Of dreams and chances

               I feel a whole damn bunch older than most, even if I’m not. I suppose this is a feeling that perfectly describes my attitude of a superior being – an ubermensch to dwarf them all, so to speak – but to me it only serves to increase my loneliness. I may appear superior, condescending, arrogant, or whatever adjectives one could attribute to a self-diagnosed narcissist and you may be right about that. However, none of it it’s true. I don’t think I’m a narcissist. But I am arrogant and condescending, with the occasional snort of superiority. You know why? Because I have no idea how to function inside the society. I can do rather well in small groups and I do mean small, as in less than the fingers of a teenage mutant turtle’s hand, which is to mean I’m also really aware of how lucky I am for having a wife and a son. I don’t write much about them because I’m not sure I’m good enough for that task.

            My brain is evolving, many things hidden from me in the past decades now begin to appear, clearly visible and understandable, and it’s annoying me to no end. I mean, I get it it’s the medication, but how, why, what, what the hell brain? Holy cow it’s annoying. It’s like turning on a light switch and voila! It’s a process of small steps, but once in a while I do look back and want to face palm myself to sleep. Stupid choices, concepts that looked laughable then are now bloody right. No, I don’t regret anything. The only thing I regret is not having enough strength and determination to burn through the layers faster. I used to dream, way back when the Berlin Wall was still shaking from Hasselhoff’s singing, of fame and fortune, of discoveries and new technologies, of things to make me bigger than life. Of course, I did that because nobody wanted to play. So I slept and dreamed. Sleeping is still a favorite of mine, though if I ever try to sleep more than 9 hours my back keeps protesting like there’s no tomorrow. So I dream, lucid dreams, fantastic dreams. I make up things. However, the frontier of discovery is not external anymore, it’s internal. I dream of a day when I’m healthy again, of a day when I’m able to put the pen down (or the mouse, hell, this is what’s killing the writing industry – how can you say “I put my pen down” if you never touch the stuff?) because I’ve managed to recover the lost knowledge of so many decades. I dream of being normal the way as a kid I’d dream of being a space pilot. Yea, Han Solo did it for me..

               I feel older because I have other priorities. I know I’m not a genius and I know I had a few decades of just floating by, oblivious of some things and concepts others now juggle freely with, most people are years ahead of me in some areas. I see my parents, worrying of stupid things, arguing over small issues and gobbling up everything the television or media throws their way and I’m not able to ever agree with them. Take my mother, for instance. She wants to know everything that happens to me, my wife or my kid – and I do mean everything, and gets quite angry when I refuse to share. Her greeting is – “So, what’s new?”. I may be wrong here, but I don’t think my problems (including wife and son) should be public. Yes, she’s my mother but she’s not my wife. Problems are there to be solved, not debated, in my opinion. Besides, if the problem is between me and my wife, I sincerely fail to see how she’d be objective and more importantly, I don’t think you can make things private, ever, after making them public. No, I don’t accuse. I don’t have to defend my actions to anyone. She’s just like a kid – curious, possessive and immature, only with authority. Who gets the blame is more important than fixing things, and pointing out exactly why nothing is ever her fault is an actual art form. Yea, I know. But I still don’t like it. Telling her it’s not her business is exactly like taking a stuffed toy from a 3 year old. That’s one way of feeling old and looking arrogant and stupid. Or my da’, still not grasping the idea that there’s no job security anymore or that there are some risks worth taking.

               I feel old, but I’m not old. Crazy thing. I still have some habits I’d rather lose, like daydreaming and procrastinating but .. I guess I’d have lost them already if I’d really put my mind to it. Like coming home from work, eating, plopping myself in front of the computer and suddenly it’s bed time. I hate myself in the morning or at the precise moment when I’m 90% asleep – with the added benefit of reactivating my neurons and increasing my adrenalin levels. Yea, jumpy. Ever feel that way? Bummer.

               I feel old and superior because I’d rather look old and superior than my own age. No, I asked, the beard is still a no-go. I look around and I can’t believe so few are like me. I read the news like science fiction – something to have fun with but never believe it’s real. I like dissecting reality, understanding what sparks my interest and daydreaming. No, that’s a bit wrong actually – it’s not so much daydreaming as it is strategy, like in chess. I don’t understand people. I do understand their motives, I know what makes them tick – but I never seem to blend in. I’m better with machines, with logic. I don’t give up anymore. I did that far too many times. But looking at those my age and below, it’s like a mirror of myself years ago – fear clotting everything. Fear of change making humans stick to jobs that are driving them mad or giving them ulcers, fear of humiliation dividing the world between sheep and wolves and allowing others to do whatever they want to whoever they want to do it to, knowing they won’t be reported or punished because whoever saw them fears them, that sort of thing. Loud voices drown common sense and reason. Truth has no business in real life. It’s wrong to believe otherwise.

               Sometimes I think of where I’d be if my last 10 years didn’t happen. That there actually gives me strength.

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