State of Affairs

 

It hurts too much to write. 
Putting everything into words requires a painful level of reflection. 
Stationary pens don't take you to uncomfortable places.
  ~ Michael L. Craver 

2025, my home has fewer material objects. The freezer is full of vegetables and pizza; the cabinet is stocked with cigars. Sitting by the open summer window during the hottest year on record. Thermostat on 81. Work is Monday through Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.

Ninety percent of my musical choices are instrumental. Pianos or violins play as the quiet house remains stress free. Sleeping when the mood hits, with no consistent amount or routine. Resting in my ergonomic office chair or the twin bed in my spare room. I’ve known it since I was 15. Why not a new one? What’s the difference…

Missing the dogs, but not the mess. Tool sit still while the world turns. Last Summer was full of projects. Fresh leather for wrestling belts indoors and trail maintenance to absorb the sun. Less conversations and gatherings than ever, not by choice.

Years ago, I wrestled for adventure. Top of my law enforcement class with all the awards. Built a resume on leading restaurants and retail above projections. 27 years in, never missed a day of work. Plenty of loved ones I do miss.

Surrounded by empty floors, collections of attire, and wall décor handed down to me as I count down the days… Wrestling belts I’ve purchased and turned into projects. A couple dozen leather jackets the weather may never allow to be used. Two of everything…

Finding items at low prices and always grabbing a backup. So careful with what I am using- the second is neglected. There’s 2 spoons and 3 forks in the house. What would I do with more? There’s two hampers, but I undress directly into the washing machine. Trash cans in each of the 3 bathrooms, yet all items go into a 5-gallon bucket.

Refrigerator of Dr Pepper 2-liters and wine bottles refilled with tap water. Life is simple. None of the decisions are budget restrictions. They coincide with goals for carbon neutrality, otherwise called pollution. Years past I could wear my hockey jerseys and coat collection more often. The storms weren’t so often and dangerous back then. 

El Coloso by Francisco de Goya

Less people can be reckless. Now with more people and split families than ever, the conditions for everyone are worse. Fewer families with both parents, splitting bills across multiple homes and creating twice as much waste. Folks had greater stability when I was young. It’s twice as hard as we are split up. The toll on the world around is multiplying.

I attribute success and isolation to the same math and science mental process. In a world filled with opinions before facts, my approach is uncommon. Whether discussing preference or policy, my questions center around what the numbers tell us. A new world of force by feelings is incompatible with me.

There is a co-worker who refuses to return shipments in the same box, because he doesn’t trust the shipping service if we cover the old label. So, twice as much material is used by throwing one in the dumpster and sending fresh cardboard. Yet, they complain the heat index is uncomfortably high…

Each factor is unpleasant for me. The math of waste that leads to climate change. Discussing the circumstances with a person who performs hypocritical idiocy. Facts are not a suggestion for me… Watching them shuffled beneath insecurity explains how political and ecological climates ended up here.

Science tells me that life is brighter with a healthy partnership. This is where solid grounds meets quicksand. One of the pleasures of customer service is dealing with long-term couples. These highlights often contrast the younger relationships I see…

The more time passes; modern trauma and gossip perpetrate a greater fear of vulnerability. Disparaging others has become a requirement for social acceptance. The adage of speaking only when there is something kind to say is void. Misery loves company is the new mission statement of the single person. Ignoring truth to tell dishonest stories that leave each person with a perception of filth.

Years of encounters through words and flesh paint a trend that conflicts with my hope. Sitting by the raised window to the smell of cigar smoke and birds singing, studies correlate reciprocal individuals with thriving energy. An increasingly difficult task in a landscape of materialistic and social pollution.

Despite my mistakes, choices that enhance the environment and support people around me are hard to find in others. Changing my behaviors to lackluster faith, ignorance of fact, and bystanding to the recklessness of others – is out of the question. 

The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters by Francisco de Goya

Though my world is smaller, quiet, and lonely… the accountability is pristine. Doors are open for progress. Always listening. Looking for the right frequency… Perhaps on a channel long since forgotten.

I choose principle over promiscuity in every way possible. Think of it relative to inflation… Costs of trading away structure for support are too expensive. I refuse to carelessly sway in the breeze of instability and dishonesty to hold the hand of someone on a different wavelength than my soul.

 

 

 

Soundtrack: Best of Yiruma