liver cancer. Fuck yeah! Also, I have fibrosis but not cirosis. Another fuck yeah! I think. But I do officially have Hepatitis C. I don't just slip that in there while during the fighter pilot thing for fun. Despite all my cautions and all my warnings and every maticulous little detail I very often get stuck (unintentional pun not intended) on I have hep fucking c. That ain't good. Not in any aspect. Except for I don't have cancer and only fibrosis not cirosis. Huge.

I don't have liver cancer and by my Specialist and Specialist's assistant Lady's previous presentation I was really fucking convinced I did for a minute. I now have to pee in a cup for insurance to pay for the medicine. I can do that. I think. I can do that for a month in order to get treatment. I think. Ok I can, but one last huge hangup. I've got a girl.

As in I have a lady friend. We know each other well. Very well. Even outside of marriage we know one another better than we know ourselves is what I'm getting at. I love this lady friend. I love this lady friend...This moment is similar to the awkward moment of silence I liked so much earlier, but I like this awkward moment much much less. In fact it is uncomfortable and really awkward.

I haven't told her. I haven't told anyone except for GMA. Love you GMA. How could I have told her. I just found out. Fuck! Shit! Oh my God. Fuck! That is about all I could think. Those exact words are exactly what I thought when I stopped thinking about myself. Fucking asshole probably crossed my mind too. Actually that is precisely what my mind beautifully composes everytime I fuck up and someone else is concerned. Fuck! Shit! Oh my God. Fuck! Fucking asshole. For about an hour I truly debated joining my mother. Purgatory, sorry Durango Mountain Resorts not referring to you, is the place I imagine her lost soul. I don't believe this, but from hating suicide that is where she rests in my mind's eye. I really wanted to be right there with her. Not my girl. With my mother stuck in purgatory for eternity. Fuck! Shit! Oh my God. Fuck!

What do you tell someone you've made love to when you learn a thing like this about yourself. The truth no doubt. ASAP no doubt. But I can't text her in her current state of existence located in one of Missouri's finest correctional institutions. I can email her but I again can't afford "stamps" to write her. Even if I had "stamps" I wouldn't email her that in there anyways. We talk on the phone now and again, but I and I hope she too cherishes these precious moments of vocal communication even though neither one of us has ever left a single shred of silence to awkwardness. Not once in nine months has a single second of silence gotten passed the two of us talking on the phone. We even get a two for one rate. Therefore I refuse to tarnish what may ultimately be our last conversations.

Keep in mind I truly love this girl. With all my dark heart I love my Ciia Baby. I love her despite her failing our mutual promise of monotony to one another. Yup, she cheated on me. And yup i said I never could allow my self to live someone after that. But I can. I can only do this only because I sought revenge. With the very woman she did. Balance. Fuck! Shit! Oh my God. Fuck! Fucking asshole. I've got to tell her that too.

No texts, no emails and refusing selfishly and fully aware of the potential for a really long awkward moment of silence to make her aware by phone. I chose to write her of our impending and most likely imminent doom. And I do mean write her. The hand written kind of letter you send to a loved one in prison. I made it's clear who, what, when, where and why. But your guess is as good as mine if I'll have my Ciia Baby after she receives my written word.

Frankly I DO give a shit. I really do. I'd trade death the day after being able to spend one more night with her. Seriously if possible I would. If she required I kill myself the following morning I'd take her offer. Assuming I could do it somewhat like a samurai does knowing their own demise has fought it's way through the garden and passed the guards outside and made it's way inside leaving only one room of ninjas left between them and death I'd take her offer. With a scream similar to the one described way above, remember the cat's cold or not asshole, would also be an assumption of mine. But I'd do it. I really love this girl. She's a woman but I like to date from 24-27 range maybe 28. In referring to her as a girl she'll forever be right there (I'd consider 23-29 in being honest). Pig. I wrote her. And despite having a good attitude my first of two letters just reached her. My head's up letter I know it as. A warning that the next letter says some big shit so hold on to your celly kind of letter. I know the risk here too if you think like I think. But considering other than a celly and a shitter she has nothing else to hold onto in a cell. My attitude now ranks at barely fair. Fuck! Shit! Oh my God. Fuck! Piece of shit pig asshole.... You can still go say hi to Mom. Pussy.

Regardless of my Ciia Baby's reaction, my addiction to anything other than sobriety, my newly confirmed acquisition of hep c (no hep of any other variety), my mom about mission, my dad/step mom combo be reluctant vocally l, me being just some dude of a very unique variety and knowing assholes who hate my dreams are still going to text and email me their shitty opinions while frowning through phones much nicer than mine, I know my life will go on and it will go forwardly. I'll take each step I can with my head up and I'll do so playing the Smiling Game. I'll try to smile bigger tomorrow as I lift my head another inch. And I'll do this as I hope that if you had a shitty day, a cold shower or long shitty year or worse you to can find the light like I just did for the second time since I started writing this. I'll do this with no prejudice. Keep your heads held high. Keep your preexisting ideas of who your longing at in a locked file next to an open flame. Keep your teeth to the wind. Do it for no other reason than regardless of the shit you and I wade through by universal forces unknown, life goes on to give us an awkward moment of silence I for one truly appreciate. I smile at awkwardness and do my best to forget about the shit already up to my knees and into my boots. I step forward even if I need to learn. I expect my neighbors to do the same because sometimes we all need a friendly reminder including me to have a good attitude.
always assume today will be equal to or greater than yesterday.

If none of that made sense try saying loud fast as you can pessimism.

Now try the same with Optimism.

I hate texting. I hate writing. And even if this never gets read, I feel pretty damn good knowing it was in fact wrote.

I love you Ciia. Regardless.

Thanks for reading my first and hopefully not my last,

AdamRant

P. S. I know I can't write with rules. I skipped Composition whenever possible and if I went I usually had a pretty cool picture drawn rather than notes to show for it. I'm was then and now a compositional and grammatical anarchist. God save the queen I guess

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