Category Archives: hole in my life

I Wanna Know

Someone recently very kindly pointed out to me that blogs occasionally contain some personal information about the author and their daily lives. This voyeuristic quality apparently makes it fun to quietly watch them go about their business while getting a peek into their brain.

This of course was a nice but passive aggressive way to let me know that me and my life are not at all present in the things I write.

Sure, occasionally I like to fume over the mindless jaywalker who stepped into oncoming traffic while I was on the road or reveal the horrifying incident at the Chipotle that took place only hours after my young son learned that ladies did in fact have vaginas instead of wieners but for the most part I leave my day-to-day happenings at the doormat when I step over the WordPress threshold.

After so many years of working diligently to not be vulnerable, needy or a pain in somebody elses ass, I’d almost forgotten how brilliant it is to see a person write something stripped down and bare enough that it makes them look completely human.

I’m not exactly sure when vulnerability and truth fell so out of fashion in my mind but there are days when all this autonomous droning about impersonal subjects and flaunting my “independence” gets tedious.

To exert so much energy in opposition to what I really feel at times is exhausting. It’s a struggle that results in exactly what I don’t want.

More isolation.Less warmth.

Since I am slow to absorb the most basic changes in routine, I’ll need to marinate in this sea of change for a few hours before I can produce a worthwhile post on the terrible new development of vagrants shitting in my garage.

Seriously. It’s either a guy without access to indoor plumbing, an urban Yeti or a bear that’s escaped from the zoo.

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Filed under a screw loose, adversity, am I doing anything right?, Back to basics, bad writing about nothing, buffoonery, crap shack, crazy ramblings, do this for me, do you really have the time to read about my life, don't destroy my dreams, don't take a crap in my garage please, excuses, foul language in preschool, getting it together, good smells bad smells, hidden grammar errors and bad writing, hole in my life, I can't spell, I can't end a story OR a blog post, I complain too much, I enjoy being inferior, i like to pretend, I need to get an original thought, I run fast, i said it was uncategorizable, I'm a hack, I'm a jerk!, I'm all over the map, make it more personal

Hole In My Life

  

Thanks for the special furniture and the gingerbread house. So thoughtful.

My biggest challenge as a life long Police fan is not succumbing to a bitter case of the “what might have been’s” 

Eventually a car pulls up and out spills a new project by one of the fearsome threesome and I’m satiated for a few months joyous at having basked in the glory for a few fleeting moments. 

Then come the dry spells where you are out wandering in the wasteland waiting for some nugget of information to drop in your lap to tide you over. 

Sting isn’t any help because as I’ve said before his bowel movements  get international coverage and a worldwide media alert goes out to inform us when he’s looking cross, having a bad day or mauling Police classics while on one of his five thousand world tours a year. 

But still, an evening in his company at someplace called the “Jiffy Lube Center” (I’m not kidding, that’s the name) is starting to sound pretty fucking good therefore confirming my suspicion that I’m having mild withdrawal symptoms. 

Yesterday I started slipping into my “I need a Police fix” mindset and thought I could offset the nagging urge with a quick listen to Zenyatta followed by a smattering of Outlandos. 

No such luck. 

Maybe I’m spoiled but with everything related to my three friends, I revert back to my inner teenage fangirl skipping around  backstage and then erupting in a fire-ball of rage when the band walks off without so much as a backward glance and boards the bus. 

My girlfriend put it so eloquently when she used this analogy. 

If you’re going to come around here swinging your fifteen inch dick in circles for a half hour and then take it away without demonstating it’s full potential or showing it to your new friends it’s not fair.  It leaves us all standing here wondering why we didn’t get a longer turn or more rides! It’s not right. 

In case you forgot halfway through, that’s her vulgar profanity laden take on being a Police fan. 

My take is a little more PG but equally disturbing and widely dismissed by everyone I know who’s put it behind them and gone on with their lives. 

It starts with a story about how being a fan of the threesome is like being that group of idiots standing out in the middle of the desert with your cup full of sand  waiting for them never to return. Tea in the Sahara baby! 

Yeah, I went there, so what? 

Hey, maybe she and I have gone a bit over the edge but maybe YOU never had elaborate plans to live in a specially crafted gingerbread house with the blond  holy trinity (yes that was the sound of my old mother superior hitting the floor dead). 

 I even had a special chair carved for Andy so his feet touched the floor when we ate our meals together. This just seemed like a crime to me. Somewhere out in the world Andy Summers was sitting on furniture that was the wrong size and his little legs were just swinging in the air while all my work went to waste. 

Whimsical Gingerbread house- three rock stars and underage groupie not included.

Lately though? Where are theses fuckers? 

Yes we ALL know where freaking Sting is.
  

You will see Symphonicity and you WILL like it. Send out a press release cause I'm on the way to the bathroom.

But these other two who operate undercover and still make compelling music, movies and photos? Throw a girl a bone and come out from under the blanket okay? 

I know the meager output is probably due to excessively satisfying personal and professional lives but whatever. 

I’ve got Sting saturation and not enough Copeland/Summers to make it through the next year.

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Filed under fans, hole in my life, symphonicity sadness