"If you make a mistake, you should enjoy it."
- Adam Ant
I am a fool. I say that because I am writing this at approximately 12:58am, and the date is April the first, April Fool's Day. A day celebrating pranks, hoaxes, and playful frauds. But I'm not doing such juvenile things - not that I'm an iconoclast, or a misanthrope. At this moment, at this point in time, I am thirty-one years old, overweight by about thirty pounds - maybe more if I were so obsessive with such perfect health - and have recently found out I have high blood pressure. I know why. It's because I don't workout, don't go for hikes, or even walks longer than the times I walk down the street to my corner liquor store to buy a six or twelve pack of beer for the weekend. The only thing I do that is close to working out is moving boxes at my part-time job, and I've done it long enough to where my body is all around use to the routine of the same goddamn movements - pick up, push, drop, or (when I fucking feel like it) throw. Keep that to yourselves. Point in fact, I'll never tell you where I work, so forget I ever mentioned I move boxes.
On top of not pushing my body's physical capabilities to it's limit and progressing, I smoke cigarettes, eat shitty American food, and every weekend, as I've already mentioned, drink too many servings of booze - beer, and occasionally a whole bottle of whisky. God, that shit's good, especially with Root Beer. Most people find it weird I prefer that soda over a Cocoa Cola, but I got to say, "Yummy!" And there's nothing like an extra-large pizza, and finishing it with a lovely IPA six pack. Yummy, yummy, that shit tastes good, and makes you feel good. The unfortunate outcome these days - the fact being that I'm now in the dawn of my third decade of living, and remaining somewhat stagnant physically, as well as spiritually - is the fucking hangovers are now a terrible, horrific weight on my mind and body. In my twenties it was the complete opposite: wake up the next morning, jump out of bed, eager to go outside, smell the air, feel the sun on my face as I smoked a cig, excited and ready to experience what was next. But not anymore! Fuck NO!
Now I wake up in the morning after a night of swallowing down a six pack - let's face it, it's basically past noon - and I seriously do not want to move. My head hurts. I've awakened from a lovely dream, but I cannot for the life of me remember what happened in it. If I do somehow manage to remember the dream - for fuck sake - I was at work, the building was bigger, and there were an endless amount of boxes everywhere. It was literally a nightmare where I was in Hell, and unbelievably I had a smile on my face. Then I lay there in my bed after awakening with a headache so bad my head might as well be in a vice with Joe Pesci at the handle. And just like in the movie Casino he'd be looking down at me, his face contorted by seemingly permanent rage and madness.
Hey, dog, look at me, he'd say. Do you want to keep feeling like this on your days off?
Obviously I'd be too scared to answer his question. That, and the fact my head was in a vice, and I couldn't hear him.
Hey, you little shit-stain, this is your imagination fucking talking to you. Now, I don't like to repeat myself. Answer my fucking question. Do it, or I'll pop that fucking eye out of your head like that fat Irish fuck in the movie.
Sorry, I'd say. Just give me a moment. I feel sleepy.
Joe Pesci makes a move to turn the handle.
I was just kidding, man. No. No. I don't want to feel like this every fucking weekend.
Don't kid me, motherfucker, Pesci would say. I'm not a fucking apparition to amuse you. Do I look like fucking Casper to you, MOTHERFUCKER?!
Shit, I'm babbling like some fucking wino in Times Square just before the cops come and beat the shit out of him because they're bored, and the Mayor allows it.
I would like to repeat: I am a fool. I declare I am a fool because I not only admit it, I accept it with open arms. I utter a sigh of relief to proclaim such a thing. Yes, it is true, I am a fool. I want to run onto the set of some major news network in a few hours as the anchors begin reading from a teleprompter, get right in front of those cameras as everyone around the United States sits down in their pajamas and bathrobes before their televisions, drinking coffee, eager to hear what the fuck is going on in the world - if they even care, that is - and I want to scream these words just before security tackles me, then drags my fat ass out of the building: "I AM A FOOL! I am a fool. And I'm not lying. I ask you all to admit this to yourselves when you look in the mirror after you watch this, and say, 'I am a fool, and I know it.'"
Very much like the film Network. You know, the one where a news anchor in the 70's yells: "I'm mad as Hell, and I'm..." No?
Anyways, what I'm attempting to do here, person-who-is-actually-reading-this (thank you so much, by the way... I love you) is helping myself acknowledge that I'm an idiot who has made mistakes, bad ones, and now I have high blood pressure at thirty-one years old.
To better ourselves in the long run, we must first admit our own faults. People who are true assholes, who live miserable lives, and exploit the faults in others, do not accept the faults within themselves. I've witnessed this with my own eyes and ears for years, and it sickens me to the point of suicide.
So it is with great trepidation I tell this story that is my life - or was my life to be more specific - and certain events which transpired due to the fault of my bipolar disorder. Some events have been embellished, because I want to have fun pouring my heart and soul out to you fools as you eat it all up gleefully. I even changed my name, because I had to change the names of certain people involved in certain events, because what will be depicted in great and exciting detail may lead me to end up being served a subpoena. Even so, I'm honestly going to have a hard time with my telling of this tale of quasi-debauchery. I had a hard enough time admitting I suffer from bipolar disorder, because I know certain assumptions people would have. Such as: "He probably would shoot a lot of people." I know such a notion is crass, but I've heard it said about people who simply see a therapist on a monthly basis.
There will be moments as I write this story where I will cry. Tears will fall onto the paper. Ernest Hemingway said it was easy, that all I have to do is sit and bleed, but I will find myself looking through tears. Fortunately, I'll be able to see the words I write down on the page, because, honestly it doesn't take sacrifice to tell a story; it requires an understanding of the complexity and simplicity of human nature which I've experienced myself.
By the way, if you're expecting something deep and profound - some kind of existential explanation on the meaning of life, or perhaps an uplifting adventure - by this semi-autobiographical work, just stop reading this shit right fucking now, and go find something else, because - as you've read already - I'm an admitted fool destined for failure. Then again, I'm fucking bipolar; of course I'd say weird shit like that.
Though I've never put my hand down a toilet to retrieve drugs I had stuck up my ass, some of you might see certain life choices I made to be a tad comparable.
Shit, I'm babbling like some fucking wino in Times Square just before the cops come and beat the shit out of him because they're bored, and the Mayor allows it.
I would like to repeat: I am a fool. I declare I am a fool because I not only admit it, I accept it with open arms. I utter a sigh of relief to proclaim such a thing. Yes, it is true, I am a fool. I want to run onto the set of some major news network in a few hours as the anchors begin reading from a teleprompter, get right in front of those cameras as everyone around the United States sits down in their pajamas and bathrobes before their televisions, drinking coffee, eager to hear what the fuck is going on in the world - if they even care, that is - and I want to scream these words just before security tackles me, then drags my fat ass out of the building: "I AM A FOOL! I am a fool. And I'm not lying. I ask you all to admit this to yourselves when you look in the mirror after you watch this, and say, 'I am a fool, and I know it.'"
Very much like the film Network. You know, the one where a news anchor in the 70's yells: "I'm mad as Hell, and I'm..." No?
Anyways, what I'm attempting to do here, person-who-is-actually-reading-this (thank you so much, by the way... I love you) is helping myself acknowledge that I'm an idiot who has made mistakes, bad ones, and now I have high blood pressure at thirty-one years old.
To better ourselves in the long run, we must first admit our own faults. People who are true assholes, who live miserable lives, and exploit the faults in others, do not accept the faults within themselves. I've witnessed this with my own eyes and ears for years, and it sickens me to the point of suicide.
So it is with great trepidation I tell this story that is my life - or was my life to be more specific - and certain events which transpired due to the fault of my bipolar disorder. Some events have been embellished, because I want to have fun pouring my heart and soul out to you fools as you eat it all up gleefully. I even changed my name, because I had to change the names of certain people involved in certain events, because what will be depicted in great and exciting detail may lead me to end up being served a subpoena. Even so, I'm honestly going to have a hard time with my telling of this tale of quasi-debauchery. I had a hard enough time admitting I suffer from bipolar disorder, because I know certain assumptions people would have. Such as: "He probably would shoot a lot of people." I know such a notion is crass, but I've heard it said about people who simply see a therapist on a monthly basis.
There will be moments as I write this story where I will cry. Tears will fall onto the paper. Ernest Hemingway said it was easy, that all I have to do is sit and bleed, but I will find myself looking through tears. Fortunately, I'll be able to see the words I write down on the page, because, honestly it doesn't take sacrifice to tell a story; it requires an understanding of the complexity and simplicity of human nature which I've experienced myself.
By the way, if you're expecting something deep and profound - some kind of existential explanation on the meaning of life, or perhaps an uplifting adventure - by this semi-autobiographical work, just stop reading this shit right fucking now, and go find something else, because - as you've read already - I'm an admitted fool destined for failure. Then again, I'm fucking bipolar; of course I'd say weird shit like that.
Though I've never put my hand down a toilet to retrieve drugs I had stuck up my ass, some of you might see certain life choices I made to be a tad comparable.
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