Loosening Fingers

I need a J.O.B. I've theoretically needed one for quite some time, but now I really need one. I've decided I'll do some sort of online writing crap first because I only need $800-$1000 a month. I haven't written more than a Facebook status or long message in quite some time. I'm also not too sure I can write about stuff other people want me to write about without swearing or adding my own personal brand of quirk to the writing. I'm pretty sure I have a strong voice, which technically should be a good thing, right? No matter, I'm just going to give myself another few days to research and then I'll pick some crap place to try and see how it goes. I don't even care about soulless content mill work, I just care that my kid get something for Christmas this year.

A few months ago, when I had some spare money, I bought an album by a band Patrick loved. I liked them too, but only the songs I'd heard through him. I'd never searched for their music on my own. Their new release was featured on i.tunes, so I decided to try it.

At first, I loved/hated listening to something I know he would have been listening to if he was still alive. I could feel the melancholy rolling off my Mac.book as the singer lamented his awful, rotten, directionless life. I wallowed with him for about two, maybe three songs. Then I started to wallow on my own, for different reasons.

I realized that I'm not in a spot where I enjoyed listening to despair anymore. I can't bear to hear it, in fact. It's not fun to get caught in the mire of how soul sucking life can be. I don't need to listen to someone else's loneliness and depression. I'd prefer to hear something that helps alleviate pain, rather than repeats it.

Realizing this made me feel horrible. I wanted to cry for a whole new reason -- Patrick never had the chance to get out of that stage. Sure, he may have chosen not to, but he didn't have that choice. He didn't get the choice to move on or stay sinking, because someone else decided he'd never again choose anything. Someone who hated him made sure he never got to grow in subtle ways. I doubt he'd have ever turned into the sunny disposition kind of guy acquaintances thought he was, but he should have had the chance to crawl out of the muck. Or the mulch that suffocated him. I guess all I can do is appreciate that the things that once attracted me because of their obvious pain no longer do.