This post has zero motorcycle content so if you’re here for that, close up the browser and move on.

If you’re in my day-to-day life don’t confront me about this because I am incapable of dealing with you. If I could I would be doing it already. It’s not because I don’t love you, it’s because of something else but I’m not sure what. Maybe it’s as simple as I don’t want you to feel hurt for me or I’m embarrassed.

Things are coming to a head. I’m just sick of being a liar about my feelings, I’m sick of myself and I’m sick of being afraid. Everyday I choose to not show my cards because someone might not like me. Maybe you think this isn’t the place to unload because you came here for pretty pictures and perfect moments but this is what I’ve got. If it makes you leave, you would never like me anyway. Fuck it.

—

I am a haunted person and I feel scared.
I feel like a maniac.
I wish someone could save me.
I’m afraid of being judged.
I’m afraid of being honest.
I’m afraid i will never feel good again.
i’m afraid of myself.
I’m afraid of hurting the people who love me.
I’m embarrassed.
I feel like I offer nothing in return.
I feel guilty.
I’m a liar.
I feel like punching people in the face when they say “just get over it.” You know what? Fuck you and your “just.” Sometimes there is no “just” doing anything. Things take work and time and I’m aware of that. And i hate that i haven’t done enough or that maybe I’ve done the wrong work.
I want to shut my mind off like a switch.
I want to be free.
I want to tell the truth.
I want to sleep peacefully.
I want to forgive myself for all the things I let happen that I didn’t really want to happen.
I want to go back to burying my feelings and pretending they don’t exist.
I want go skipping off down the road in a whirl of rainbows and butterflies.
I want to let someone hug the hurt out of me.
I want to release my demons.
I don’t want to be weak.
I don’t want to regret typing this out.
I don’t want to feel guilty.
I don’t want to be ashamed of crying.
I don’t want to immediately feel like I should retreat.
I don’t want to feel that things would be better if I wasn’t here.
I don’t want to cut everyone out of my life.
I don’t want to be scared to ask for help.
I don’t want to avoid confrontation.
I want to be beautiful.
I want to be worth it.
I want to realize and embrace my potential.
I want to be proud of myself.
I want to be confident.
I don’t want to feel that when someone looks at me they see all the things that are wrong to the point that they see nothing right.
I want to follow my heart.
I want to understand my mind.
I want to be of use, of value, worthy of someone’s love.
I want to be seen.
I want to be understood.
I don’t want to be repulsive.
I don’t want to be a shell.
I just want to be okay.
I want to be more than okay.
I don’t want to be afraid of everything anymore.
I don’t want to be afraid.

Out there on the road of life it isn’t unusual to spot things that have fallen off of the backs of trucks or were carelessly tossed out of car windows.

Often these scattered remnants along the roadside make sense. You see them and your brain can fire off a logical backstory about why they ended up there. For example, if you see a dresser in the weeds along the roadside you’ll think – oh, maybe someone was moving and that fell off the back of their truck. That’s a story your mind can handle, it makes sense and we all know that shit happens.

But sometimes? Sometimes there are no clues. Remember that time I saw all those pancakes? They still haunt me. The detritus doesn’t seem to fit neatly into a category of everyday use that can easily explain away it’s discarded presence.

While riding my bicycle home on a local well-traveled street that has no houses on it I picked up on something in the grass along the sidewalk in my peripheral vision. In a split second there was some recognition of what I was seeing that occurred deep in my grey matter. It was on a completely subconscious level at first. A few milliseconds passed while the neurons that power up my cognitive thought machine began to transmit. (My brain seems to work like a lava lamp. Sometimes it takes a while for the thought globules to loosen up and float through the goo.) Stopped in my tracks, I looked over to spy a giant butt plug nestled among the leaves and grass.

Immediately I was awash in feelings of giggly hysteria, girlish embarrassment, disbelief and then as I pedaled away… wonder. Initially my thoughts floated towards “Oh, my GOD! That thing is gigantic!” Granted I’m not some kind of renowned butt plug expert that can assess whether or not it was indeed gigantic, I was strictly going on semi-frightened instinct. But appraising the size of the massive, misshapen ace of spades?  Well that was just simple mechanics. For a complex thinker like myself(!) that was far from the most interesting part of the story. No, the big questions were “Why” and “How.” Why was there a butt plug sunning itself on a busy suburban street? How did it get there?

Unable to simply accept what I saw without some type of how or why my mind began to formulate what could be the only logical explanation. Someone tossed it out the window of a car.

A cigarette of gravity defying ash dangles perilously from a pair of stubble-faced lips. Behind the wheel of a late 80’s sedan a man with stringy hair and thick glasses drives along.

Skimming his land yacht too close to the curb the man absentmindedly cruises along at 3 under the speed limit. Poor suspension give the car a gentle bounce as he lumbers along. With no eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel – the man rifles though fast food wrappers, newspapers and stuffed animals in front seat of his car. He brushes his stringy hair behind his ear again and again as it falls in his way.

As he rummages around through his front seat garbage, the driver makes room in the only way he knows how – by tossing unneeded items out the passenger window. The stringy haired man leaves an assortment of garbage in his wake; a coffee cup, a real estate magazine… a giant butt plug.

Seems plausible, right? Your theories are welcomed.

File Under: Random Shit!