I’ve got this weird problem. I feel guilty for things that other people (as far as I understand it) don’t.

For example, I finally had an opportunity to spend my weekend without having to do anything. No errands to run, no place I had to be, just nothing to do. Sure, there’s always something I could be doing around the homestead, but there was nothing pressing.

So I played a computer game. For two days. And I feel bad about it. I couldn’t tell you why, though. I feel like I should have been doing something productive, not playing a game. So I feel guilty. I know other people who wouldn’t feel guilty. They’d be elated. They would label themselves, “gamers.”

If I take a sick day I feel guilty for doing anything other than laying in bed. Resting. I don’t answer to anyone but myself. You’d think I’d be worried about my dad showing up and berating me for watching TV while I’m sick. That’s all me, though. Weird.

It’s like I’m not used to doing anything for myself. That is completelyl true, by the way. I’m not. It’s been nearly a decade since I was required to be helpful and do things for people, but here I am feeling useless if I’m not doing something for somebody.

Sad, isn’t it?


Boy, do we love labels. We slap them on anything we can think of if there’s more than one of them. We love them so much we even have machines that will print them out. They’re handy.

Like, if you have more than one file for your accounts you might be “Accounts” on a label on the file folder. Or maybe the whole file drawer if it’s full of accounting files. Because that’s what we do.

We label music (Rock, Classical, Easy Listening, That shit my cousin listens to), we label books (Classic, Fantasy, Sci-Fi), we label people (hipster, suburbanite, yuppie).

I guess for the most part that’s okay. I mean, it’s handy for keeping things sorted if they need to be. I think it’s a problem when we embrace a label that we’ve been slapped with, though.

As a for instance, I don’t get out much and have no friends. So I don’t end up at parties, I don’t go out on dates, or much of anything. I just sort of exist. People might be tempted to say, “You’re an introvert!”

But I’m not. I want friends. I want to go to parties. I would love to go on dates. “Then you’re an extrovert, maybe!” Could be. I do know that it’s difficult for me to work up the energy to go somewhere (introvert!), but once I’m there I liven up and (usually) have a good time talking with people (extrovert!).

So I don’t know what I am. But some people will proudly exclaim that they’re so far introverted they’ve achieved oneness with the nothingness. I don’t see that as something to be proud of though. Acceptance, sure. But not proud.

Or people that exclaim happily that they’re gamers. Or nerds. Or geeks. I mean, gaming is fun but is that all you do? And can you really be a nerd or a geek anymore? Most people now sort of fit the bill, there. Just about everyone uses a computer. Or a cell phone. Maybe playing games on their phone while they wait in line for something.

When someone asks or tries to tell me I’m an extrovert or introvert or gamer or nerd or whatever, I say, “I’m just me, baby.”


This is the post excerpt.

I used to think I would be a writer. I had dreams of writing books and stories and going to conventions and signing things and being covered in groupies and, after seeing some novels turned into blockbuster movies, of selling a book to be made into a movie and making a billion dollars.

But I’m not a writer. I’m just a guy with a broken dream who, when the feeling hits, writes things down. I haven’t had a new, original, thought for more than twenty years. I just re-hash the same old things that go through my mind (a mediocre one).

It took a long time to come to grips with the idea that I wasn’t, and would never be, a writer. It’s a sad thing. Being as old as I am, even if I were struck with inspiration it would be too late for me to do anything about it.