Sunday, August 9, 2009

Grown folks should not have tantrums

I was on the fence about speaking on that terrible massacre at that gym in Pennsylvania because the monster who caused all the grief is getting way too much media attention. When will the cameras focus on the innocent folks who were lost?

The story is a work in cowardice: somebody using madness as an excuse to do grievous, mortal harm to others. Then he shoots himself to escape judgement.

He left behind blog entries and videos boohooing his life and how crap isn't fair.

Gosh, REALLY?

The maniac complained about not having a girlfriend in 20 years and how he thought he was a great catch (his matching couches did not impress me).

Obsessively needy behavior creeps people out, even on a subconscious level. His own internal issues likely put roadblocks in the way.

Truth is, your problems are not for other people to fix. I learned that after hours of therapy. ;-)

I admit, I've done my share of grumbling and boohooing. A couple of years ago I was hitting the bottle so hard my doctor said something about my liver.

I used to think there was some order in the universe, a clear path you just had to find and everything would sort itself out. HA! There are no guarantees other than the ones you enforce.

Rather than lash out at others about stuff that bothers you, stop, look in the mirror and say "I'm JP Ruth and I fight depression." Admit what's really wrong while understanding there are millions of folks out there facing far more challenging issues: substance addiction, chronic ailments and impairments, financial fallout...

Making simple confessions to yourself won't change anything externally but you won't be hiding behind other people for stuff you need to fix.

From what I recall about this guy in PA, he laid some blame on his mother for how things went in his life. Parents shape the early years of a child but then you grow up and have to make your own decisions. You can choose to be 180 degrees different if you do not like what you see. You have to work at it. And if it doesn't seem to be enough, WORK HARDER.

That may be it. This guy in PA kept acting like he had it all and he deserved to have something given to him in return. Wrong.

A while back I wrote a blog about the "Broken Hunter". In short, the Broken Hunter does just enough work to scrape by and assumes he's fulfilled his manly duties. The Broken Hunter refuses to see he actually comes up short in many ways: "Look, I caught a mangy muskrat for dinner. I think it had fleas. Bring forth wine and women for the grand feast!"

It's the ego. If you believe you deserve something or someone "above your pay grade" but don't get what you want... grown folks should not have tantrums.

It also reminds of guys who are proud of being assholes to their women and say "because I'm a man, I deserve to be catered to."

Whatever. A penis is not a scepter.

If you want a shot at something special, you have to go make something special happen. I've had special in the past and it does not take care of itself. You have to dig in with both hands or you lose it.

Clicking your heels together three times and making a wish only works on the Sci-Fi Channel (I refuse to acknowledge their new branding).

Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away