It ain't always pretty.

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The world.  Life.  Not pretty.  What we are, what I am, what you are.  How we were created.  How we were developed.  What it takes to live regardless of how rosy some try to delude themselves into believing any of it.  Some had pretty little lives, with bad little things from time to time, done to them or by them.  Some have known a loss or three.  Some of us were, seemingly, created for the sole purpose of... winning?  living?  At what cost?  Any.  Some of us have lived, at great cost.  Some of us are possibly too stupid to even die properly.  *grins*

Psycho can mean a bad thing.  If you have ever faced extinction, it can mean the difference between that and living.  I learned this.  I employed this.  Obviously, I learned control.  I went further, and learned precision, even professionalism regarding it.  I hated it, at times.  But what doctor didn't hate his education and the choices left to him, what mother doesn't hate what is demanded of her, what priest doesn't hate the incessant seemingly needless chatter about the inane micro stuff that seems to pull away from his personal reasons to be what he is, if that is a big part of his purpose?  Like they, I am what I was made if I don't always like it.  It lives in me, hard, so long as I have breath.

Listen for the helicopter.  I died being flown to medical on two of those.  I feel the blades, they went in deep.  There and back to be sure.



And yet here I sit.  I am the size of the largest of black bears.  I have struggled to get into shape, and made some inroads.  My mind feels that song, trying to find my way back to that, or at least to find a way to repurpose that... drive.  Engineering, even just getting out into the world more.  House cleaning?  Not so much, that has only ever been something to try to keep from atrophy.  Not my area in skill, interest, or such.  A clean home is nice, but I would rather not even be in my home most of the time.  It is merely a retreat when the wilds had worn me down or when I had nothing else better to do for a short while.  As such, it will never be my priority.  That is where a wife can be of service.  She could tie me to a home, become my home, while my man-cave is revamped into a real home.  Women are house-keepers, not just in the divorce settlements of the modern era.  And they do well, if managed by a lord.

As is, I am more like this.  These last few weeks, off and on... far too on, just like this.  And, so, I sit.  Now, before you get mad at the singer for pressing on the gimp...  Think of the whole thing in dream terms.  All of the actors are me.  The body is stuck, the mind is screaming to motivate, revivify, enervate. 



I may be... trying something.  There are risks.  The world might be harsh, it could be called heavy, it may be draining.  I am tired of being caged.  Hmm.  Tomorrow, if all works, I will begin, or begin the process, one way or another.



I wasn't made to sit.  Enough!

Good night.