Blues Things

I was thinking and wondering, "Why do I not tend to enjoy sharing stories from my past?". I think it is because it makes me sad or brings on remorse and regret. That is the curse of the underachiever, the one who let the one that got away get away, and the one who turned his back on many glaring opportunities which most people wouldn't believe anyway.

When I look back, sometimes I can find an interesting event or story, but behind it is always a sadness that kicks me like a mule. That part may not be relayed all the time, but it causes me to be very resistant to writing about what I've done, and quite happy to write about what I think or to write little flights of fancy which are largely daydream fragments.

Often, the present is without a lot of guilt, remorse or other pain so I might discuss it a little bit. The trouble is it is often without anything else either. Sort of an empty thing. I guess I gravitated toward nothingness because I didn't have the heart to attempt much anything else. Whether socially or otherwise, I don't think I felt up to getting that part of me torn up any more. Not that the heartbreaks haven't been mostly my own fault in one way or another. But, even though it was my fault, it was not my desire and I didn't seem to have the ability not to do whatever that led to it.

Now, in some cases, it was purely my lack of comprehension of some things which was the culprit. Some of that is just how I am wired or how I was schooled, or both. I can't fault myself for the innocence that ignorance carries.

Even so, I have come to realize why I am where I am. What I do not know is what I intend to do about it, or if I can continue like this indefinitely. But, as relative as time is in my world, indefinitely could be a very short time and quite doable.

I do not like the fact that I am not particularly proud of how things have worked out over all. I am proud of a few times when I stood on principle or stood up for people even when they thought I was nuts to do so. The worst thing ever is to cause innocent people pain. Those instances minimized that so I am glad and don't consider they really cost me anything.

It sure does make me want to run sometimes, and just keep going. That's why I liked the aimless roadtrips. I liked the first one best because I did not know where I'd wind up, or even if I'd live to the end of it. The last one was good, but I knew where I was going and that I'd return home. Home is good, but it was obvious I'd find myself still there and that is not that exciting. I could do worse I suppose. It's just that I need so damned much work before being minimally acceptable to myself. Good thing I am willing to put things off and out of mind for long periods of time.