Slippery Psyche

I find that my emotions aren't helping me out much lately. There's got to be a switch inside where I can turn them off. You take a few days off from people and whammo, they feel hurt. Hermitsville or homelessness would suit me. I can't continue being inconsistent in my feelings, but it appears that I don't know how to change that right now. Honestly, if I could settle my psyche one way or another, I would. It would make my life a lot easier. The question of whether to advance or retreat becomes another question of how to avoid fracturing my being. Vulnerability takes a backseat to survival, especially when it involves the welfare of dependents. Why can't I just let my hair down and be free? Because, if I did there would be real consequences. That's how you know life has deemed you too old for dreams. Move over, Charlie, and let the young 'uns on by. I at least have this fascinating "relic of times past" role to play; to inspire the occasional starry-eyed dreamer, who just might make it to Xandadu. When you get there send me a postcard. Let me know if the milk of paradise is as good as I've heard. I'll snap out of it. Ok?

Recumbent Exercise Bicycle as Imaginary Friend

Sometimes when I am watching T.V. I am guilty of making commentary out loud to no one.  Recently I caught myself turning to the recumbent exercise bike after I had made such out loud comments, as if I needed its take on what just happened on the T.V. program.  At first, I felt silly as I continued to catch myself making comments and looking for the bike's response. I felt like I was going crazy, but then something even more crazy happened.  

After some time, I began to feel as though the bike could understand me.  This bike knew what I was going through and how frustrated I had become with life, feeling left behind, professionally stunted, the struggles of being a white male, and generally none too good with the state of affairs in the world. It felt good to have something listen to me and my troubles, no matter how trivial they may be. Soon, the bike would appear in my thoughts and dreams at night.

These thoughts and dreams started out innocent enough but eventually got weird.  Here is the first and only significant exchange that we had.

Me: What? What was that? Who said that?

Bike: It is I, the all-powerful Recumbent Exercise Bicycle.

Me: You can talk?

Bike: I can do many things.  I can change your body.  I make annoying beeping sounds.  My seat has the power to destroy asses. I know your pulse. I am stationary, yet everywhere at the same time.

Me: If you could talk, why are you talking to me now?

Bike: I chose to speak to you because I have a purpose in mind for you.  You seemed to lack a direction in life and expressed that you felt forgotten. Yet you did not vote Trump, despite so many white men feeling the way you did, and who ended up voting this man into the highest office of this nation. Why is that?

Me: Well, because he's an asshole that in the end only looks to serve himself.  I don't care how persecuted or how invisible I feel, a tyrant is still a tyrant, and I won't make the world pay for my insecurities and hurt feelings.

Bike: That is precisely why I chose you for my purpose.

Me: What is this purpose that you have ordained me for, oh Recumbent Exercise Bicycle?

Bike: The purpose that I have designed for you is start to blog like a mofo.  Keep the people entertained, while being heartfelt and thought provoking.  It is going to be a long four years. 

Me: Do I get paid for this? Will this get me into heaven?

Bike: No. What? How the hell should I know? I'm just a fucking exercise bike. 

After this encounter with the bike, I felt a renewed commitment to blog about shit, like maybe once a month.  The bike continued talking to me about certain other things, but mostly about Game of Thrones.  It really hasn't been that great, to be honest. The fact that no one else hears the bike makes me feel a bit scared. I wish the thing would just shut up now.

The End!