Stop Spinning, Damn It…

Ugh. Not good. Not good at all.

So, hangovers. Existential nihilism conveniently delivered in the constant threat of puking. Everywhere.

Got me to thinking… what’s the point? We are literally all just waiting to die.

So, my Uncle Dave might have died yesterday or the day before, I’m not completely clear about that. What was I saying? Oh yes, pointlessness-ness-ness.

Having been on the sidelines, instead of fully immersing myself in “Life”, I’ve gotten the perspective of nonexistence. Well, obviously not completely, but I’ve gotten a taste. When I die, the world will keep spinning and, when enough time passes, I won’t even be a memory. Huh. I’ll be a collection of blogs and YouTube videos just like Bill Hicks is nothing more than stand up routines, at this point. And I frikkin’ LOVE Bill Hicks, in all his post-mortem glory.

So, what, it’s possible to be loved after you die? Not really, depending on how you define ‘Love’, which, as far as I’m concerned, is a verb in this context. It is a verb which requires a giver and a receiver. So, I guess it’s closer to say I worship Post-mortem Bill Hicks, as if he were an ancestor. Which, to “my people”, he is.

I seriously tried to talk to my dead uncle yesterday, burst into tears, and come to find out my grandma sent me a message that same minute. Funny – I “reach out to my ancestors” and my grandma gets the urge/ inclination to communicate at the same time. I think the Universe is trying to tell me something…

Anywho, this frikkin’ Universe. Okay. I’m back.

I’ve found myself sinking deeper and deeper into what I can only call my ‘Phoenix Hole’. I need another rebirth. This latest incarnation is equipped with all the latest Maternal Instincts – those will do me no good, where I’m going. It’s capable of withstanding a physical barrage of up to seven minutes in constant duration. I might keep that part, however, it has no offensive martial skills. This needs changed.

I spent the morning thinking I was going to get sick all over everything. I still feel queasy when I eat or move too fast or get overheated. It’s quite clear, however, that my body is not interested in expelling anything orally, at least nothing chunky. I get that taste in my mouth – the taste you get when you’re about to blow – and salivate excessively, but nothing else.

So, I walk about, feeling like grody, thinking about dying, wondering what’s the point of my being here (specifically Iowa). I might just be wasting my life waiting for meaning to appear where there is none. Having been raised on a steady diet of soulmates and destiny, I’ve been waiting for my talking cat to give me superpowers.

Just like I wait to take a directing class, so as to verify my ability to do so, when I did it in high school already. I wait for all of this external validation. It doesn’t exist, at least, not without a price. That price is dependence – the entire point of validation is you do it and don’t have to do it again (passports are marked, documents are notarized, etc).

But, I mean, think about it THIS way: We shed cells at a rate of having a “whole new body” in seven years. If a brand new passport is used every time you travel (as far as I know, that’s not the case), you’d have to get it revalidated. Well, that’s people – we change moment-to-moment. Validation “wears off” at a rate complimentary to the amount of stress we find we can’t handle, IMHO. Someone who validates themselves, instead of waiting for extrinsic validation, is like a person who bathes daily – the feelings of worthlessness don’t get a chance to “stack”.

Now, someone who doesn’t bathe and needs someone to bathe them is going to put off all but the most empathetic or medically-inclined of people. They clean up, but then, it starts to build.

So, how do you toe the line between auto-validation and arrogance? The world may never know…

…huh. I think my tummy has started to settle.

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