Mysterious D Introductionon August 29, 2012 at 1:13 pm
Written by the Mysterious D
I used to consider myself a fantastic writer. My short stories and poems were full of description and strong emotion. I even had a few pieces published in school circulars. But … that was nearly 20 years ago.
Why did I stop writing? Simple question … complicated answer.
The first reason was that I was reading more and more. Sci-fi and fantasy of course. My plots and “original” ideas started showing up in the novels I was consuming. And really, who wants to read the same story … just told in a different perspective? Not me. I didn’t even want to write it.
Reason number two: all those strong emotions faded as I got older. In other words, I got too engrossed in keeping a roof over my head to really give a shit about the world at large. Thanks, Life. Hello, Jaded Me.
Three … and probably the most important. I couldn’t finish a long story. I was doomed to write only short stories and poems. While reading compilation works is nice, people don’t line up outside of bookstores to for the next installment of “Angst Poems.” Instead, they line up for prepubescent wizards, sparkly vampires, and sacrificial starving juveniles. Who knew?
So, I stopped writing. Fuck it. More important things to do.
Why then, do I want to write a column? Simple: for all the same reasons that caused me to quit. Plus one. I can write about whatever the fuck I want to.
My only worry is about the subject matter. But fuck that, too. Who cares what I write about as long as someone reads it.
People will read my shit as long as I’m honest.
So let’s be honest. I am a failed author (who really didn’t try too hard), a failed artist (who is a DAMN fine painter of D&D miniatures and portraits), and a rather lazy person (who gives up too easily).
That’s me. Pleased to meet ya.
I would, at this point, like to share with you what I am doing … in the spirit of being honest with my readers.
I am sitting on the couch sucking down a gallon water and popping Percocets like candy. Its been a rather “dazed” weekend.
Oh dear. I said that I was popping Percocets! For all those ninnies out there (who are now shaking their heads and contemplating reading no further), I have prescription for the meds. I had surgery on Thursday. They sucked my gall bladder through my belly button.
[Note: I am more than happy to post pictures of the offending organ if there is interest.]
[Editor: MuGumBo feels it is a perfect time to show this video]
I must say though, I will miss the mind-numbing pain that accompanied the gall stone “flare ups.” I’m not a masochist. Well … not completely. The pain sucked. The vomiting sucked. What I will miss are EXCUSES that it gave me.
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t stay over and work tonight. My stomach hurts.”
“No, I can’t walk after work tonight. My stomach hurts.”
“I have to go home. My stomach hurts.”
“Sorry, Don. I need to sleep on the couch tonight. My stomach hurts.”
[Notice: I said that I slept on the couch. I never asked Don to. I'm at least a considerate asshole.]
It was the PERFECT excuse for “fill in the whatever I did not want to do.” Bye, bye perfect excuse. I will sorely miss you. (Big sigh)
In the meantime, I have had a few days off work and have some lovely pain meds. Perk! But … I go back to work tomorrow and really hope the Percocets are out of my system …enough to drive, anyway.
I’m not to worried. I took the last one before midnight and my shift doesn’t start until 2pm. Is 14 hours enough tome for the effects to wear off? I hope so. So should you…
Why? (Ominous pause)
I am a 911 dispatcher / police radio operator. Your life is in my hands. Don’t worry. I’m not on the phones tomorrow. I won’t have to give CPR instructions while a little “hopped up” on pain meds. That would just be irresponsible.
[Editor: MuGumBo feels this song should always accompany 911]
I absolutely love my job. Honest. I love what I do. And yes, I have stories (for another column).
What I hate about my job are the people I work for. There are some serious assholes in there. It’s just like everywhere else. Take a slice of the population from any family, social setting, or office. You will find a handful of “keepers,” a majority of borderline people, and another handful of fucking pricks. The only difference is that I work with cops.
[Note: I am NOT a fucking cop. And no, I CANNOT get you out of that ticket.]
Why do I work there? Simple. The insurance is amazing. (Thank you, Powers That Be, for paying for my gall bladder surgery.). Besides, up until I started dispatching, I worked on a tobacco shop and lived in a trailer [insert your "trash" jokes]. I no longer live in a trailer.
THAT is why I work there.
The one thing I miss about my old life, Honest Abe, is smoking pot. I was poor and paranoid back then, but I was happy. Plus, I didn’t hold my breath whenever someone fired up a “dube.”
Perhaps that is the real reason I wanted to do this column. I’m not really happy with where I am right now. Writing allows me to vent a bit and brings back some of the old freedoms I used to feel back in my youth.
“Back in my youth.” That phrase makes me sound old. I’m not old. In denial maybe, but not old.
No. No. I agreed to write for GenXnerd so that I can write “Fuck it” over and over and have it published. (nice)
Whatever the reason, I promise to be honest with you. You and myself. If you catch me fibbing or stretching the truth, call me the fuck out on it!
I’ve become pretty good at lying to myself. That’s one of those “things” that everyone learns how to do by the time they develop a conscience.
What we DON’T learn to do is to confront each other (or ourselves).
So fuck it. Call me out on whatever. Call me a loser. Call me a lazy fuck with no motivation. Call me self-deprecating nihilist.
They are all true.
… or maybe it’s the Percocets talking. They are really starting to kick in and I’m feeling a bit drowsy. It has been a pretty rough week. I just had an organ removed, by God!
Just think, I believed that I had an ulcer due to all the assholes I deal with on a daily basis … wasn’t the case at all.