Far from being happy about life, I sit. This sentiment has worn me down to a fine point. I hate the world and want it to bleed. I want to bleed. It’s only in typing these words that I realize I have not expressed the last sentence except to myself. Don’t worry. You can kill me, and I won’t die. I’m already dead. Being past regretting, I’ve moved on to forgetting. I can’t die because I have nothing to lose. What I should-would-could have gained in my life would not be a big loss. I’m unfashionably late to the party that’s just about to end. There’s no dip! Fork it!
Damn, I’m tired! What did I say in that last paragraph? Oh well, who cares? We had Easter this past weekend, and I went out with Patti, my mom, and sister’s family to the restaurant with the Australian theme. It all just reminds me what a GOD DAMN go-along freak I am. (Future note: I have a vague memory of something happening at the Australian themed restaurant, but don’t know what it was. It was probably something that could only have happened to 2004 Brian. Future Brian would find a way that he didn’t feel like a “GOD DAMN go-along freak”.) We finished the ceramic tiles last night (actually, I did it all myself). (Future note: Passive aggressive much?) I was sanding the final tile at 9:03 at night. That morning, I mowed the lawn and trimmed the bushes around the front and backyard. The only thing that was even slightly my decision was trimming the bushes.
Question: “What did I do with them?”
Me: “I made them rectangular.”
Creativity takes time and I don’t have any of that. I don’t have time for creativity? What has my life come to? The other day, I drew a concept drawing for Trisha. (Future note: Trisha was a three-legged cat from Special Class. It was a combination of our actual three-legged cat, Truck, and Patricia’s name. Patti (my wife) is Patricia. I call her that as a reference to an episode of Taxi Cab Confessions. A guy was sitting in the back of a cab and pointing at the back of the seat in front of him, confessing, “Patricia was dead!” I probably still have that episode on VHS tape somewhere.) It warmed my creative juices, but as soon as it began, it was over. I only had enough energy to force myself to stop. Too many … too much … too little … too late … to try. I’m a creative junkie. I’m addicted to the art of creation in whatever form it takes. What the hell is crank? (Future note: I had heard of “crank” and knew you could become addicted to it. I looked it up here in the future and found out it was a slang term for meth. I’m proud I didn’t know that.)
When we were putting the tiles behind the stove, I just about cried when Patti said we were going with a rectangular, solid block of blue tiles. That’s not creativity. That’s filling in holes. I don’t enjoy filling in holes. I enjoy creating holes to fill in with something better … something different … something creative. To say that God created life is to say that we as people could never equal His grand creation. So why even try? Shove that idea in a Bible and file it in the hole of your butt because I’m not having it. I must create! (Future note: This was quite the detour at the end of this paragraph and a bit harsh. At least, I tied it back in to creativity. That’s something. I always try to remind myself and others that the religious idea of creation and mine are very different things. Creationism is the opposite of creativity and science. We must never forget and always remember. Of course, you could say we should forget Creationism and remove it from our memories. It’s at least more … positive?)
Even this paper is more about commenting on life than creating something new. It’s as creative as a newspaper article (and I’m not talking about a rag newspaper that creates most of its stories from nothing). It’s enough of a creation to keep me awake, but not enough to allow happiness to invade my life. I need a nap. Maybe I can use a push. Better yet, I need a shove. Perhaps I could push the outside world so it will push back. Shove it, world!
Thoughts from Life 
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