Stop This Life, I Want To Get Off

This was the fifth thing I ever wrote, a sort of essay on the way of things 6 years ago...I ended up using this as the opening to a chapter in my first book 'A Ghost Hunter's Journal'...The divorce was still taking it's toll...

STOP THIS LIFE, I WANT TO GET OFF
BY: Chad Miller

Bear with me for a split second. Sit back, relax, and close your eyes and dream of a different time. A time in which we all lived and loved, shared and actually believed would never end. Do you remember when? When it all seemed so easy and so carefree? When a child could stay outside alone until well after dark on their own, its parent not even batting an eye to give a second thought to the safety of their loved one? When you could run to the corner store with a ten spot, put five in the car, buck and a half for smokes, and still have enough left over to catch a movie before the day was done? When you would sit in the back of a classroom and weigh out the choices that you would be making in your near future that would lead you down pathways that would determine who you would be, and how the world recognized you? As difficult as it may seem, this was not long ago. I’m not sure what triggered the catastrophic changes that our world has suffered over the past decade or so, but I do know that I must have been sound asleep somewhere in this sleepy Texas town, dreaming of how I was going to weasel some teen bleach blonde beauty out of their panties.
Easy and carefree are figments of our imagination now. Nothing is easy, and if you happen to be carefree in this day and age, it’s because the chemicals haven’t wore off yet, give it time. Seriously, do you remember a time when there was absolutely no one that occupied your mind that wasn’t a burnt out, drugged up drain on society? If I stop typing for about five seconds……………….I can think of two or three that I have to deal with on a daily basis that I have to pretend to their faces that they’re actually winning the door prize at the annual gathering of the honorary brotherhood of dipshits seminar. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a firm believer that there is nothing wrong with anything…….as long as it’s done in moderation. Abuse it, and it becomes a habit, develop that habit, and it becomes an addiction, give in to the addiction, and you’re a waste. Give up, because there is no way out. Do the deed.
As far as the children of today are concerned, I have four of my own and would prefer in this day and age that they not walk five feet in front of me for the fear of them stepping into some chasm of despair that has been brought on by today’s society. I remember being a child, walking five blocks to school and back, and being at home by my lonesome for a few hours before my mother would come home from work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very appreciative of her absence. How else was I to develop such professional masturbation skills in my youth? However, I feel that if someone were to grant a child such leniency in this day and age, it could only spell disaster with all the sex offending, meth monsters that freely roam our streets, raid our garbage and peep into our windows. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if I could come across at least one law enforcement official that could inspire his lot to pull their collective heads out of their asses and take an ounce of pride in their jobs and the citizens and property that they have sworn to protect, but, I’m sorry, I’ve looked, and this type of super cop no longer exists. My mind often wanders to scenes of chaos in Mayberry, if that show were still being made today. Opie with goth makeup and a nose piercing, Aunt Bee tied to a bed post being raped by Otis while Floyd the barber escorts his most special of customers into the back room to purchase the new and improved, smokable hair tonic. Where are Andy and Barney you ask? Beating the living hell out of some law abiding citizen whose name never made the credits of the television show because they were too busy living as honest life to even be noticed by the viewing public. Am I venting? You bet your sweet ass I am, because I’m sick of how the flaws in our democratic society have been exploited to where anyone with an ounce of power and influence can literally get away with murder and walk free by simply being an individual of power and influence. Where’s the justice?
In the glorious year of 1989, I drove a twelve year old Chevrolet Monte Carlo that would graciously suck down a gallon of gasoline every time a pulled away from a red light. I smoked Marlboro cigarettes and spent about 4 hours in a movie theatre on a weekly basis. This lifestyle was not enjoyed solo, because a financially challenged friend of some sort would usually accompany me. A damn shame it is to think back on these times nostalgically. Here it is, only a hop, skip and jump away and I’m barely able to afford the courage to plead at a neighbor for a DVD of a movie that I might want to see, like some entertainment starved Tiny Tim of the new millennium. I’m not sure what kind of cigarettes I smoke anymore, because my eyesight is failing me from smoking all the rat poison that gets swept up with the shaving that fall off of the production lines of the major cigarette companies that make up the cheaper kinds. I actually tried to borrow a cigarette from a coworker the other day, and he handed me a contract to sign along with a sheet to fill out informing him of the names and addresses my five of my closest friends and relatives. As far as the vehicle situation goes, I no longer punch the gas at a red light. Instead, I hang my foot out the door and get up to speed like a Tony Hawk of the highway, jump back in and begin to drive. You would think that with all of the people that we are unjustly a murdering in the Middle East that we could be more selective, and get the one that is in charge of regulating the price of a barrel of oil. The little “F” on my gas gauge was talking to me the other day about maybe adopting a pet cat from the animal shelter, just to help deal with his abandonment issues.
What could have ever possibly happened to me to make me visualize things in the manner that I do? At exactly what point in my life did I turn so black and heartless to the same world that spawned so many great people like Picasso, Humphrey Bogart, and Axl Rose? What gives me the right to turn my back on society and kindly give it the middle finger as I give an evil, maniacal chuckle and slither away into the darkness? I am a metaphorical garbage man of the human race. I am a used junk dealer of human life. I am a jailer!