The Ghost WaveWashing it all away without warning ... I vaguely recall writing some inspirational words laced with as much hope as sheer ignorance, but the moment was an honest one. While attempting to write my first words in an eternity through a soupy layer of brain fog, I'm clear enough to remember that much.

My message to myself was sincere, but I never could have fathomed the looming insanity of the very near future and how fictionally unrecognizable life - every last drop of it - was about to become in a matter of weeks.

None of us could have.

The date was December 29, 2019. It was my 49th birthday, the doorstep to my 50th year of life, and I was doing my absolute best to spin a positive out of something that was, irrationally or otherwise, whipping up a supercell of inner chaos on many levels.

Looking back, the unnecessary self-inflicted anxiety I was weighing myself down with over-imagined demands that seem to accompany life's inevitable aging process is really quite laughable. But the problem is, you see, I can't laugh about it. Because along with all things washed away by this wicked wave we will forever remember as the year of 2020, my sense of humor is also floating around out there somewhere among the wreckage awaiting rescue.

Consider this my attempt to rescue myself. I've had no words for what this year has delivered for a very long time, and my silence has grown ironically deafening against the relentless backdrop of noise this year continues to assault us with.

As the 50th week of my 50th year draws to a close, I, at long last, feel like speaking. I feel like screaming. I feel like fighting. I feel like retaliating against every bit of craziness that has begrudgingly separated me from myself. Even if it resembles a haphazard mess of word salad, my hope is that there is enough familiarity in the flow of letting my fingers talk to resuscitate my spirit and rid my soul of sickness.

There. Dramatic enough? Then let's get to the point ... or try to. Rewind, back to December 29, 2019.

As is customary, even to those of us who have come to abhor social media as the rabid animal it is beneath a veneer of sincerity, thanking those who acknowledge your birthday is the right thing to do, even if you don't really want to acknowledge it yourself. And don't regard that mixed statement as disingenuous.

I appreciate people. But social media, man ... it's a noise that makes my brain bleed like no other.

My intent was to say thanks to those who took time out of their days to wish me a happy birthday and to also tack on some words of hope for the upcoming year at hand. There were many uncertainties on the horizon, most notably occupational and family related, which I'll get to. To be real, I was concerned about what life had in mind. But I also had aspirations, so that's what I chose to focus on. It was honest; in no way did it feel like I was fooling myself.

With hope as my guide and enthusiasm as my weapon, I tapped out something suggesting my goal to "make the coming year count like no other." I could probably go back and find my exact post before Facebook viciously reminds me of it in a couple of weeks, but that would require far more effort than I'm willing to put into this.

As I said, that noise ... I need no further education on how hopelessly divided we are or how thin the fabric of our societal sanity is wearing. I've seen more than enough in the real world, whatever the hell that even means anymore.

I had a vision, but it was a vision that didn't include an upending of enormous proportions that unfolded in closely timed intervals, one following another in rapid, brutal succession.

This vision didn't include the loss of a job.

It didn't include the passing of my dad.

It didn't include the subsequent health issues of my mom that I was suddenly fixated on and still fixate on to a level I struggle to find words for.

It certainly didn't include a worldwide public health pandemic that turned everyday life into a surreal haze of death, destruction, fear, anxiety, depression, isolation, conflict, confusion, distrust, and nearly every other negative noun that fits the bill.

It didn't include witnessing everyone I know being hammered into much more exhausted and much less recognizable versions of themselves. It didn't include that same phenomenon happening to me.

It did not account for a psychological toll that has proven to be rather expensive for so many. It didn't include a backup provision for my soul becoming sick from overexposure to all the unforeseen static, panic, and isolation.

My plan was to move forward, as I suppose it still is. But the very meaning of moving forward has been unexpectedly redefined. What started as an ambitious goal of further building my life into everything I wanted it to be has taken a back seat to clumsily putting one foot in front of the other, trying to maintain the balance needed to just survive and help others do the same through unprecedented muck.

America On AcidThe long, bad trip we will forever know as the year 2020 ... I guess the deal with life has always been uncertain, right? You never know what's going to happen, so you take it as it comes. You adapt and overcome, correct? You keep the faith, cross your fingers, keep yourself in check, do what you feel is right, and somehow, in some way, everything ends up exactly how it is supposed to be.

And even if that isn't quite how it's initially envisioned, we eventually see the fruits on the branches of the end result and how they are best for us. It's like the song, yeah?

You can't always get what you want ... sing it with me. You know it's stuck in your head now, just as it has been playing incessantly on repeat in mine for what has now been a very long time.

But are we getting what we need? Are we?

That much remains to be seen, just like everything else life throws at us. This feels very different, though, because it is. We've not experienced anything so sweeping in our lifetimes. To put it simply, it's been way too much for way too long.

Ridiculous, perilous polarization at a time when we desperately need to be on the same page.

Blind allegiance to blue or red delusions with an unwavering commitment to no compromise, not even in the slightest. To do so would somehow admit the other side was right and the right side was wrong.

What the fuck does the right side even mean anymore? Pardon the frustration in my language, but it's been one hell of a year.

A 50th year ... a year like no other.

I understand nobody wants to be wrong. But goddamnit, when did even the most basic conversations become next to impossible? When did agreeing with part of an issue and disagreeing with another part become outright demonized?

When did choosing a side become so tribal and required, and when did refusing to do so and having your own thoughts about anything become just as sinful as sleeping with the "enemy?"

And who is that enemy? Is it anyone and everyone who even slightly disagrees with us?

Is it the limp-wristed liberal who only comes out from under the bed long enough to strap on a mask and go to Wal-Mart while waiting for the next handout?

Is it the greedy, racist conservative who wholeheartedly embraces financial gain over public safety and is fixin' to blast a hole in anyone who believes otherwise?

Is it anyone in that proverbial gray area who just wants whatever is best for the greater good?

Is it the evil media stoking the flames of division and perpetuating brainwashing for the gain of those who make all the puppets dance?

The answer to all of the above seems to be "yes." Does this not make enemies of us all?

These are not my personal assessments, by the way. These are the lines that I have seen being drawn even before the thought of a pandemic could have even been imagined. Whether you believe this pandemic is a hoax or the end of the world as we know it, the hard truth is that it has exposed every last flaw in our society and amplified them to the point of detriment.

It's caused people's eyes to not look right and their ears to ache, if even subconsciously. But how are we supposed to feel after being trapped under this cloud of noise for much longer than our psyches were designed to endure?

It's all part of the negative, hateful noise that has aided in defining this year.

A 50th year ... a year like no other.

I've often said throughout this experience that I've never felt so disappointed in and disgusted by people in general, and this much is true. But I'm careful to not paint portraits with such a broad brush that I lose my perspective. I do know there is still a lot of good in many people who are struggling with this unfortunate state of affairs and a tarnished mindset, and I believe this is something that keeps me hopeful.

As much as it sometimes feels like my last nerve is being mangled into a twisted mound of garbage, the faith that what used to be the definition of good will eventually prevail and the human spirit will overcome these trials still lies buried at my epicenter. If it didn't, I truly wouldn't care.

It just hurts so much to care anymore ...

HopeThere is a light at the end of this tunnel.

In closing, I need to be clear about something and perhaps count a few blessings while I'm at it.

Because somewhere nestled within the fog, there have been some bright spots to connect to when I'm actually in a rare connection state of mind.

For starters, I've somehow been doing some of the best artistic work of my life. And I've been doing it on autopilot, which tells me there is still something inside that is very much alive and alert. But then again, the best art comes from a dark place, so this should really come as no surprise to me.

The difference these days is the uncomfortable level of disconnect I feel on the conscionable side of the moon. Nothing breaks through this funk, you see, and this is why I'm putting this out there. 

Writing has always been my number one method of communicating, not just with others, but with whatever demons, angels, or ghosts I have trampling through my brain at any given time. This has historically and completely been a positive, effective way to get them to all play nicely together, with an extra perk of connecting with others thrown in as a bonus. 

But that has been missing, perhaps more than I know. In such an isolated time, I have admittedly lost myself in having both the world at large and my more intimate, immediate world completely dismantled. This small step back toward familiarity has been much needed. It has resembled finding the first string in a jumble of knots and giving it a pull ... maybe the rest will gradually untangle.

If you went along for the ride and made it this far, I sincerely thank you.

So looking forward, maybe this will continue. I've found that I do have so much to say; it's all a matter of finding a voice that I thought was lost.

I'm going to split now. I'm tired, but hopeful.

I may still be disillusioned by the actions of some and the misery of many, but I still do care.

Having said that, I wish you happiness, health, and hope for the future through whatever else may be in store for us all. My 50th year will be complete in two weeks from this writing, and two days later will bring the end of 2020. And while this year has taught us literally anything is possible, I only hope it's been the worst we will ever see in our lifetimes.

Since everyone these days has been left to just pick a truth and roll with it, mine will be that better days are in store for us all and we will all someday be understanding enough of one another to enjoy them for what they should be.

Take care. Hopefully, I'll be seeing you around ...