It’s Saturday—the one that comes two days after Thanksgiving, though I don’t think it has any special designation—and as I said I would, I brought my laptop with me, so I’m using it to write this post today.
I didn’t play any music or write any fiction yesterday. Obviously. I mean, I haven’t written any fiction in months, now. I’m not sure how many. And although on three occasions I’ve done a tiny bit of plinking on the guitar and once on the piano, it’s really been nothing like what I did in the past. I just don’t have the desire to do it, even though I used to enjoy it.
As I’ve said, I used to enjoy fiction, mostly fantasy/sci-fi and horror. I have a difficult time forcing myself to read any fiction anymore; even the Japanese light novels are getting daunting. Non-fiction that I would normally have enjoyed, like books about physics, or biology, or psychology, or even politics and sociology, are all just blah. Most of the videos I want to watch, I’ve already watched, over and over again, and though I am able to enjoy things repetitively, and I always have been, I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve just about squeezed what I can out of the ones that I like. I haven’t even been able to get more than a few dozen pages into Sean Carroll’s new book.
And now, here I am, sitting at the train station on Saturday morning, ready to go into the office. The person who last triggered my meltdown on Monday*, was off yesterday and will be off today, enjoying his holiday, and will get paid for his bending of the rules.
All the people I love in the world are elsewhere, with the ones they love, presumably enjoying their holiday weekends—I certainly hope they are—or just enjoying themselves in a faraway land, experiencing other cultures and so on. And I’m here by myself, near the distal dorsum of America’s flaccid, syphilitic penis.
I think I stay here because, honestly, I don’t feel like I deserve anything better, and anyway, this apparent ASD that I probably have—or whatever psychopathology I have that mimics it—makes it very difficult for me to contemplate changes to any given situation, even though it’s far from ideal.
After I got out of prison, I decided to come back to Florida after a brief visit to my parents, instead of staying with them (I was invited to stay), because I hoped to be able to see my kids sometime relatively soon. That, of course, did not happen, and I don’t give high odds on my ever seeing them again.
I’m certainly no good at being pushy about trying to get my own way in interpersonal relationships. I didn’t fight my divorce or any related stuff, never fought about how much child support to give—I was happy to give as much as I was asked. Frankly, there was nothing better for me to do with my money. I honestly have little to no inherent sense of having any rights of my own, certainly with respect to other people, though I will tend to demand that people keep their hands off of me, literally and figuratively.
So, I missed the last few years of my parents’ lives that I could have spent with them, in the vain notion that I might get to see my children sooner. And, of course, that was why I pled guilty in the first place, though I consider myself innocent according to the law as I understand it. I certainly never willingly broke any laws, but was trying to help people who had chronic pain, such as I have. I’m not claiming my thought processes were clear or ideal, and I was certainly naïve and foolish, but I never meant anything criminal, and certainly made no profit.
But I figured, three years’ plea bargain (with time served counting toward it) was better than a chance at a longer sentence, especially since I’m not a likeable sort with whom a jury might be expected to sympathize; or so I was told by my court-appointed lawyer.
This is the way the state extorts people into taking “shorter” offered sentences rather than going to court to fight legitimately for their side and their rights.
Anyway, I gave all that up for what turned out to be a pie in the sky notion. I lost my medical license, my community, my use of skills that I’d put years and years of effort into gaining, and I lost the last years of my parents’ lives, and I lost my children anyway. I wish I were just some selfish prick who was good at looking out for number one and living for his own enjoyment.
Well, no, no I don’t. I despise such people. But sometimes I envy them their ability not to care what anyone thinks of them, or what impact they have on others, no matter what they do. I mostly don’t worry too much what other people think of me, but I do want people I love not to hate me. I’m not sure I’ve been very successful at that. I’d also like to be able to be with my kids and I certainly didn’t want to be divorced, or to disconnect from various other people, but I’m not good at people, it seems, though I was always good at being a caring doctor.
Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. It’s all pointless and irrelevant, and I don’t expect I’ll ever see my kids again, any more than I’ll see my mother and father again, though for different reasons. I guess not seeing my kids is my punishment, or whatever the proper term is, for being utterly incompetent at human relationships.
It sucks, but I can’t get the rules changed as a special dispensation for me. And I certainly don’t want to inconvenience my kids in any way; I want them to have the dreams they want to achieve, to do what they want with their lives and to enjoy the world as best they can. Same with my old friends, and my ex-wife, and her family, and everyone else I’ve known. I’m not interested in being the center of anyone’s attention, unless it’s something they feel good about. For instance, if they like my writing or my music, I don’t mind if they pay attention to that. But I’m certainly not worth derailing anyone’s plans out of any sense of obligation or anything along those lines.
I have no idea what I’m trying to say, today. I’m getting bored with this blog, both today and in general. I’m calling it good for now. We’ll see how Monday goes.
*I want to make it clear that he was not the primary cause, he was merely the last straw…but he does often put himself in that position.