Writingbolt's Creation

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I’ve got a few axes to grind, so to speak, if that’s the right old choice of phrase. I’ve got bones to pick…issues…with certain matters that keep upsetting my life, including my TV time.

First on the list should be my own family…but I’ve already pecked at that one a few times in previous posts.

So, let’s start with “supporting the troops” who “gave so much for our freedom.”

I’ve been over this, before. I understand the hardships many troops must face. I also suspect some troops do just fine and become merchants of war surplus or go back to school and get those golden degrees that open the world to them. I’m sure some medical officers secretly become makers of modern pills that they then give to hired foot soldiers to distribute to lab specimens, aka low-income humans. But, countless commercials and other appearances suggest the majority of U.S. troops are in bad shape, suffering and in desperate need of money from everyone else. They’re not making a concentrated effort to reach out to people with actual gold mines of resources; they’re slapping every lowly, common TV viewer in the face with sad stories and pleas for money. I highly doubt people who could easily donate those funds are watching the commercials. I seriously doubt it. So, instead, people “getting by” are subject to the advertising much the way they are likely subject to sub-standard health care.

I also see it like this. Those troops sign contracts to submit themselves to the service of their country. That’s basically donating your body and soul to science. You signed your death warrant. Now, you somehow survive whatever horror you didn’t expect to face and survive, only to come back in less than fully functional condition, mentally and physically.

[If you donate a kidney, you don’t go around begging for a new one. YOU donated YOUR kidney. And, if you sign a slip that says you’re donating your body to science (when you die)…but you somehow come back from the dead to go on living as some sort of incomplete undead freak of nature, you don’t reach out to the public for brain or other body-part donations.]

And, some organization, which may not even be legitimate or legal and fair in all aspects, is doing the work of getting money…supposedly…for you broken soldiers. [Again, why aren’t these agents of mercy addressing wealthy individuals and organizations that probably contribute to the wars/conflicts, either intentionally or consequentially. [In case the meaning behind those words eludes you, that means people who contribute to either causing/starting a war/conflict or do business as a result of the war/conflict. Some people/businesses supply the troops going into a conflict. Others provide goods/services as part of the “clean-up” period after the conflict is supposedly resolved.]

So…

Support the troops? Get off my TV and go find those war enthusiasts and materialistic folks who contribute to and/or profit from your choice of sacrifice. I don’t think anyone’s freedom is dependent upon constant warfare. And, if it does, then we all deserve to get blown off this messed up planet because too many idiots want to fight over land we need to share, not claim and dominate as countless past generations have tried and wasted their time pursuing.

Don’t peck at my skull with your sad stories. Like any charity, you could take all my money and leave me worse off than you’ll likely ever be, because I’m sure many if not most of you have better families who could, at least, offer emotional support. And, if not, well, then, no offense, but you probably wanted to die in battle, with honor. The resources my poor ass could afford won’t replace the emotional support you (and I) direly need.

Now, I am sure there’s something else to address here, but I cannot think of it at the moment. So, I’ll go back to snarling at my own family.

Perfectionism. My family is a walking disaster waiting to happen because of, in part, perfectionism. It’s a key contributor to excess stress, distress, panic, etc. My family, most of them, anyway, refuse to give it up. I don’t know who started the hot mess, but I know my parents have been a blazing force of excess distress which has impacted me and my siblings, crippling us to some degree.

Currently, as it crops up just about every winter, it’s snow that divides us. Every year, when the worst of winter sets in, the cold and snow sap patience and understanding like a vampire draining a body. It’s vital to clear the snow away from the home to make safe walking paths and prevent roof/property damage (from freezing and melting cycles which can really tear a building apart, over time). But, no one says you have to scrape every damn inch of snow off of every surface until it looks as clean as it would in springtime! And, you don’t have to look down at a perfectly chiseled wall of snow at the edge of your property, either. And, if you lack upper-body strength and think there may be another way to attack a mound of snow in your way, you shouldn’t have to tackle the task the way someone else insists is better, when it just seems harder on the body and a waste of gas (if you use a snowblower).

[On the matter of snowblowers, you need to invest in and maintain a good one to be effective. But, in my family, it’s too easy to either spend a fortune and wreck something good or spend too little and struggle with a failing machine every year. Both paths lead to madness. And, madness, it seems, defines the “majority” of my family (the “louder” members, anyway). I’ve never been good with maintenance, for various reasons; so I tend to favor relying on physical ability, rather than any machine. If I cannot clear the snow, I’m likely to work around it (or submit) rather than worry about the cost factors and maintaining a machine. Also, even if I did invest in a machine, other members of my family have a horrible way of getting into my business and making personal property a source of unnecessary distress; they’re like flies on rotting meat, some days! ‘Just gotta find something to attack and fuss about. And, here I am, fussing about them.]

But, that’s just MY opinion, which holds no water (ha) with the more outspoken and flaunting members of the family. Softspoken, moderate folks, like myself, just get trampled, every year. So, I tend to learn very little, achieve very little and go away feeling not so good. Kind of like supporting the troops, if I cannot wrap my head around the matter and contribute, I’ll just have to accept the consequences, whatever they may be. In this case, if my perfection-seeking family members kill themselves from laboring too hard, I have to live with the loss…which may sound harsh. But, that’s just reality. I cannot save every member who decides good isn’t enough. I cannot even save one because all refuse to compromise. We’re a hard-beaked lot, apparently.

Just when I thought it was just my branch, I find other relatives experiencing similar mental and emotional difficulties. It’s not just me or my siblings or my parents…it’s the whole damn family tree! It’s riddled with this torment like a tree with rotting leaves still on the branches. It’s a disease, an ailment like blood pressure. And, rather than reaching out to others for support, the worst of the lot would rather go down in their own flames; I cannot even seem to reach out, myself, without encountering difficulty. I’m trying to stay connected and help others (and myself), and I’m being “roadblocked.”

Sometimes, it’s a stupid eight-year family feud that gets in the way of everything; sometimes, certain members of the family refuse to meet/speak with each other for nearly a decade just because they had a difference of opinion. Who needs the on-going quarrels between political parties when I have my own divided people?

I grew up to become a suicidal perfectionist, thanks to my naive and in-denial parents. And, the only way I could save my own life–because they were doing a horrible job of that–was to stop being perfect, to accept less-than and do less work than maybe some would like. It’s not being lazy or incompetent. It’s more like what Scrooge McDuck says in the cartoon series Duck Tales; work smarter, not harder. I am not entirely opposed to hard or long hours of work/labor. [If I see the work is for a good reason/cause, am working with people I can trust and feel up to the task, I’m all in and might work until I collapse or my eyes cannot see clearly any longer (because they’re bone dry).] But, I’d rather do what I feel is only necessary to achieve a reasonable goal/purpose than toil away for perfection until my body collapses under me. I know my limits. I know when I’m starting to falter. And, if whoever I am working with cannot cope with or understand that, they can screw themselves into the grave.

But, that’s too often too easy to say. I cannot just walk away from some work/projects because that comes with threats and penalties. I could lose my job. I could lose sleep, food and the liberties to cleanse myself just because I reach an impass with family (or a boss/coworker). And, that’s just one case in which life sucks, when I feel I, as usual, it seems, with me, have no control over my life. So, when people wonder why I struggle with making decisions…I’d like to confess this. It’s because too often I don’t seem to have a say. Or, my opinion is unwanted, not respected and overthrown by a “higher authority.” So, when am I supposed to feel in control of and direct myself to do anything other than maybe pick a place to rest or pee?

I start to wonder about the point, the value, of life. And, if I can manage it, I vow to die making peace with nature, not some man-made organization or financially-driven institution, not the IRS or any other tax collector. I don’t want to die feeling I am in financial debt to any file-collecting monster; nor do I want to die from working my body too hard just to fall short of pleasing some mad individual who is never satisfied and too quick to gather and replace slaves. I will not be laying my life down to military service unless I am dying right next to a fellow human being who I value as much as myself if not more, someone I consider a trusted friend/lover. I will not sacrifice myself to any cause that isn’t sound in my soul.

And, if that’s too imperfect for your vision, go get some freakin’ eyeglasses to correct yourself. [That’s a metaphor if you’re too stupid to see through my words.]