Feeling Unnecessarily Impotent In Life – Mad Chaos: October 2, 2001

Beginning the month disorientated by uncertainties, wearied on the lip of socials and candid in my own mind about how bothered the writer is, there is little patience for me to write tonight, today, or whatever the timeframe represented may be.  I seem to want to however because the sentiment is picking up again, acting as a hardy precursor, sort of like the instigation of my memoirs six years ago.  But in a land destabilized, where survival is primacy over written word, it is hard to round up that sentiment again.  

Nevertheless, in my bothered state in no desire to write, an urge still invests itself, and as the writer tolerates recital, only because it seems like an interest of momentum in my memoirs is picking up, we begin with the thirtieth ending day of last month, and see where it takes us.

Losing Sight Of Memoir’s Purpose

The era of descriptive religiousness and its inherited inherence since before the writer dipped into a state, which is this, is but only a distant memory now of what literal power my memoirs did once bestow.  He used to be so captivated in his words but that enthusiasm was lost when the purpose of my memoirs nigh beginning this year went missing.  I stopped being so avid and fell sober-faced into reality, a dive these last seven months would account to.  

Nonetheless, the thirtieth three nights back was just another night trying to cope in a world harboring no added pressures on top of what pressures there already were, where the writer house was fit with a glass ceiling to honor my decision seven months ago, at the behest of wanting to experience life, to decreasingly document and write.  The importance of authenticating my life devalued when my woes of stress came to pass.  But anyway, the thirtieth had no such severe undertones.  

Hang Out At Shawn’s Pad

Last month on the thirtieth I watched the football grand final with the boys, downing a couple of alcoholic drinks and then hitting back a cone or two to make the others more comfortable.  I called the negative, as the evening news was playing.  We made arrangements for the night at his pad in his backyard.  In these last few months we had set up a nice hideaway fit with television, stereo and a game console to play.  However, it was a bit of an awkward night being the two of us alone.  

I collected some liquid bottles along the way.  We had a good time, keeping it flowing with some loud music, with some puffs rounding it off, and then a few games on the PlayStation console to finish amused.  That was my thirtieth however, as we finished up the night with light competition car games.  

I went home and eventually went to sleep, recovering in those dabs of twilight hours with my television or computer on, but that was it.

Basketball & Weed With Tyler

The first day of this month was a quiet day by my standards of late.  I visited the gym early in the afternoon.  But it wasn’t until coming home later on that the better-fabric event began.  I remember how Tyler popped over at some time in the evening and how we drove out to buy some hash for the night.  

Since my disliking opinions of the negative repelled me a little from the idea of him, we steered independent of the others.  We ended up driving back to my house upon his wishes to mull up.  Then we drove down to the basketball courts on my wishes, because my house was starting to feel like the exploited norm.  

I didn’t like being indoors and particularly at my house because of the stigma if perchance, my parents busted me.  I didn’t want the odorized smell to become a familiarized tang in my house.  So after a short drive around town locally; we stopped off at the local basketball courts.

The whole scenario of being out smoking willingly estranged from the others felt engrossingly peculiar, like some sinister, rebellious act was going on, acting as a sign that our acquaintanceship was falling apart.  I felt conflicted, insecure and anxious for some reason but it never seemed apparent at the time.  

We had the basketball out occasionally shooting a hoop, but we mostly sat down on the benches in the middle of the quadrangle yard, where a court was on each side of us.  I sat on top of the benches with my feet resting where my ass should have been, but it was hard to relax.  

Needing Diversions From Small Silences

Initially, my mood before smoking was of grave confliction, my personality being overly prim and unobtrusive, but my eyes alert and tampered with.  I didn’t really want to smoke because it would have virtually been an escape conceded to, to have us both relax, which momentarily patched up my insecurities.  I knew it was a weakness however, and the unhelpful thought in my mind deterred a part of me from functioning right, at least when stoned.  

I was told to stop pacing and sit down in a means to slow down, but my mind always needed distraction, an aversion from the small silences or from such awkwardness of reaction that smoking, on me, in recent days has had.  Bouncing the basketball to drown out that silence subconsciously was my avoidance of issues  There, awareness was brought home that never really registered until Tyler literally put his hand on my shoulder to steady my irrational resolve.  I took a step back and noticed my behavior, as Tyler kept coolly on his seat.  But its restive behavior was only brushed off as acceptably being stoned however, which was a bit of ignorance on my behalf.  

Discuss Tyler Going To War

Anyway, after my step back of consciousness, we started talking, as the weed took its effect.  

“How did you feel when you heard you might be going to war,” was one of my questions, marked with a grin, approaching him with two scenario options.  

“Did you think, sick, we’re gonna kick some ass, or were you thinking, of fuck, why are they getting us involved.”  

Tyler seemed a touch apprehensive about being sent to Afghanistan, but a lengthy time in the army had seen him hardly shaken.  He thought the latter performance applied to his sentiment, but he was so staid in his response that you could hardly feel it.

Reacting To The Smug Blonde

In what was potentially the ruining moment and disillusionment of the rest of our night, as we hopped into the car for a cruising loop of town, stoned and smiling; the foulest mood possessed me, as we stopped at a set of traffic lights down at the main crossroads headed towards Macarthur Square or on the way to the train station locally back in town.  Marijuana had put me in a weird mood, all tense, wired and stigmatic.  So it was no surprise when a car pulled up beside us on the set of traffic lights to our left, and we looked over, that the mere look of smug airs witnessed in the blonde driver as she stared us down made me so irate with anger.  

Both of us looked over as her car slowed down.  But the look on her face incited in us different reactions.  Tyler just peered over and gave her a playful smile.  But when my steely eyes wandered over and saw the bitchy blonde snugly smiling to herself about our sad state of affairs, it struck a nerve enough for me to just snicker and pull back deep into my seat.  

“Tyler, sit forward,” came prompt my ushering words, hugging him around the neck so that he would keep his head forward, and her nauseating smirk out of my face.  

I was driving my beaten up blue Toyota at the time, calmly around the streets without fine, until she forced out of me utter contempt.  I might have scared her off with an uninviting peer over in the first place, as Tyler was already making himself smitten.  But it was hard to deny that her besmirching comparisons needed some snuffing out.  

I only had the reactive response to ridicule her with mimed innuendos of my own by hiding out of her view and sinking into my chair.  Anyway, this one moment was loathed and it ruined my mood for the rest of the night.  

I was provoked to lash out, but then again, her look of utter contempt, it could have all been in my mind.  

I could have been paranoid to turn a potential situation around but it happened to happen that way, and it ruined my agenda so on for the remainder.

Made To Feel Unnecessarily Impotent

I envied Tyler a bit as we pulled away from those lights and sped viciously infuriated up the steep road to where the cinema complex across the intersection at Macarthur Square was.  He is still young and so has a quality naïve that girls admire, even this older blonde as well.  

I don’t think that to this day Tyler has ever experienced hurt or has been burnt in a proper relationship, or if he has, he hasn’t come around to realize it yet.  Perhaps Tyler copes by retreats into himself with the aid of marijuana to numb out reality, but withal, women still find him cute, whereas, in me they see a bastard before anything.  

Being labeled a bastards sucks but how do you change damning perceptions or how one assumes he is perceived?  I was once as brazen as him, nigh as backwash as people were eager to dish out shit, but where has it all gone?  Have my exploits with the shrew and badgering bane been the death of happier days, where my confidence has not retained its original values since, or is there more to the undue doubt of my story?  

I was bitter no doubt when the flash car with two girls inside pulled up beside us however, because the looks given made me feel unnecessarily impotent.  I had no reassurances at all, only offensive gaping mouths for some reason.  But as much as it exasperated my paranoid condition on drugs, it was driven out of my system eventually.

Finding It Hard To Trust Women

We all have feelings and can all be emotional as well, but all this baggage ever since my fallout with the badgering bane and then the shrew, and even this lifestyle choice to love passion and not the money train has made me more defensive around women.  

Ever since that last genuine relationship and its bitter fallout ensuing, it has been hard for the lover to trust women.  “Women are so shallow these days,” words inherently echoed in my head over these last few weeks, as for some reason they piss me off.  

I hate being stereotyped because of my car as well, which makes those girls pulling beside us all the more superficial.  I may be bitter because there are only pockets of non-material girls out there, but in general, women these days are so up themselves that they would only care to take you seriously if you had a bankroll, a nice suit, and a fancy car to roll in.  

I don’t think heart and soul appeals as much as heavy pockets anymore.

So this hypocrisy played out makes it hard to be anything more than an inhibited bastard.  

You see, although the badgering bane would never have freely admitted how determinate an issue in our relationship money was, it was obvious in our arguments about it that money played a big issue, and so it left on me a lasting impression of what most women were really about.  

My short fling with the shrew further demonstrated the shortfalls of dating selfish women, leaving in me this deep-seated reluctance to open up and leave myself coyly defenseless with them.  

I think the innocence of relationships was founded and ruined with the badgering bane, as our experience fashioned this conscious resentment towards women, an evident benefactor to the self-conscious and all these fragile years spent avoiding the opposite sex.  I am an empty shell filled only with skepticism, and girls like those in the car were only cause for my aversive reactions.  

I may be bitter and this defiance a product of my insecurities but there are girls out there that treat themselves only to preferred stereotypes, the shallow ones that see more toward my car and past me, or who perhaps imagine my inner persona being similar to my shabby car and threads.  

Anyway, the stunt across the passenger door windows when eyeing out the opposite sex gave me another issue for the night.  I was already stoned and anxious but now distress was added to the occasion.

Visiting Shawn At His Pad

Rubber-stamping the rest of our night with a drive to see the negative, where he was home at his house alone, since his parents had gone away for the weekend, we had a troubled night on edge, the three of us in his lounge room watching television.  I loathed lazing around indoors and its inaction generally, but it seemed like we needed a new resurrecting tact for the night, and a trip to see the negative was it.  

The mood seemed a little reserved since the monotony-carved last few substance-abused weeks, which led to my row over respect with the negative.  But despite the mystery alliances, where we all had our little secrets of opinion about each other, and despite the whole issue remaining hidden, we seemed to handle grave uncertainty okay.  

I only worried about my weaknesses and not wanting to show them.  My evident discomfort would have been in an escaping cough.  But the person displaying most discomfort wasn’t the negative or me, it happened to be Tyler.  

I think our visit to his house was awkward because in the back of our minds we knew the negative probably thought we were talking about him earlier, so we were both thrown back by that paranoid suspicion.  

Anyhow, Tyler was most uncomfortable, unable to handle his insecurities, as he would say a few composed words, go quiet for a while and then follow with a few bellowing coughs, some more, and then some more.  I felt like the boys were growing apart, like we were trying too hard to make sense of our surreptitious friendships.  Maybe we were trying too hard to live a lie because we had by our actions grown discordant.  But anyway, that was how the first day of my month came to be.