MAKING LIKE A TREE AND GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF HERE/CANTO #56

MAKING LIKE A TREE AND GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF HERE/CANTO #56

I’m trying to be one of those people who takes the good with the bad. Never has a year tested my ability to do this so thoroughly, and sometimes I just don’t have it. It’s OK, I’m a work in progress just like everyone else.

A near-constant source of frustration for me in recent months has been the fact that The Ghost Generation was only about 7 months old when all this COVID-19 shit started and the world began falling apart. Some people have been starting wildly successful podcasts, fighting for social justice, and losing all the weight during this shit, and me? Let’s just say getting readers has been like walking through a tiger cage covered in broccoli- sure, it’s food, but the fucker doesn’t give a shit cause he wants something else.

My metaphor game is on point today.

Building a following is hard enough, doing it during a pandemic? Unless you’re a celebrity podcaster or something like that it ain’t fucking easy, and that’s absolutely the case with The Ghost Generation. Once the shit really started hitting the fan I figured if there was to be ANY good gleaned from all this it would be that our people would find us, a beacon in the storm, but as luck would have it I’m pretty sure approximately ten of you will actually read this today.

Dripping in success, this guy.

Here’s the thing though, if I think about it too much it’s a fucking bummer. Pretty much everything I want to do with this site hinges on getting more fucking people to care about it, and like everything else in our lives right now- it’s purgatory city. Its a bummer train to BummerTown, so I’m trying my motherfucking best to think outside of my usual “box of horrors”.

Those trees don’t look happy to me, Bob.

I realized something the other day as my wife and I were finishing up getting everything we need for our vacation. It was like a slightly defeatist light bulb going off above my head- I might not have gotten our following to the heights I want it to be yet, but that also means that I can take a fucking break right now and it won’t matter all that much. Boom! Taking those depressing lemons and making slightly less depressing lemonade out of them.

True, the shit is hitting the fan on an epic scale in this country right now, but we haven’t had a break from the day-to-day shit in a LONG time. We’re also raising two energetic small children with no help, no respite, and anyone in the same boat can tell you- it’s fucking exhausting. Trying to figure out how to not lose our collective shit as a family can be oppressively difficult when we’re balancing jobs, writing, kids, pandemics, civil unrest, paranoia for the future, and all the other wonderful things 2020 has given us so yeah- we need to get the fuck out of here for a week and DECOMPRESS.

It’s been so long I’ve almost forgotten how to fucking say it: DE-COM-PRESS. There, did it.

We’ll be safe, distanced, and so fresh and so clean clean- and more importantly we’ll be tuning the fuck out. Cause we can. In fact, this is the last post you’re gonna see from me until we get back and I stop ugly crying cause we’re back. Also, I won’t be doing social media while we’re gone either. Wat’s the fucking point of taking a vacation to decompress, center, and relax as a family if I gotta fucking tweet about shit every five minutes. How will I enjoy the sweet moments, the beach sunsets, and the sandcastle building if I’m constantly trying to get JUST the right shot for our Instagram? I won’t, that’s how. Cause you know what? I don’t fucking have to-nobody does, really- and I don’t fucking want to either.

As soon as we get in the car no emails will be checked, no tweets will be tweeted, and no work will be done. For seven fucking wonderful days. If we can’t even allow ourselves THAT, we’re truly truly fucked. Being present, taking a break, letting ourselves be human beings enjoying things in real time- THAT’S what life needs to be about, so if I can have a little bit of that vision, even if only for seven days, I’m taking it.

And you know what? This shit will be here when I get back, and I can get back to pulling my non-existent hair out over trying to get attention like the stupid idiot I clearly am. Posts will be written, tweets will be tweeted, and the whole stupid fucking machine will keep going. Maybe The Ghost Generation will pick up that much-needed steam, or maybe I’ll be one of those “he wasn’t appreciated during his time” kinda writers. Hell, maybe it’ll take a FULL collapse into dystopia for my charms to be fully appreciated, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Will some sun and sand turn this Negative Nancy into a Positive Patty? Stay tuned!

Side note- someone needs to start a line of plant-based burger patties with smiley faces on them and call them Positive Patties. Sorry, I’m done. 🙂

Anywho, so there. In my own backwards and slightly dysfunctional way, I’m trying to spin the shittys into happys! I know those two words are very grammatically incorrect, and I don’t care. Not being the biggest thing since sliced bread means that I can take a fucking break, hit the pause button, and not have to worry about it too much and I need this break very much.

VERY MUCH.

We’re keeping our fingers crossed that the kiddos are gonna stay on the right side of the behavior street, and we’re about as ready to go as a small group of humans can be. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of shit to talk about upon our return, and as soon as the ugly crying stops I’ll be back in action.

Life is fucking hard, especially in 2020, and we ALL deserve to take a fucking break when we can. The world is crumbling all around us, and darkness is everywhere you turn, it doesn’t take a nuclear physicist to see that shit. It’s crucial that we take some time to just BE HUMAN, we fucking owe it to ourselves. Nobody NEEDS your cleverly-worded tweet about “things you can say during sex and also while making a nice paella”. Nobody NEEDS your expertly-filtered pic of your dinner. And for a few blissful days with the three other humans I love the most in this Mad Max shithole we call a world, nobody needs this shit either.

Sayonara, Sammy.

AFH

A blog/website where these happily married, 30-something parents of 2 little minions rant, rave, and speak in tongues. Raw, honest, and riddled with profanity. Get on board and let’s make The Ghost Generation awesome together! http://theghostgeneration.com Twitter.com/Gh0stGeneration

The Ghost Generation

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