Lurking In The Shadows

 

I like this photograph of my cat, Monkey, taken from behind as he gazes upon his court.  The light casting a mighty shadow so that we fail to see the intricate designs of his striped back, replacing it with darkness and mystery.

The other morning as I drove to work, I'd just rounded the corner from my street onto the main drag that takes me westward.  Like so many mornings before, I saw a couple rabbits scampering across the street into the adjacent park.  It's a large park, large enough that a small group of rabbits could probably live long happy lives there without ever having to leave the safety of it's perimeter.  "Be careful, rabbits." I always say.  In addition to the lively scampering of this indigenous wildlife, sadly I also see many tattered corpses that didn't fair too well crossing the boulevard.

I got to thinking, driving up the street, listening to whatever was on the radio at the time, "What DO rabbits do all day?"  Good question, right?  The sun breaks through the morning dawn, shining light down on the world and these rabbits awaken from their slumber and begin foraging for food.  Do they do that all day long?  Just eat, sleep, and shit.  Then my thoughts came back to something, or someone, dear to my heart.  My boy, Monkey.  What does he do, all day long? 

Same thing, only there's four walls and a roof protecting him from the elements and possible predation.  That aside, he lives the same mundane life as those rabbits.  Eat, sleep, shit, repeat.  Only advantage Monkey has over the rabbits, aside from the structure that he resides in, is guaranteed meals and snuggle time with yours truly, Daddy.

There are times, however, when I'm home and I cannot find that cat anywhere.  It's like he just vaporizes then reappears when it's convenient.  It's magical.  Does Monkey have special abilities that he's hiding from me?  Am I not trustworthy enough to keep his secrets?

The other night I was having trouble going to sleep.  For the fourteen years that Monkey has been alive and living with me, we always go to bed at the same time, snuggle a little before I doze off and he retires to his corner at the foot of the bed.  So when I wake up in the middle of the night, I can glance down and see his shadowy form snoring in the corner and all feels right and I'm able to fall back asleep with ease.  On this particular night, just three sleeps ago, I woke up and Monkey was nowhere to be seen.  I got up to get a drink from the fridge and in my travels, failed to see Monkey lying in any of his preferred spots that pepper the household.  It wasn't until nearly a half hour later that I felt him jump onto the bed, murmur a little meow of acknowledgement and returned to his corner, like nothing had transpired.

I rolled up next to him and started stroking his back, from neck to tail and chatting him up.  I asked questions like "Where do you go?" and "What are you doing?"  Then mid-query, I realized something imperative.  If you look at the distinctive markings on Monkey's face, it's almost too obvious.  Much like Clark Kent wears a cheap pair of glasses to hide the fact that he's actually Superman, Monkey hides his secret identity by looking like a cute kitty cat with that unique triangular white patch on his face.

(Please forgive me for getting off-topic, but HOW stupid are the people in Metropolis that they can't see through that shitty disguise?)

I'm lying next to my cat, on top of the covers, stroking his fur and listening to his gentle rhythmic purr when I realized, "I've never seen Batman and Monkey in the same room...  I wonder.  Is it possible?"  All those nights when I came downstairs because he was absent and I did see him, seated on the back to the armchair, gazing out over his world, looking for neerdowells and riff-raff, poised to leap into hand-to-hand combat at a moments notice.

If you take a moment to really look and analyze the pictures of the Caped Crusader versus Monkey, you'll have to agree the resemblance is uncanny.  I think my cat is a superhero, watching over and protecting his land.  If he chooses not to share that life and burden with me, then I'm sure Monkey has his reasons.  Perhaps it's out of love and wishes to protect me from those who wish to do him harm.  I can appreciate that and I thank him for the security he provides.

No More Mister Nice Guy

On the first day of January, twenty-twenty-four, I made a New Year's Resolution, much like most people pledge for the start of a new year and much like those people, that personal change has fallen by the wayside and is no more than a fleeting goal that just seemed too insurmountable to maintain.  My resolution seemed to be simple.  It was all internal and never depended on anyone's input.  Or so I thought.  On January 1st, of this year, I promised myself to be more positive.  To have a better attitude.  To not stress over the small shit.  I stated that I would be nicer to people and to be much kinder to myself, meaning I would end the self-deprecation that I often find myself doing.  It's a defense mechanism used by bullied kids for, what I would assume, ions.  The strategy of making fun of myself before the bullies had anything to say.  On the surface, one would believe that by stating (obviously false) shortcomings about oneself, that the bullies would be discouraged from making fun of you themselves and that it would hurt less.  I can say from experience, that this works for the moment, but over time it becomes a terrible habit and I wouldn't recommend it.

After much deliberation over my current state of affairs and I've come to realize that, while I have, for the most part, ceased to make self-deprecating comments about myself, that on the whole, I am not a nice guy.  In stating this observation, I can hear in my head the voices of a handful of friends and colleagues who may disagree and input their belief, "Nah.  Don't be so hard on yourself.  You're a good guy."  I get it.  I'm not claiming to be an asshole 24/7, but I'm not the nicest fella to a lot of people, which stems, in my opinion from a personality trait that I've been meaning to write a blog about, but haven't up to this point.  Who knows?  Maybe this tirade will inspire me to write that literary piece next.

I am fairly certain that I did manage to maintain a level of positivity for more than a month and I never really felt anything negative until late February, probably following the head-on collision, when I began to falter and meander off the track of having a good attitude and I believe it was work that forced me to spiral into the abyss of negativity and anger.

As a transit operator, we get to re-sign different routes to work over a two or three month stint.  It's nice, because you're not necessarily forced to repeat the same mundane work year-in and year-out, like so many jobs I've endured in the past.  A new driver will have less desirable choices over the more established and seasoned drivers with years of seniority, but I've moved up the ranks over the last couple years and while I don't always get the golden routes, I do okay.  This last sign-up, I chose what I thought was the lesser of all evils when I signed it, but I've quickly learned that I was incorrect in that assessment and come next sign-up, I will not be taking this route again.

On paper, Route 60 is easy, but in reality, it is SO stressful.  Not the scheduling, but the riders.  I don't want to be flagged for insensitivity, but if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck...you know.  Duck!  Many of these folks are of a questionable ethic.  Most are super-poor and super-duper-angry and will not hesitate to take their frustrations out on a driver.  It's very difficult to maintain a good attitude when constantly being bombarded by criticism.  It's like when I was a kid, being cornered in the kitchen and yelled at by my alcoholic father who would use every putdown he could concoct to fire at me and, at the time, I knew these accusations to be false, after constant hate-bombs being dropped on my head, false or not, a weakened mind will succumb to those accusations.  So in this instance, while constantly being called a racist, I know this to be untrue, yet it does wear a person down over time and sadly, this chipped away my defenses quick.

I am not a nice guy, over all, and yes, I hear those opposing voices in my head, but I'm a better actor.  I can successfully mask malcontent so those around me are blinded by what's really going on.  Hell.  I've been wearing a mask for decades.  Not a single person I know would confirm that I am depressed almost all of the time.  Saddened by my lot in life.  Bothered that I haven't achieved this or that.  I sometimes feel I don't contribute enough.  I am weakened by the idea that I am unable to take care of my mother in her golden years.  I hear her voicing her concerns about her life and burdens and I feel helpless, further spiraling my psyche.  I hide my shit really well.

I've found videos on YouTube that claim to fix this or enhance that quality about yourself.  They advise that the viewer simply get settled, relax in a comfortable position and play the video, whose sound and music is infused with subliminal messages of affirmation and goodness.  I'm guilty of trying several of these videos in a desperate attempt to cleanse myself of the hate and sadness that I feel pumping through my veins, replacing my shitty attitude with warmth and empathy.  I want to be nice, it's just so hard to do when I'm surrounded by idiocy.  It wears me down, dude!  The videos and subliminal messages are of some concern, however.  How do I know that the affirmations are factual and they're not actually convincing the thousands of desperate souls who have viewed the videos to give up their life savings and shit.  Or perhaps, because I'm entering the experience with a piss-poor attitude already and that attribute combined with the messaging all get twisted in a spaghetti ball of confusion.

I know not what the answer to this dilemma is.  The best I can do is identify when I'm having a dark moment, acknowledge it, find a splinter of positivity and hope it's enough to bring me into the light once again.  There is power in positivity.  I have felt it.  I have had periods where I was happy and joyful and the world was my oyster.  Waves of good fortune would come my way, leaving onlookers in the wake of disbelief.  It's just the question of HOW to maintain that attitude.  I don't know what that method is, yet, but when I do, I will share.  As for now, I only have another six weeks of driving that shitty route, then I will bale on it like rats off a sinking ship.  Sounds selfish, but it'll be someone else's problem and I hope they're able to deal with the negativity on that line better than I can.

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