September New Year

I'm thinking of ending things

Scrolling SM feels like I’m in life’s waiting room trying to occupy my mind until my appointment. Today I wondered, what am I waiting for? That’s when I heard a door open ever so slightly. Things have got to change for the better.

I am going to change for the better.

Happy Autumn Equinox. It’s finally Fall. Thank you Nature! This has been one of the hardest years of my life and I would love for it to be over now. Not like, life, as much as the struggle that is lately. So, I’m ending it. This year ends today on the high note of wrapping up a section of a large, long-term project, having coffee with a good friend, eating a healthy breakfast AND lunch and if I’m lucky, going for a walk once the rain lets up. Then again, I don’t want it to stop raining.

What I do want is for my life, our life, to change for the better.

I’m done with the way I’ve been doing things. Accepting them. Ignoring them. Coaxing them. Placating. Minimizing. I’m done.

This isn’t a new feeling.

I’ve been sick of myself for quite some time but you know how it is; it feels impossible to change, really change, most days.

2024 finally forced my hand. We’re on the brink of losing everything we’ve worked for, by no fault of our own, and I’ve struggled desperately to keep my grip on it all but you know what? I don’t want a life that doesn’t want me. I concede. I give up. I put my hands up. I release the tension. I quit. I’m no longer playing the game. I surrender. I’M DONE. I need to use these hands to get the fuck out of this hole I’ve dug around myself on behalf of The System. I will not go to an early grave meeting Capitalism’s demands. My body needs me. My mind needs me. My family needs me. My friends and community need me. I hereby reject any and all endeavors, individuals, and institutions intent on stealing my time, spiking my Cortisol, and in any way, subtracting from the quality of my life. Time is running out and I am done living (dying) this way.

We did everything we were “supposed” to do.

She the good girl. Me the bad bitch. Even in our 40 years apart, despite all my viva la vie boheme rebellion, between my wife and I, we did all the things. We went to college. We traveled. We started our own small businesses. We paid taxes and mastered our crafts. We fostered children and animals. We had kids. We wore dresses. We shaved our heads. We got political. We fought back. We came out. We made responsible, logical choices; drove paid off, used cars, bought a sensible house in a good school district, supported the children while making 84 cents to a man’s dollar, bought shit that only impresses other people, lived beyond our means - and, lemme stop you right there, if you’re shaking your head judgmentally like, “Oh honey, no. You should live for yourself and not for everyone else,” you too can go fuck yourself. Don’t tell me you’re the one person on Substack (or my email list) who’s truly self-sufficient [that means you have absolutely no community to be accountable to AND don’t benefit from a man’s salary, privilege, inherited wealth] AND living your absolute best life solely for you. I don’t believe you. Something you’re doing, wearing, have done or will do today, is for the spectators.

Anyway, I lived an artists life. Stayed poor and humble, didn’t ask for much of anything in the way of security as to keep everyone off my fucking back. I never wanted to be told I’d have a comfier life if I got a “real job” so I didn’t tell anyone how uncomfortable I was. I made it all look exciting and easy but it was often grueling and miserable. I did what I had to do to make a name for myself as a writer. Between the shame and the statute of limitations, some of those things I may never be able to write about. But I kept my overhead low and worked every service job imaginable so long as the hours didn’t interfere with my ability to write or perform - I did my jobs and I did them well.

And yet / And still.

My wife lived an artist’s life. She made a name for herself & a few other people through her talent and perseverance. She stayed humble, quiet, small. She wrestled with her truth, repented in the pews, redirected all that energy into motherhood, writing, photography. She did her jobs and she did them well. She made beautiful art and everyone feel welcome. She did everything to make everyone happy and in the end, being true to herself cost her dearly, time and time again.

And yet / And still.

Here we are. Still standing and thank god, married to one another.

Don’t worry. We’re not jumping off any bridges.

But hell hath no fury like me when I’m done being fucked with.

I’m getting back up. I’m regaining control. I’m taking back my life. My time. My body. My focus. My needs. My direction. I’m going to make my hopes and dreams reality in the face of every odd, obstacle, and heartbreak. I’M DONE GIVING AWAY MY POWER. I’m done sitting here and just taking it.

I’m done.

Stay tuned. I’ll let you know how it goes.