12.30 – Best Opening Line, Really though & more on that

I’ve needed to start a blog for quite some time, and I’ve meant to, but you’ll come to learn that I tend to put important things off. It seems there are some things I possess the discipline for, and some I do not. But like most people, I disdain those who are lazy about things which I am not (employment, education, cat husbandry) but feel those obsessed with things I don’t care about are far too full of themselves (physical fitness/exercise, restrictive dieting, parenthood, oh yeah, music*).

What’s difficult for me is I’m the sort of person who so desperately should be in therapy, and keep a diary, and I’m unable to do either. Flatly put, I don’t have the money for therapy. The insurance I have through my job doesn’t cover the one counselor I’ve sought out the past 5 years (since moving downstate), and I don’t have it in me to start with another one. Not for $60/hour minimum. I went to college twice (more on that later, for sure) and both times attempted to interact with the free counseling offered there. It didn’t go well either time, in very different ways. I guess one could argue I have a defeatist attitude about all this (more on where I get that from to come, assuredly), but I feel like I’m just painfully realistic. And if you’re going to be painfully realistic, well another way to put that is caustically cynical. Where I’m from, that’s the only way you could be. I mean, if you wanted to make it. The setting for my childhood was so warped (in so many ways) it feels like it came out of Resident Evil, like that same vibe but without any zombies. It feels fake, it feels like I’m making it up because I’ve been writing stories since I was a young child. I wrote this perfect first line years ago, it goes:
“If I tell you the truth, you’ll think I’m lying. That’s the problem with this story.”
And to be fair to me and my sense of personal sanity, that is pretty much the case.
Or,
I guess I might just be being over-dramatic. Let you be the judge of that.

*I’m going to be honest, sometimes I feel like I’m a contrarian, because I seem to delight in having the minority opinion on something. Like the stupid Oxford comma. No. I just feelĀ  like I should acknowledge that I know a lot of people are going to pipe up with dissent at an opinion I just expressed. Music is a big one. Okay let’s be real here, it’s just another corrupted art, like television and movies – but never literature <3, just kidding but I feel like this and stage drama have retained some purity their media-fueled brethren now lack in large part due to commercialization and censorship. But when someone talks about what music means to them, and more importantly : why, it’s not really the music that’s important. Going to a concert was one of the best memories of your life? Really, and that was solely because of the music, not the thousands of other things that make concert going a unique experience, outside of anyone you share the memory with? Music helped get you through hard times? Really? It didn’t just give you an excuse to lie around doing nothing, or dwell on negative emotions/experiences? Why is hearing the same words/sounds over and over being credited with something you did? I realize music is artist expression, this isn’t so much my take on musicians themselves, because any artist hobby/interest/passion is going to be profound to the artists themselves. I’m talking about the myriad of persons who feel this strongly a fan/listener only. You know the ones. I can say I somewhat know what someone’s referring to when they say music can “alter moods and talk to you,” (Eminem, The Eminem Show, it’s sad I don’t know the proper MLA way to reference music, my education owes me that much), but really, any art can do that, let’s not pretend that’s some exclusive musical experience. The only time I listen to music is if I’m driving, solely for the distraction.

Ramble aside, adore what you want, if there’s one thing I hope to instill, it’s the idea I’m open to the possibility that I’m very, very wrong about most of things i spend my time thinking about. That’s the point of this. I worry sometimes, about how angry I can get, like I have this internal fury I should probably heavily medicate but I’m trying to find a more therapeutic means, and we know why I can’t see an actual therapist.