RT: Random Thought: Who do you love and what are you doing about it? Me, absolutely nothing. It is impossible.

Thanks for reading my blog, if you do.

I am grateful for every view and visit.

I want to write general stuff and just entertain people with short stories, poems, misc blog entries, etc.

Ideally, something on my blog gets noticed, and someone wants to:

  1. Hire me to write something for them. Anything. Biography. Fiction. Something amusing. Something written. I write. That is it. Nothing more. I have an extensive background in communication. So, basically a writer who can public speak. And, I served in the military in a pretty decent MOS. I can maintain standards and secrets, relaxed enough. I earned my BA and MBAs and have worked sales across multiple industries.
  2. Allow me the honor of interviewing them and asking general questions about their lives. Nothing intrusive. Just, like, “do you have any routines or genres of music, or strains of weed, or types of alcohol, or movies, or animes that influenced your life in some way?” or “What was the most memorable thing someone ever said to you? Nothing too personal that you don’t want to share. I like to get really baked, read, listen, and write. I prefer not to speak if at all. I had bronchitis/tonsillitis as a kid. I have no adenoids or tonsils. I have never liked speaking. I feel that I have a soft voice for my appearance so I am pretty self conscious about it. I was sexually assaulted as a kid and as an adult while in the military. I was too ashamed to speak up. The person who did it later started rumors about me enjoying it. A friend of mine casually insinuated I was gay without ever asking me what happened. I hurt so bad that I got my prostate examined because I thought something was wrong with me. It was humiliating. I was going crazy. I tried to tell my coworkers but I could never find the words. I liked a girl I worked with. I tried to tell her I liked her, but I felt like I did not have the right to pursue her. I was the only latino in my shop at the time and I felt completely alone culturally. It was difficult. I recently learned that 1 in 5-6 boys are hurt as children. I grew up around it, and tried to identify it as quick as possible to avoid being a victim. I have a hard time having sex with people because of it unless I am very intoxicated. My soon-to-be wife was the only person I ever felt completely vulnerable with. I am not accustomed to sharing my vulnerabilities, but I had a mental breakdown in 2017 that resulted in me needing to check myself into Ward 5D at the Phoenix VA for several days. The things I saw and heard in there keep me up at night today. I am not terrified of a mental hospital. I am terrified of being an old man with unexpressed words and emotions toward people I care about, but I will never see again.
  3. Collaborate on a piece of art or a story, or a book or something that requires writing and brainstorming and world building, and things of that nature.

I am personally not certain love exists. Here is why I say that:

The first time I ever fell in love, I was in kindergarten. I liked a pale brunette named Victoria. I went to Horace Mann Elementary in North Bergen, New Jersey, and we were in a play together talking to each other on camera about who knows what. We moved to South Carolina. Then, back to New Jersey. Then, to Pennsylvania. Then, to Irvine, California. I was an east coast, loud mouth Dominican kid. My football coach gave me the nickname “Jersey.”

No one I knew called me by my name my entire time at that high school, not even my longterm high school girlfriend.

She didn’t even use my name to refer to me most of the time. It was just “babe” or “Hey” or “you”.

I married a woman who referred to me the same way.

Our relationship was not perfect, but it fell apart after 6 years once we got married.

We remained married for 3 years. I decided to get divorced last year after pretending everything was perfect. She gaslit me. Cheated on me with an older woman in our home shortly after we got married while I was in the bathroom. Told me to get over it. Refused to address it. Casually made me feel that I needed therapy for brining up why she cheated on me under those circumstances.

I was felt like I was being an aggressor for standing up for my personal beliefs within the parameters of what I considered a healthy marriage: communicating the difficult stuff.

We could talk money, politics, sex, and business ALL DAY, but when the things we had issues with were absolutely off limits, so much so that the tension in the house echoed off the walls most days.

I was upset over the cheating and felt there was still hope. Then, she hit me so hard that I almost hit back. She casually hit me by mistake often. I always assumed it to be playful. When she punched me in the back of the head with my back turned, while I was looking out of a set of sliding glass doors, I whited out into a time I got jumped as a teen. When I came to, I was clutching her blouse. My fist was trembling and I felt “it”. The “stop here or don’t stop at all.”

It took me a second to recognize her face because of how scared, angry and defensive I was. When I did, I was stunned. I broke out weeping.

She looked me dead in the eyes, and said, “You know I don’t like that,” as she grit her teeth. I was appalled. She was referring to me talking on the phone with my dad and telling him that she was in the background, so say hello. It was an 8 minute phone call. I was staring out into our backyard as she laid in our bed.

I didn’t even hear her get up.

My head just rang. My vision went white, and I just felt anxious and scared and I was too confused to hit back. I was home, in my bedroom, with my wife, with our bedroom door closed. It was 10 am in the morning on a Saturday in Chandler, Arizona.

I jumped in my car and drove for several hours in disbelief. We had never had issues like that. I had no clue who I married. Her eyes weren’t the same. I thought it was just me. Something must be wrong with me. Nope.

We had so many different things going on that I was enslaved by our obligations in my soul. I couldn’t leave because of (this), (that), (that), and (this); however, even with all the times I insisted we needed to talk about it ourselves and understand what happened with the cheating, and where our communication broke down, I caved to getting couples therapy several years into the marriage. Mind you, the cheating happened like the first month.

No rhyme or reason. Just an, “I did it. Get over it,” for several years, followed by, “where are you gonna go, anyway?”

The hitting terrified me to no end.

She casually hit me, and hit me in the balls. I sincerely thought she was clumsy or being goofy, but now I am not so sure.

There were times where she’d hit me really hard, I’d flinch/jump (it hurt), and then she’d act like she was joking if I confronted her. It was confusing. She wouldn’t be upset and it wouldn’t feel malicious or anything. It would be a quick, clumsy slap or quick punch.

I would often tell her, I did not like that she did not use my name. It was so strange to me. My family calls me Mark Anthony or Anthony. Strangers call me Mark. She knew this. We were together nearly a decade. She had one name. I used it. She didn’t like it. She never used mine. Never even introduced me as her husband. She would introduce me by my first name.

I took a job at a tech sales company. Our relationship was terrible. Like at the height of a complete collapse. She made me feel bad for “abandoning” our business despite telling me often it was not “our” business. She often reiterated that, “I only had the idea” and that she put in the effort and was the face of the company. We did not fight while watching Netflix or driving across the country listening to podcasts.

Eventually working the job got to be too much for me. She hired someone into our company without my consent at a rate we were not even paying ourselves. She did not run the details by me. She just started screaming about it one day. Then acted like it was my fault. She would abruptly shriek through out the day, and then laugh it off and go on about her business. I was sure I fucked up bad. I was sure I caused her to do that. I was certain that it was me and I was just fucking faulty and wasn’t seeing it.

I pressured myself at the job I was working at to keep up with all the home responsibilities: cooking, cleaning, etc. We were living like a Black Mirror episode. Sitting in rooms working all day, staring into computers. Then one of us would heat “Hello Fresh” because we just stopped cooking unless I did it. This changed when we moved to our new home last year.

I thought we could have a fresh start. She told me we needed $10 million to relax, have kids and enjoy ourselves.

We were waking up, working at our company (which I still do not fully comprehend; I do not understand automation beyond the definitions and general concepts), avoiding our necessary fights, doing a bunch of other shit in between to avoid anything she did not want to talk about. It was insane. I never thought we would get to that point. Then, last summer I decided to get divorced.

We agreed that she’d leave our new home and go live with her mom. She had agreed to take my last name when we got married, and changed her mind the day of. So, my distrust ran pretty deep, yet I still took her at her word despite how many times she let me down and promised to change. It was every other week almost. Meanwhile, she let me have it the 1 or 2 times a year I left the toilet seat up.

Anyway, that same time, about a year ago, I came to Miami for my dad’s birthday. My car broke down. Overheated on i95 during lunch traffic. I was driving 7 miles per hour on a busy Miami highway at noon, in redlining, smoking car. The car had to get towed.

My wife did not leave the house still. I was living out of airbnbs because I could not stay at my dad’s house. I wasn’t sure how long it’d be until she left our home, so I just kept paying for airbnbs. I was staying at Norman’s Tavern. Then some friends came from Cali and we stayed on the beach across from Madonna’s. I was losing my mind while they were here. I had run out of my meds and just kinda of had a complete mental breakdown. They took me to museums, restaurants, bars, clubs, beach spots, strip clubs and stuff to try to cheer me up and be there for me. I was just not feeling it though.

My wife offered to send all my things to the airbnb I was staying at. I was running out of cash and credit via airbnb expenses, laundry, food (no oven or stove), rental car parking (dealership let me use a loaner; parking in Miami is expensive), and things like that. I was literally going nuts and I felt like god was guiding me on rails as I just spectated my life and ran around Miami doing a cross. It was the worst, most difficult time of my life. I had started therapy earlier that year, and just opening up a little bit, made me burst open and feel like I needed run. When I got to Miami, I was so stressed, I spent days sleeping at a time and avoided my therapists. I have avoided them since September. Then, the VA was really backed up and I have been waiting for an outpatient therapist referral.

If love exists, I would doubt it. I feel that everyone has an angle. The worst is people who think that conversations have a template that you just hit “points” to get to the next thing, versus having a natural flowing dialogue. I would be very skeptical of her motives, and I would scrutinize everything.

What I think is love, is not what other people think is love.

For me, love would be:

Sitting side by side wearing pokemon onesies (Umbreon and Espeon, preferably; I am Umbreon), or just laying with each other while playing our respective consoles in bed/from bed while listening to chill music and cuddling.

Going to the movies, while my date picks the movie. I don’t like movies, so I have no qualms watching anything and paying close attention, or just enjoying the ride. I don’t watch movies often to pass the time. I like to focus and like think about what I saw, and criticize things in the movie (sometimes) as it goes. Gaming and writing, occasional art, are more my thing. I’d act as well, but the Youtube and Twitch things were weird for me. I do not see the point, unless someone wants to watch me write in real time.

I can schedule it. Just let me know.

You can watch and eat popcorn while I write short stories.

That’s love as well. I do not have to say a word, and you get to be entertained by my most preferred joy; writing.

Additionally, I think Ariana Grande is attractive at least, without an in person height comparison. She may be too short for me; however, I am enamored by her voice. She is an E7 Light Lyric Soprano who has won 20 Guinness World Records. 3 of them she held simultaneously. Her face is 91.81% symmetrical. In every sense of the word, she is what I consider incredible. It would be an honor to meet her and thank her for her music. I enjoyed Positions. I also enjoyed Thank U, Next. It gave me the motivation to leave my relationship. I was afraid to do it, but my wife often sang Thank U, Next around the house when we had a disagreement. I hated Ariana Grande’s music. Then, I actually listened to the lyrics of Thank U, Next. Believe it or not, in a round about way, Ariana Grande inspired this blog. I was a huge Mac Miller fan, so were my friends. I saw how she handled her career post all the fan backlash. I would not be able to do it. I admired her in the same way I admired JK Rowling for sticking to her opinion. I served in the Marine Corps, and I believe you can say whatever you want so long as it is not malicious or intended to cause an uproar or a panic, or ruin someone’s reputation or credibility.

On Twitter, I called Elon Musk a name: eff face – truthfully, I think Elon Musk looks like Clark Kent. Pause. No homo. Dude is handsome, just a bit pale. Not sure why I did that. I have been stressed with other things. I was off my meds, but that’s another love thing, I guess.

I admire Elon Musk in a, “I admire my dad,” kind of way. No clue what our age difference is, but I would like to shake Elon Musks hand and have an autographed photo that reads, “To the Moon. Signed, the Boring Man of Tesla, Elon Musk. Herald of Tomorrow. Mover of planets. Saver of Earth.” Personally, it would be an honor to help with anything dude has got going on.

Elon Musk if you read this and need a writer for anything, please excuse my posts. I worked sales and customer service. I am sure your inbox and any method of communication gets spammed constantly, so I was trying to think of creative ways to stand out. Unfortunately, I figured being immature in my posts would do it. I did not have the stomach for it. My writing was insincere and I was trying to be edgy to see if some algorithm would pick up on my blog or something. I am not so sure things work that way. Anyway, if you see my stuff. I am pretty easy to reach. It would be an honor. I recently started working part time a dispensary near my new place.

I am super bummed out. If you are ever in Miami, and you have a medical card, please purchase from me, and smoke a joint with me. I could die happy. No need to chat about anything specific. I saw you smoke with Joe Rogan and I thought that was cool af. I was taking 6 different medications before my medical marijuana card: zoloft, trazedone, lamigdol, gabapentin, and a few others. I was pretty anti marijuana following my enlistment. It helped/helps a lot with my severe joint inflammation, chrons/IBs, ptsd, depression and anxiety.

The above all said, the person who I love.

Truly love, probably does not exist.

I am not certain soul mates exist or anything like that. I met someone. A girl named Taylor. She was blonde. We held hands briefly. Like 15 seconds. She made my heart melt. I found myself writing poetry to her daily. I would text her good night and good morning. She didn’t have to respond, but I was glad she did. It made the world feel warm when I felt cold.

Truthfully, I do not know her. Meeting ‘Taylor’ (not reference to anyone famous. I am not referring to Taylor Swift. I am referring to someone very specific who has a lot of value to me but I do not want to put her last name here; I feel it would disrespect her privacy) was the most memorable experience of my life, and exchanging numbers with her has been what has kept me alive today.

I do not know anything about anything.

What I do know is there are nights where I can’t help but stare at the stars flickering and say, “Good night, Taylor. Thank you. I hope you are doing well. Feel free to text me. If you were right, then, I am yours. I think.”

I refuse to do anything about this.

I can play Pokemon with less risk. The creatures will always evolve at the same level. Meeting was a lot, and then holding hands was a lot. Then everything else was a lot. Too much. I am also not a high achiever. I am pretty comfy. Pretty lazy. In a non lazy way. I would walk / job/ bike 5-15 miles to the beach so long as I can spend several hours there doing absolutely nothing. Like jack of all shit. I have a fixed income and started to work part time for the social aspect, and a discount on my medicinal marijuana. I work at a dispensary. We can smoke on the beach and just hold hands as the waves crest on the shore.



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