I am starting to have the self realization that my upcoming 35th birthday is the start of my early middle age. It doesn’t physically feel that way. If I were to pass away this morning I would be called, “only 35”. I’ve wasted my first half by pushing all the right people away. Making choices that slowed any growth. Treating my body like a food dumpster.

35. Girls don’t look at you and women are too smart for your bullshit. I had the ancient urge to talk to a woman this morning. Any woman. But it went away when I looked around my beat up smelly apartment and my out of shape barrel body. I’ve never been a closer with women to begin with, and with my current body dysmorphia it would be a lot more difficult. It’s hard to actually put yourself out there when you know how wrong it could possibly go.

35. I’ve got to get into the mindset that I should have had ten years ago. Start piling money away for older age. Come on 35+35=70. Who knows what the world is going to look like when I’m seventy. Who knows if I would even make it another 35 years. With this serious truth how can I go on with the rest of my life?

I’ve already treated the first half like I was dead. So how can I truly live my last half? Eating healthy and remembering pizza like an old childhood friend? Drinking Earl Grey Tea and remembering coffee like a high school sweetheart? Maybe Drinking water and remembering wine as I would a summer fling.

I always knew I needed to change the way i’ve been living if I ever wanted to see the ocean again, see the concrete jungles of the world. Maybe it is time. Shrug off the first half and start a new. New Names. New Places and New Experiences. I know as 35 trudges ever closer, I have to be better. More distinguished and have more God Damn self-respect.

I’m not making any promises. We’ll see.

As I take a break from my mad scrabble to get my ideas onto computer before I once again join the workforce. I am struck by thoughts about the current climate.

I have been told that 10% of the people will not like what you do.

I have also had the idea drilled into my head in reaction to my insecurities and social anxieties that no one is really thinking about me, they are too concerned with themselves.

Now. I look at how people will make any excuse not to protect me or the people I care about. They will use crime statistics from the 1980s just to keep the police going the way they are. With no restriction, a business, quotas, unchecked power.

They will listen to a person on the internet with no medical credentials explaining why they shouldn’t wear masks. You see you breath back in the CO2 and it’s toxic.

They will talk about other diseases that kill more people in the year. Without understanding just how quick Covid is killing people.

They will use the same idea with how fast the Earth is warming up. The earth has always gone through changes. They stretch this fact, just not to recycle a plastic water bottle.

And then when you finally make a good argument you get “You should get off social media” “You need to quit starting at the internet all day, go for a walk”

Then they say, “How has Donald Trump actually affected you”. Honestly I sound like a pussy when I say my anxiety is up when I read a new thing he says. I feel the very fabric of reality tear when his supporters twist their own thoughts to support a reality tv show host, so I lay there on the couch, the bed, the floor waiting for the ball to drop. The people he feeds also use the same statistics to benefit their own pocket.

He does Affect me. I’ve waste the last four years of my life in a state of limbo waiting for this idiot to drop the bombs.

The feeling is still there. But now knowing how many people want this to happens, leaves me not caring anymore. I’m going to write and walk my dog. Then I’m going to work, write, and walk my dog until the bombs do fall.

My only hope the words I have to squeeze from my brain (my poor brain that has been tortured with booze and the ideas of the alt-right) will go to the right people and they will find the solace that my physical form is not allowed to have.

Piper is a nine month old cocker spaniel puppy. She is apart of the new generation along with Scrump. I got her for Crystal. Ladybug and Nemo are getting older and so I thought she might need a new pup someday.
throughout the COVID 19 shutdown I’ve been taking care of the three girls while Crystal is away at work.

This morning I decided to let piper off the leash at the school track. She was doing so well. Until she wasn’t.
She bolted out of the field and into the street.
Luckily for me there were no cars and she had stopped to eat goop off the road. But I almost had my first heart attack at 34.
My temper is getting better. I’m getting better at exuding brooding disappointment rather than explosive anger. So there’s that.