Monday, December 25, 2017

The Cheese Grates It: The Cheesy One's (Gloomy, sorry) Holiday Message for 2017

Happy holidays, People, however you may celebrate them.
Apologies in advance for being a killjoy with a somber PSA. Please keep in mind that the holidays aren't happy for everybody. This doesn't make the unhappy person "bad" or "a Scrooge." It just means the holidays are hard for them.
I am having an extremely blue Christmas, partially for reasons that I'm sure most people could understand at least a bit. The majority of the big losses I've had have come in the Winter months, particularly in November. I jokingly said that I have re-named November Butt Month because nothing good has ever come of it, and people got mad at me. For fuck's sake, I'm not saying that if you have a birthday in November you're worthless. I'm just saying that I've had a lot of losses in November and this was my hyperbolic, snarky, and ultimately worthless and impotent way of striking back.
It was like an extra twist of the knife to have my Star Shower projector stolen. I don't put up a tree because the cats just destroy it. I didn't want to get another cheap string of lights because the instant one burns out, you might as well throw the whole string away. What a waste. So I got the Star Shower for something a little different. Then it got stolen, and I didn't end up getting any other decorations. 
I know it's a small thing, not like that guy whose son is getting a kidney transplant and some lousy porch pirate pilfered $5000 of very important medication that was left on his porch. I know I'm overreacting. Not on the outside, I appear calm and rational. It's all on the inside. I have bipolar disorder. My brain loves to do that shit. 

He once said that the only place he found peace was when he was playing.
I hope he is finding peace now that he is free of his very ill body.

I know people also think I'm stupid for grieving a person whom I didn't know in life. I can't really explain how or why this affected me so strongly, but it has. There is a certain magic gone from the world and the realization has come hard that I had a lot of useless and futile dreams for myself when I was younger. I was a foolish and unrealistic person.
The truth is, I would commit suicide, but I worry greatly about what would happen to my son if I were gone, so I hang on. Aside from my son and his well-being, I have nothing to live for.
Do me a favor and don't whip out the old "but, counseling and meds!" chestnut. I'll be 53 years old in less than two months. I've lived with a mood disorder at least since I hit puberty. I was nine years old when the hormones kicked in and I started growing boobs which I didn't want because I knew the gross way in which men reacted to breasts, and I started to get hair on my bits and pits. I didn't want that either. That bit of WTMI gives you the idea of how long I've lived with this shit. There's nothing new under the sun.
Just believe me that I already know what the options are and they haven't worked. I'm being honest about how I feel. Let's leave it at that.
I once learned a song called "What If A Day." It was written by Thomas Campion in the Elizabethan era. I have a horrible voice not fit to be heard by anything with ears, but I often sing this to myself. For me, it embodies the truth.

What if a day, or a month, or a yeare
Crown thy delights with a thousand sweet contentings?
Cannot a chance of a night or an howre
Crosse thy desires with as many sad tormentings?
          Fortune, honor, beauty, youth
          Are but blossoms dying;
          Wanton pleasure, doating love,
          Are but shadowes flying.
          All our joyes are but toyes,
          Idle thoughts deceiving;
          None have power of an howre
          In their lives bereaving.

Earthes but a point to the world, and a man
Is but a point to the worlds compared centure:
Shall then a point of a point be so vaine
As to triumph in a seely points adventure?
          All is hassard that we have,
          There is nothing biding;
          Dayes of pleasure are like streames
          Through faire meadowes gliding.
          Weale and woe, time doth goe,
          Time is ever turning:
          Secret fates guide our states,
          Both in mirth and mourning.

And there you have it. 
I hope you have a happy holiday. Forgive me if I don't.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Friday, December 8, 2017

Friendly Fill-Ins December 8 2017

I know that Vinnie Paul is missing his little brother Dimebag Darrell today and always. For those who don't know, Darrell was senselessly gunned down by the very disturbed Nathan Gale on December 8, 2004. He was 38 years old.

Week 83: December 8, 2017:

1. The best part of last week was actually Sunday of this week. My son and I saw Thor Ragnarok at the Alamo Draft House.

2. The worst part of last week was the persistent pain from the tendonitis in my left arm.

3. The 31 Daze of Xmahanukwanzyule is a Winter project that I will be working on.

4. A holiday gift that I always buy for someone is: I doubt I will have money to buy gifts for anyone this year.