Inner-Boxing Matches.

Today I had brand new sensation come over me – brand spanking new; never been tickled in the brain by such a notion before in my whole adult (or child) Life. It was a fleeting notion; something that my conscious mind won’t allow any room for in any other context besides that of “in one side, out the other”. And anyway, it was simply and purely a piece of a much bigger thought process belonging to me at the present time, so I’m not going to make a big deal out of it…

 

With all that is happening so swiftly within my existence:

 

Watching my mom die this way;

Being mentally toyed with by those of the douche-bag line;

Finding out a handful of ugly and painful truths relating to a recently re-surfaced (due to my mom’s diagnosis) family member;

A massive fuckton of sheer anxiety in raw form;

Sadness, deep and inconsolable sadness;

 

I just had the thought very briefly, earlier, while swimming in the torturously cold open Pacific Ocean in a pocket of time all by myself, way out beyond the breakers where it’s hard to find the threshold between sea and sky…

 

Maybe I should just swim out beyond the point of return, and exhaust myself until I sink…

 

 

Good Water.

surfing-and-thinking“Surfing equates to living in the very moment of ‘now’. When you ride a wave you leave behind all things important and unimportant, the purity of the moment is upon you.”   

 – Bill Hamilton

(And we aren’t the only ones who get it…)

surfing dolphin freaks 2016.jpg

Sea lions surfingSeals in the pipeline.jpg

surfing_sunshine-pac_-norcal-2016

As the season for anything remotely looking like “good water” comes to a close once again, I find myself to the shore with an almost urgent pulling on my spirit; I have gotten much better about “night swimming”, and don’t partake anymore, unless it’s a special occasion. But, I still have a tendency to be out there at nighttime, watching the water and listening to its many voices sing their’ many songs. I think it is therapeutic for me to dissolve into the sand that way…

seascape santa cruz 2014.jpg

Beach Wildlife:

I have come to appreciate the fact that a huge part of my personal fondness of the ocean and beach is the wildlife associated with it all. Sea otters, sea lions, seals, dolphins (and even a baby killer whale one summer) swim the seas that I love; in essence, they swim the seas with me every time I am in the water. I am an animal lover anyway, but these animals are the sole keepers of a very different kind of love from me – a calming and healing kind (but, one that is full of natural respect, for my own part).

sea-otters

sea-lionssea otter chillin.JPG

A Fucking Rant.

I swear to the Gods: I get no relief from ANYTHING, NOT EVER. I am so crushed into a little, teeny ball of angst that remains plastered up against the wall at all times. I NEVER get space to myself for any amount of time that does me any good – enough time to replenish my frenzied brain or my anxiety ridden body…my roommates are both fucking slobs without a care in the world for anyone else’s comforts or preferences; they both carry on as if they live completely alone when it comes to things that effect all of us; and I am fucking sick of it. I am fucking sick of the way that they seem to almost work in unison to deprive me of alone time – one leaves and the other comes home, etc.

I’m sick of their faces right now, sick of looking at them both with their carefree expressions every day; I am sick to death of the way that one of them watches the same fucking shit Television shows and the same two or three James Bond films over and over and over. Or how he insists on playing his music with the bass turned up so loud, I cannot concentrate on my own tasks in my own bedroom. I am sick of how little common sense gets applied to situations when it comes to either one of them, too…instead of sliding the empty pizza box on its side BEHIND the recycling can, stupidly and mindlessly opting to COVER THE ENTIRE CAN by setting it over the top, instead…wtf sense does that kind of shit make???

Or how my house looks like we’ve been camping in the living room and billiard room for going on 3 months now, as my roommate is also too fucking lazy to put his gear away after using it. The cycle goes like this repeatedly, too:

He pulls out all of his gear and goes camping

he comes home and literally dumps his shit in the billiard room (the room that the front door leads directly into)

he leaves his shit strewn all over the fucking house until he goes camping again

repeat

repeat

then he gets some wild hair up his fucking ass sometime in early December or so to clean up the fucking indoor campsite at random and puts the shit into the garage (but doesn’t put it up where it all belongs though)

before long, it’s time to go camping again and it all starts anew.

 

So fucking tired of it. Tired of the way that I can’t keep even the tiniest piece of space for my own use without it being pirated somehow by one of them…tired of how I have to stay shut up in my room because the useless birds are driving me insane, or if they were magically being quiet, the one roommate would be constantly in my doorway trying to show me something on youtube or socknet or Instagram –

“I’m fucking busy, dumbass!!! Can’t you see the document open on my screen and don’t you notice my full attention focused on it???”

Jesus, it’s like pulling teeth to get a mother fucker to just leave me the fuck alone for a chunk of time….always being bothered by the stupidity of their ways, even when I make a point to remove myself from it.

“Dude…I have REAL problems, REAL troubles and strife…you’ll forgive me if I don’t sympathize with your meager and pathetic excuses for reasons to be upset…come back and talk to me when you’re a parent, or when you lose your kid, or when your mother is hospitalized for being insane again, or when your father gets beaten almost to death downtown over your hooker, drug-addicted daughter, etc. Don’t cry to a beggar about having no money or whatever, you seem so miserably shallow when you talk to me about trivial horse shit like you do, when I have REAL struggles to suffer through…damn.”

Why do you slam the front door (that shares a wall with my bedroom, right where the head of my bed is) when you leave for work every morning at 6:30? It’s not as if you aren’t aware that I am sleeping there. Why do you fail to lock the front door upon leaving, while I should theoretically still be asleep? Why do you treat the front porch as a trash receptacle for your garbage from your car? Why do you ever bother with an ashtray at all when 99% of your butts end up on the fucking ground?