When you’re a kid, money is important. A shiny quarter is like a million bucks to you. I am going to tell you a story about money. It takes place decades ago. I don’t know the exact year but I am going to think it took place in probably 1990. It is a story about money, family, and failing to hold up to a promise. I should probably pay up and accept the fact but I am stubborn and will not fold.
There is always two sides to every story. You can have a massive fight with someone or maybe you get in a car accident. No matter the case or the reasoning behind the altercation, you and other party will each have your own story to tell. You’ll be the victim in your story and in their story, you’ll be the bad guy. Chances are, you’re doing the exact same thing and making them out to be the Big Bad.
It is a horrible feeling when you’re not yourself. I like to think of myself as a laid back guy. I take most things with a grain of salt. I am not saying I don’t stress out or get angry. I do. It’s natural. But to lose the sense of humor, the uncanny outbursts of randomness, and the inside jokes that seem to never really stay inside. All these things combined make me who I am today. Just a few days ago, I seem to have lost the energy I once had. I went to Bob Evans like normal. I was fine there. I was fine on the way home. I took a small nap. The meal was pretty filling this time around. I napped. I woke up and something inside me was gone. The happiness, the joy, the thirst for excitement was no more. A dead parrot has more gusto than I do. While I sulked for two days, alone in my house, I questioned as to what brought this 180 degree change of attitude to me. I am still lost. I do not know the answer. I do not know what took the joy of life out of me. I can sit here and go over the little things.
The Food Project Is Done.
Maybe this is it. Maybe the thought of knowing it’s over put me in this rut. I mean, I worked on this thing for a full year. It’ll be the same if someone quit smoking for a year and then started up right after the ball dropped. They would have to be upset with themselves. Okay, maybe not the best analogy. The point is, I no longer have to race to my computer before bed and log in what I ate and drank for that day. Could I continue this project? Yeah, I could. Do I want to? No, not really. While I was in bed last night trying to sleep, I was bewildered about not having to write anything down. It feels strange. I feel as if I should be doing it. I feel like I need to log it. But if my eating habits never trailed away from the bad, I highly doubt that I will eat better and cut back on the soda, the coffee, or the alcohol. This could be a reason as to why I feel different. Knowing that I have no real job or responsibility left.
The Food Project Results.
Reading and tallying up the totals was fun. It was fun to see what I ate and drank. It was crazy to see the actual final number to it all. While some things didn’t bother me, others did. Looking at the amount of alcohol I drank or the times I went to McDonald’s or Burger King, those things really give you a perspective of how crappy you treat your body. I don’t feel sick. Hell, I never am. I feel like I am in good health. Aside from my panic attacks, there seems to be nothing wrong with me. My blood work came back fine. My cholesterol is peachy. Everything is working. I am not 100% in full function but if I were to guess how well I am, I’d say I am roughly 80% or higher. Not bad for a guy who never exercises or watches what he eats. With the results, I could be bothered by the numbers that seem to reach that high. I doubt this is it. I am fully aware of the amount of coffee I drink. I was sure the number was going to be high. If I drank at least 2 coffees a day, it shouldn’t come to me as a shock that it is well over 700 cups.
My Hat Is Retired.
A long shot but we joked about it at work today. I know, I joked. I did crack some smiles towards the end of my shift. Making matters worse today, I think I am catching a cold. Sucks. I haven’t been sick or under the weather for three years. But usually if I am sick, It’s one day. That one day is the only time I’ll be sick that year. While being sick is horrible, it isn’t the reason for the change in me. The hat I am talking about, is my work hat. The hat is something I love dearly. Most people I know have a hat they wear whenever they go out. It’s their baby. This hat is my baby. It was once black. This once cotton hat now looks like a brown and leathery hat. Sweat stains line the inside. Pen marks are inside the hat. The bill is falling apart. Loss threads dangle about. While the hat doesn’t quite look like a normal hat, it had formed nicely to fit my head. I wore this hat for seven years. It’s been through a lot. It has seem a lot. I know this isn’t what is making me act a fool (up in here, up in here.) but parting with the hat is something I said I’d do. I told them the first of the year, I’ll switch to a new hat. I am a man of my words (a majority of the times…). With my hat now in retirement, I am wearing a new hat. The bill isn’t formed. The hat doesn’t set perfectly on my head. Nothing about the hat feels right. It’s like a new recliner. You have to break it in. It’ll take a while before this hat becomes a part of me. Till that time comes, this hat and I are just going to have to live together in harmony.
I got the new years blues. It is a time for a fresh start. Nothing happened in 2010. I felt healthy. My attacks still happened but I am not too worried about them. I let them pass and go about my day. There wasn’t any changes at work. Nothing to report. With 2010 gone and a new year here, knowing that the year is new could be what triggered this hysteria inside me. The start of something fresh and new. I always make up this plans for when the new year begins. I say I’ll do this and I say I’ll do that. While I am at most times a man of my world, giving up certain vices is not something I will do without some sort of agreement. I ended up staying home on New Years Eve. I was already in a sour mood. I just wanted to be a lone to sulk and think about why I hated life so much. I didn’t scream and yell when the ball dropped and 2011 waddled in. I finished my last beer and was pretty much, ‘oh look. It’s 2011. Awesome.” I shuffled off to bed and questioned the food log, the past year, and thought about goals and where I want to be in 2011. Each year, I feel older and older. Makes sense. I mean, we do age every year. But as I get older, I think about the way I act. I said how I say and do random things. While it keeps my spirits up and the morale of others, it doesn’t make sense for someone getting closer to 35 to act like he just hit 18. I wish I could just turn off some switch where I wasn’t that way. I have tried to be the mature one. The one who follows the rules and doesn’t play games. I’ve done that. I was talked to about that. They asked what was wrong and why I wasn’t myself. It’s hard explaining to people that you just want to do your job and put the silliness aside. It’s a lose/lose situation. If I act normal, I will always be stuck in the same job where I am the guy who takes nothing seriously. If I act mature and not like a kid hopped up on sugar, I can move forward in my career but acting like a stiff, makes people think I am depressed and killing the life around me. I even tried to tone it down but still, if I ever try to not act normal, I am looked at like I am angry, depressed or in a bad mood. Guess the best route to go is to act like a teenager with a hatred for all those around them.
It may sound crazy but it’s also a possibility. I believe in the paranormal. I believe that when the world ends, it’ll be destroyed by zombies. If ghosts and zombies are real, then why can’t voodoo be? Is voodoo the reason we have zombies in the first place? There are people in the world who dabble in the occult. These people, although seem normal to some, take part in witchcraft. They hug mother earth, praise Gods of nature and summon flowers, and dance around in Renaissance type clothing. While these witches, or Wicca (be it whatever they want to be called), claim to listen to death metal and cut themselves, they truly are a harmless bunch. But a select few do practice spells, voodoo, and treat the Ouija board like a internet junkie treats Facebook. I had the privilege of knowing a witch. While I sadly admit, I had a friendship with the witch, things went sour and that is when things began to get ugly. After a barrage of attacks and circumstances beyond my drunken control, I put myself in a position to be put under a spell. While I kept busy with buying toilet paper and milk, the witch was gathering up frog legs, eye of newt, and the blood of a virgin butterfly. As the year drew to an end, the witch secretly put on a spell on me. To be extra sure I was to succumb to this curse, I also had an image of me created into a little soap voodoo doll. I am poked and prodded. With the curse and this soap voodoo, the witch has all the power it needs to make my life a living hell. There is very few cures for a curse like this. But I choose not to go on this mission. I rather not come face to face with the witch again. Who knows what evilness lies within. A stretch but you never know. Stranger things have occurred.
I am going to get to the bottom of this. I will find out what is causing this sudden change of attitude. There must be an answer. I don’t want to fall into a deep depression and lose what little hopes and dreams I have left. The hat, the new year, even the witch. These all are valid reasons for me to worry about myself. As I shut off the world, cast out friends and loved ones, I sit alone in the silence of a lifeless room. The air is thin. The room pulsates with every breath I take. My eyes grow heavy and I find myself falling in to despair. It would be impossible for me to ask for a hug or some form of comfort. Being a person with a slight case of OCD and fear of germs, the whole touching thing is off limits. Maybe, just maybe. A touch of a woman is a way to break the voodoo curse. The witch knows I don’t like it. The witch knows I don’t like being touched. A task that seems simple some, is a mission that will never be completed. The witch knows I will never ask for a handshake, a hug, or the chance to caress a bare bosom. Fear not, people. If the witch wants a fight. A fight they’ll get. Break out the two by fours. Light a fire. This witch is getting barbecued.
There is no reason to worry about me. I am sure this is just some phase. Some strange withdrawal I am having. Sooner or later, I will come around. I will be back to the laughter, the mocking of the innocent, and the uncanny ability to make any situation a laugh out riot. Whatever issue it that caused this, it will pace. I will be normal once more. I will binge and I will indulge in a plethora of vices. Thanks for reading.
I haven’t given up on this site. I have just been busy. I did give my site some thought. I figured, why dedicate my site, my blog to just food? It was the whole reason I made this site in the first place. I love food but am just so damn picky when it comes to it. Last night, while I was trying to sleep, I got an idea for a post. I argued it over a bit. It’s not a post about food but it is about me. That’s what this site my be turning in to. I can blog about anything and everything.
I really want to do my idea tonight but a bit tired and my creative juices are running low. Now, I’ll just let you know that the site is taking a wide turn and will be about me, my life, and the rest of the crap that falls in between.