Hurry up and wait is the theme of business in manufacturing as an engineer. Hurry to finish that design… wait for approval… wait for paperwork… wait for other people to finish their side… wait till budget allows a start… wait for any old bunch of nonsense to finish before actually starting.
Yet, hurry up and start the next project.
I’m in the mode now to wait on people to do their paperwork. After the repo of my car, which I’m actually thankful for, I’m stuck waiting to see how I can continue.
Just took a “nap”. Lying on my bed, face down, in silence, I began to meditate. To clear my mind a bit and forget the problems associated with the nonsense that I never wanted. The car with a large chunk of debt, the house in need of mortgage payment, the zero balance in my bank (likely negative), my lack of employment or income, the incoming bills that I cannot pay, the disdain of my father towards me, the worry of my mother, the fact that I don’t feel like I belong here, the feelings of regret and want.
To slip off into a void of darkness where light appears from everywhere. To emerse myself in a field of hues and colors which mean nothing and all at once.
Patterns which emerged today, before drifting away to the sleep state were rampant. A large blue area, like a rounded ameoba with swirls and paterns floating within. Blue like sky mixed with algae. Appears and drifts by leaving nothing but void, yet the void shimmers with light in essence to be impossible to call the void black. There is no color, no blackness — only light of varying hues or tints.
These fade and other circular-based shapes occur. Swirling around my vision as it must be called, without a sense of where or how I am “in there”. As in a dream, my location is gone. I could be anywhere and to dream without attachment to those locations. It does not matter where I lay my head; I always go there. Wherever that could be.
Shaking his head as he walks by. Disdain. Contempt. But I am your son and I’ve been attempting to please you for my entire life and I’m getting to the point of not caring. Yet you don’t seem to care either. You act like I care what other people think. I don’t know how to care about people’s opinions of me. To accuse me of looking like a fool for being barefoot — that was fine, except for you don’t care about my side. “We weren’t made to be barefoot”. But if you really do believe in God — then how do you expect he planned for us to walk? To wait until shoes were invented— to wait for God to bless you with rubber, cured leather, and string while you sit on your rump and wait for another creature to ready your shoes? It would seem that your God screwed you by not giving you a transportation device.
I try to advise you with nutrition, health, injury recovery, and I have been learning my entire life in ways regarding this aspect of life. Yet you continue to roll-away on that stupid cocacola bottle to heal your foot problems. Dad, it’s not your foot causing the problem — it’s your leg. Yet no advise taken of the long list of healing modalities.
I ask for help with my house. Yet you denied me each time with no care of me. You don’t give one shit about my opinion and you expect me to honor all of your own. You block everyone’s advice except the doctor’s. Yet he barely knows your name. He probably couldn’t pick you out from a line-up of other cranky old men.
Your mood is shit to me. Always shaking your head. Calling me a fool. Likely talking bad about me to your friends, if even you mention me.
I oftentimes wonder if I’m even your child due to the way you treat me. These things I’ve never put on paper. Have rarely if ever even said these words with my mouth, nor told another soul. It saddens me when around others whom speak highly of their friendships with their dad. I never had that and I don’t know why.
Maybe that’s why I’m stuck here at his home. Stuck as the fool who cannot hold a job, whom cannot find employment, that can’t seem to ever get situated in life like he did. I’m stuck to release that emotional block. The remaining one to set me free. I’m sick of the disdain and I’ve tired to impress — impressing him in a positive manner feels impossible.
Without even a clue to please him, except to be a different personality, to be an acquaintance instead of his son… maybe that’s how he can relate to me. I have no idea. I’m at the brink of my wit. At the end of the rope. I’m about to let him, that baloon, to slip out of my hands and float away. I’m tired of waiting and hoping that I’ll gain approval. I don’t think it will ever come. Only gets worse with each passing year. I cannot change him because he does not want to change.
I cannot be someone I’m not.
I’m done with that… I try to be pleasant and not a smartass like he always is to me. But it is really difficult when he obviously doesn’t give one shit about my opinion.
I almost don’t even want to post this. So like I sometimes say to my favorite reader, “I’m sorry Mom”, I needed to get this off my chest finally. I’m definitely crying now and I just want to release the anger and frustration.
Also, I’m sick of ganging up on Dad in defense of ourselves. Please stop that and help me conrol from being a jackass back to him. Love you both too much to see you hurt each other.
11:11am, 1.8.2018, Monday