Stuff . . .

“Stuff.”  That’s a good word for it.  Just bunches of ‘stuff’ here lately . . .

It started Thursday, when I discovered our daughter’s dog, which I’ve been keeping here while she moved (last year) ate up about $200 in material and labor, chewing out the last of the deck skirt’s lattice and digging a hole in the center garden about two feet deep and twelve inches wide, slinging dirt all over the raised octagon . . . it used to be such a beautiful thing . . .

But now between three of the worst dogs I’ve ever owned – and over five thousand dollars in property damage since I got them three years ago – it makes me sick to walk in the yard.  Every garden has been ruined – they even ripped down the wire netting! – chewed up the bulbs (the light ones, not the garden ones); pulled up (and down) wiring . . . dug under the foundation of one outbuilding until its corner sunk (and now the building needs jacked up and a new footing put in) . . . those damages haven’t even begun to begin to be addressed . . .

and yet I keep on stubbornly hanging onto them.  Not because I love them – I don’t love them no more – but because I look at them as an excersize in patience and stuff.

“Nothing lasts forever,” I’m often fond of telling my wife, and to tell you the truth, I’ve been looking forward past a thousand years or more.  No longer are ‘things’ important . . .

There’s a bit of a blessing in that, and a bit of aggravation, too.

Friday my Mustand finally broke down.  I can’t complain.  It’s run solid – not a lick of trouble! – since I got it in 2001, and it was a used car at that.  But it happened to ‘stop’, choking . . . gasping in the feed lot here in town (I happened to stop to get my 50 pounds of birdseed I buy every month) . . . I figure the fuel pump is down.  I used to be a Master Mechanic with 6 years of education and almost 16 years of experience under the hood . . . I know a little bit about everything about how an automobile is made.  Helped when I got tired of cussing engineers and decided to join them . . .

But I found I lost my patience with that thing, and a lot of them here lately  . . . over the past year or so . . .

Funny thing is, I’m much better with people at this time than ‘things’.

My laptop quit working – or at least the internet connection did. (I wonder if it’s the card.)  Everything else connects – including this dinky netbook I have – except that laptop.  Even direct wire connect straight to the modem: no good.  I’m going to take it to McDonalds for the free wi-fi check – as soon as I get my car back from the shop.  If it connects there but not at home, that tells me something: it’s in the software configuration, and not a hardware problem.

Learning (or relearning) to give a flying flip about the things going on “today” is hard – and even harder on my patience.

We began asking ourselves years ago what anything matters.  I know “I” got it down one time when I was thirteen: “What’s anything matter in a thousand years or two?  Ten thousand? A hundred thousand or more?  A million? Or a billion?”

At the very most all that could be said is “I was here.”

And even then that disappears, like a mote into the darkness; a spark in the distance, burning out, guttering into the history of time . . .

Everything mankind is, has, or ever does isn’t going to matter in a few billion years, give or take a billion or two.  The only ‘thing’ left will be the Voyagers, assuming we send nothing more out of this system – and especially if we stay on earth.

Imagine the earth rotating through the sun’s millions-of-degrees corona . . . 4.5 billion years from now.

There’s gonna be nothing left but a melted crust.

So what’s anything matter – long run?

What is the meaning in life?

Is there a meaning? (musing)

If there is one, given all this, I suppose one could say “It’s to be happy – WITHOUT stuff.  Without anything at ALL.”

That would be a nice way to be.

Minus all the anger and stuff.

 

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About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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4 Responses to Stuff . . .

  1. The Hobbler says:

    I am about the farthest thing from an expert you can get. But.. I was thinking about the “what is the meaning” question, and the only thing that makes sense to me, is that it’s not about me. My purpose is inconsequential, but the lives it touches aren’t. Maybe I’ll make a difference in my husbands or my kids lives. Maybe something I write will somehow affect someone else. Even if their life is ultimately inconsequential too, it matters now for the same reason…people they might touch. I don’t know if that makes sense, but you Jeff…all of you, have affected me. Challenged me to see the world differently. To see myself differently. That matters to me, even if it is a drop in the bucket long-term.

    Like

  2. jeffssong says:

    I’ve been having a LOT of trouble seeing much of anything as “important” or even relevant. I know I should. I think it comes from having lived with so much and so little both at the same time. I’ve slept in mud, ticks crawling all over me, so any bed will do (it’s an improvement). I’ve gone without eating due to poverty for days, nearly a week. Thus I’m not picky about food; don’t care as long as it’s edible. And so I’ve lost the ‘value’ of things, except as an abstract notion; e.g.: yes, I ‘need’ a car . . . but do I? Why should I care? I could always call a taxi, and everything ‘I’ need is within walking distance, except the Dr.’s office.) I “like” my comforts – but do I need them? Not really . . . And even my house and yard – things I’ve worked to build – will be gone, eventually, scraped up under a bulldozer’s blade.

    One day not a trace will remain. Not of me, you – anything. Bound to happen. Just dust in the wind? Sorry . . . not even that. Just a few random atoms scattered in the universe.

    This all started, BTW, when I was 13 – not the hardships, but the notion there is nothing of value, not in the long run. That in 10,000 years – a few hundred thousand: what’s the use?? Why keep on trying? Even Caesar will be forgotten. That was my last good ‘cry’ back then: realizing the futility of everything. Didn’t cry again – not for a long, long time (it was last year, BTW – over 40 years.)

    (wry smile) There’s parts of me that see us all as just squiggling worms on some planet – living, dying, turning to dust – nothing gained. Doomed to ‘existence’ we struggle to survive – but for what? Our place in the sun? Making a name? A kid, keeping the worms going? So what? We’re all going to die in the end, not that I’m in a hurry to get going. :/ Just seems . . . useless.

    I don’t know sometimes. But I’ve gotten the feeling it’s more about being content ‘here and now’ and despite or with what the hell else is going on. Not much more. And after that it’s all over. Bang, period, finished, you’re done. Don’t see the reason to bring the end any sooner – but nor a reason to ‘carry on’. Just plod along awaiting that end, wondering but not hoping it’s around the corner – and seeing that that, too, doesn’t make a damn or mean a thing. Not in the long run.

    At the very least I guess we each can say:
    “I WAS!”
    and that will be the end of it . . . at the most.
    A fairly good reason to keep hanging on, I’m musing, but seems pointless & useless. Kinda like I am, LOL’ing.

    Like

  3. Ann says:

    I’m like the meaning of life is to celebrate my being here, or not. Yep Yep in my book it is now 52AA (after ann 😉

    Like

    • jeffssong says:

      🙂 That old “I Was!” kind of thing is good (got that off of a movie about a robot, “A.I.”.). And I think it’s about being happy as much as possible “in the now” because the future (in which you will be gone) doesn’t matter.

      Like

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