The Optimist

Behold, my confession:

I'm lonely.

Whew...!
I don't know if you can tell from the content of my posts but as you probably realize, I'm feeling dejected lately. I've always considered myself an optimist. Well, maybe that's not true. I certainly would never have been called a pessimist. I used to keep a journal; I wrote in it for about four years starting in about 8th grade. It was called "Krap.doc" so no one would read it and it was password protected. During the beginning of this document's history all I did was complain. As I got older, my entries had less whining and became more of a cathardic tool. I realized that feeling down on yourself does nothing to help. Being sad did nothing to improve my life. I wasn't begging for sympathy and I wasn't getting any either. From then on I embraced a resolute optimism.

On some days it's hard to be resolute.

The past two years have led up to this defining moment. I feel something new on the way, and I'm not very sure what it is. My outlook is constantly changing and I think it's about to happen again. I've been through periods of feeling heartbroken, being happy to be single, dreaming about a crush, back to lonely when hopes are crushed, to periods of nearly grasping the elusive "happy", then being shot down by being the romantic that I am. I've felt so happy I just want to shamelessly love everything about life. I've felt so terrible about what I've done that I wonder why I exist at all. I believe that a new outlook is on the way. I mean, I've been down so long the only place to go is up right?

I've had plenty to be sad about. Politics are so fucking out of control I wonder if anyone has any idea what the fuck is going on. Our lives are so controlled by our social class that upward mobility is about as likely as fundamentalist calling off their holy war. Nothing is permanent. Life is marked by years that will eventually end. I haven't been in a relationship in so long I forget the simple pleasures of kiss with meaning, a goosed ass, and careless flirtation. I've been stuck at home because of a suspended license (multiple posts on that coming up). And not to mention I've been so poor.

But whenever I get to my very lowest, something is always there to brighten me up. One day, I was brooding about my license and feeling stuck. I was commanded to bring branches from the yard to the top of the hill where it could be burned. On my way up the hill, arms covered in pine sap, sweating and dragging branches, I spotted one of the first flowers of Spring. It grew from the monochrome, dead earth; bright and alive. It was the kind of vibrance only acheived by pure existence. The most beautiful thing in creation, yet simply a flower. It was a flower that just is. Words often fail to describe the is-ness, the pure being, the suchness of something. I had to have a picture and no thousand words would ever do justice.

Another day, I was driving to work and was stricken by the beautiful day. I pulled over, already late for work, and took a picture of the clouds. It was a moment of joy where work didn't exist, bills were meaningless, and despair unthought of. A singular happiness that was not alone. A connectedness in the enormity of the most infininte of possiblities. It didn't matter that the feeling would fade when I stepped into work. All I needed to do is look and see, it was always there.

Maybe I am as hopeless as I say I am. Well fuck it, I'm an optimist. Does anyone want to watch the sun set? Stargaze? Go to someplace with a view? Come to the secret garden?

Well, whatever. It's your loss.

Decide for yourself!

Hey everyone, sorry about the lack of updates. I need to give a shout out to Connie, who, armed with guilt, believes (correctly) she deserves mention in my birthday EXTRAVAGANZA. I was blacked out okay? Sorry! ...oh, and thanks for the drinks.

New layout. You like?

I've been trying to write something candid and witty like my Anonymous Messages post but something always comes up that makes me change my mind. I suppose there is such a thing as being too candid. My three attempts all came out whiny, pretentious, and here's the bottom line: not good. I'm hoping that this one won't go the way of the dinosaur. I was trying to write the sibling post, the brain child's twin, if you will. I had gotten several responses to that post and I wanted to try and address them which I soon realized wouldn't work. Which brings me to my point:

Why Would Anyone Go Out With Me Anyway?

First off, I'm poor. I'm what is considered "Near Poor". I reside just over the poverty line for one person. Because I'm over, I can afford the following:

1. A Car.
2. Insurance for said Car.
3. Cellphone.
4. Negotiable Quanities of Alcohol.
   

You'll notice this list does not include 'Girlfriend'. So while I may be able to take you out to dinner, I'd rather just cook it. I may be able to take you to the movies, but you should just rent one. Don't expect material manifestations of my feelings for you, because I have no money. Writing you a poem is my highest form of compliment so if you think I'm cheap you're right.

Secondly, I live at home. I may have the freedoms of any other adult: I can have a girl in my bed overnight and stay at a girl's house... but you better not wake my parents!

Third, I'm a jerk. That's right, I said it. The awful things I've done by no means compensate for the good things. Just ask "Laini" how I treated her but she always came back, or ask "Vana" the mean things I said to her but she still talks to me. Or how about any of the other mean things I said in that infamous post? I'm sure you can pick them out.

Fourth, I'm an introverted, hopeless romantic. Let's not mince words here, that really just means I'm shy and horney.

Fifth, I have escapist tendancies. You'll often find me daydreaming. Thing just seem so much better in your head don't they? My life sucks so bad I'd rather be dreaming out endless possibilities where I actually have good things happen to me. So instead of dealing with important things in my life, I'm in the fantasy world of wistful daydreams, books, and video games.

Sixth, I'm a slob. This is evident upon entering my room.

And finally, I'm just not worth the effort. The enigma of Bill is beyond the comprehension of some. My world view is a mash of philosophic and spiritual beliefs, bitter realizations, and lofty ideals brewed to make a creamy stout. Meaning: If I was a beer, I would be a dark brew, smooth and mysterious, creamy and distinguished, a hard flavor with an eminent aftertaste, enjoyed by the beer lover of the finest taste. Wait a minute... I must be thinking about Guiness. Forget the analogy with beer. I'm really probably a pale ale or something German like Hacker-Pschorr. But uh, well, I think I proved my point. I don't understand it either.

Welp, I suppose you'll really have to decide for yourself. I'm not really as bad as I say I am (I think? I hope?) but truly everyone has different opinions of me for their own reasons. I'm just having fun.