The rusting metal on the genitalia

I can notice I am getting older by the distinct lack of words that are flowing through my head. There was a time when words were my only true friend.  They were there for me when no person was.  I leaned on them, there was comfort in the way they flowed. I took refuge from life in joining together sentences that were too long, and often overfilled with emotional garbage tempered by lyrical and dramatic flair. In other words, I was a teenager who was wrong done by life and I was passionately angry that I had been singled out. I was angry that I was strapped with a dysfunctional family and how dare the world treat me so unkind when everyone else had it all so easy and carefree.  Sound familiar?

I'm not sure that I've grown up in maturity the same way I have packed on the years and the pounds to my body/brain. I find it harder to come back to this blog and spin words about the state of my mind. Perhaps because my mind is in such a state of disrepair. I am choosing to blame it on my age. My age makes my life boring. The scandalous unfairness of the world belongs to us all. This isn't a startling revelation I know, but it would be to most teenagers who are wrapped up in a selfish womb of self importance and arrogance. 

I am realizing now that my dream of writing in retirement is just that.  I will certainly be able to paint, but I'm not sure the sharpness for words I once had will remain. I guess I'm old enough now that this realization doesn't cut me to the bone the same way my lack of a writing career cut me down in my twenties. The famous lines 'I could have been a contender' seeped from the marrow in my bones through my twenties. Now that I am in the final year of my thirties I sit here reflecting on the death of my ego. Unfortunately for whatever talent I possess my laziness won out, or life won out, or I sold out, or I never came out, or put out, or threw it out.  Insert whatever 'out' that applies I am not the only one who lost a dream. Oh man! I haven't lost the ability to express my woe have I? The eighteen year old me would be so thrilled.

Let me state for the record that my writing may be falling off, but my painting has been taking off.  The stuff I am creating right now is beyond my expectations.  I am impressed with myself. I have happened to end up at the right place at the right time twice and been given some sage advice. I am excited to see where it takes me.  I owe a debt of gratitude to Stan McKenny and Nick Rooney, two very talented artists who took some time to coach an old guy along and make me better. When I knock the rust out of my brain and some words fall out I hope to find you all back here again for another journal entry from an angry old man.  My crustiness has only just begun to form. 

Wait... That sounds gross... Uh whatever!