Letting Resentments Pass and Destroying the Past

Did you really fucking think I'd let January end without posting again?

Sometimes I remember the person I used to be and I get filled with resentment. Well, more specifically, I see people that remind me of the person I used to be, and it fills me with resentment. But I have to realize that my resentment isn't for those people. It's for the idea of me (that I think) they have in their heads. I resent that man and he's dead. And I don't want anyone trying to bring him back to life. He's fucking gone. He's dead. I beat him into submission and put him away. 

And no one can resurrect him but me. 

That said, it's still very painful to see these people. But I gotta remind myself that just because it's painful doesn't mean it's wrong to put myself through it. 

The thing is that I don't smoke, and I don't drink and I don't play videogames (at least not as a means of destressing). I know how dangerous it is to let those things be your solace when you feel stressed out. Hell, when I say I know, I mean I know. 

The only thing I do nowadays when I get too angry is exercise. 

And I either wind up getting so damn tired that I can't stay mad, or I'll realize how silly it is that I'm even angry in the first place. 

So when I feel pain, I know I just have to sit in it and feel it. And that's something that I'm still getting used to doing.

But I will get used to it.

Viewpoint Shunning for That PC Money

 Do you want to know something funny?

I can't continue to run this place the way I do. But that doesn't mean I can't post my journal entries somewhere else. Anonymity is a very, very precious thing. I didn't value it enough in the past. So sometime in the future, this blog will be migrated somewhere else. And of course, I'm not going to explicitly disclose that I've migrated anything. There'll be a link to "some other dude's awesome blog" in the sidebar and this place will go dead.

You see, my name (and my online aliases) are attached to a helluva lot of nonsense online. I've been wilding out online since I was like fifteen. And you would think folks wouldn't give a shit, but no, they try to hold you accountable for your teenage actions. As if you're the same person...

This is why I don't understand cancel culture. If someone did some stupid shit years and years in the past, the odds are they know it was wrong. To say they don't is to imply they didn't grow as a person and can't learn from their mistakes (which is calling them stupid and immature by extension).

But the rules and laws of society are different from the rules and laws of corporate America. People do grow and change. Corporate America doesn't give a shit about people. Everything and everyone is an asset to a corporation. (And this is how it should be.) The only way you're judged by a business is whether or not you can make them money, and whether or not you can lose them money. And unfortunately in this day and age, if you said the n-word as a toddler and someone filmed it, being associated with you can lose your company money. And that makes you a liability and not an asset.

I said all that to say this. I don't endorse half of the shit I said in the past. Because like most people, I'm growing and changing constantly. But if I am to begin a professional relationship with anyone I must acknowledge my past comments are liabilities and not assets.

In other words, the PC police have finally got me. And they're threatening me with 50 years in Microaggression Bay if I don't plead guilty.

A Brief One

Fuck off.

Existential Woes and Nostalgic Throes

 For some reason, the intro to Boys of Summer gets me going. It feels me with a sense of nostalgia for my younger days. It's amazing how Don Henley managed to capture the exact feeling of nostalgia on record. That song reminds me of being a young kid browsing the aisles of the local Value Village. They'd always play 97.1 The River on the radio, and that song was on constant rotation. . That song puts me in a mood. It makes me introspect deeply.

Am I the person that I want to be?

That's the question that echoes in my head. Am I making decisions that will build the life I want to lead? Am I moving too fastly? I've been accused of being an arrogant, pompous fool, so I don't know. And I don't care.

I want more, but at the same time, I don't want much. I just want to be somewhere where I can be myself. And who I am is constantly changing. I have struggles with my own mind. I don't have money all the time and sometimes my plans fall to the wayside. But all of that doesn't mean shit to me. 

And it doesn't help that the homeless dudes and drifters probably just wanted to be themselves as well. That's not my aim. A life of comfort is impossible, but a life of senseless struggle is foolish. I just want to build my body, make money, and work on technology. And of course, save up for the future. Build a massive library, and have a functional workshop. That's all.

Sometimes I question whether my ambitions are delusional. But then again. It's not like I've never achieved anything great. I just have to always remind myself of my accomplishments.

Who am I?

We all ask ourselves these questions. We all struggle with these hesitations and anxieties. But it's those of us that keep pushing ourselves forward and searching for the answers that wind up finding a purpose in the journey.

Or maybe I'm just a pretentious charlatan rambling... 

Accumulating Injuries For the Upcoming Centruries

The struggle to be genuine is very, very, very, real. 

I already said that employers be creeping. But honestly. 

It's not like I'm up to my neck in offers or some shit, anyway.

I ain't got shit to say. It's late in the fucking day. I went to church (despite what my colorful language would imply). I washed my clothes. I'm redownloading my OS since the repair shop at my college wiped my drive. 

My arms and legs have finally started hurting. Last Sunday I glided down like twenty feet (I improperly descended down an indoor rock wall) and slammed into a window and bruised my elbow and ankles. Friday I bench-pressed, did burpees, and did all kinds of workouts I'd never done before. Saturday I went jogging in 30-degree weather.  My body is very happy that it's young. Because if I was old, I'd be in the damn morgue, right now. (I realize that it sounds like I'm complaining when I mention these things. I fucking love this shit, and wouldn't live my life any other way. Ever since I heard someone say that youth is wasted on the young, I have been trying to do everything possible to never have to agree with that sentiment.)

I wasn't fucking joking when I said I was trying to prepare for Muay Thai. I'm not trying to go in the gym and throw up and break my damn legs, however. The only issue now is that all this exercising has rubbed off on my wallet because now it's gotten really, really skinny, too. But that'll resolve itself very quickly. You'll know that I'm out here making money if these posts stop. 

 

Brain Trickery and Gym Misery

 Jack Harlow has some bangers.

Atomic Habits has gotten me falling in love with the idea of positive habit reinforcement. It's the idea that when you're taking up a new habit (like jogging, or reading these blog posts every day) you pair it up with an immediate reward (like watching a quick YouTube video, or texting your girlfriend.) And the idea is that after a while you'll come to associate the new habit with the reward, and you'll do it automatically.

There's a little bit more to it, but I'm not about to go in-depth about neuroscience and evolution.

That gym was fucking awesome. Going into that shit telling myself that I wasn't going to quit, might've helped me out. There was a point where it felt like my arms were about to give up on me.

But I thought of the dead people that I love and miss. They don't get the opportunity to exercise and build their bodies because they're six feet under the ground. Their stories are over. And honestly, it gives me the motivation to keep writing my own story. Hell, two of them would've gone further than I ever could. But their lives got ended early and their stories got cut short. It can happen to any one of us.

I'm being intentionally vague. But I was surprised when I dug deep, that's what I found. And I damn sure didn't give up. 

Narcissistic Claims and Growing Pains

It's getting difficult to make these post titles both rhyme and be relevant to the post topic.

Ya boy is about to hit a gym program. I'm leaning on the fact that it's going to go well, because I'm me, and people love me. 

(You can call me a narcissist, but hey, the evidence doesn't lie. You're here reading this.)

And after that I guess I'll grab some food from the college's cafeteria and go back home and prepare for tomorrow.

Tomorrow night is fight night. The only thing that happens on fight night is that I watch fights. No one can call me, write me, talk to me, or text me past 7:00 P.M. on fight night, cause I'm watching fighting.

Fight night is ALWAYS the best night of the week.

I don't care if I go on a date with Jennifer Lopez and Kate Upton on Monday night. If Saturday night is fight night, it's going to be the best night of the week. I don't care if I win the Nobel Peace Prize on Thursday night. I don't care if I buy a Lamborghini on Tuesday night. I don't care if some long, lost relative gifts me a billion dollars on Wednesday night. If Saturday night is fight night, then it's the best night of the week. 

Period.

Anyways, ciao!