Well, here we are...to borrow a phrase, "So Anyway..."
I have hit the Big 5-Oh. Needless to say, I'm appreciative of the fact that I'm still alive, and by all rights should not even be sitting here writing this. I don't need to go into the gory details of what happened to me 22 years ago, and what left me torn apart inside, minus half of my body's blood, and looking like a death camp survivor. Not to mention two years of really getting my life and health back. You get the picture, I think.
I have a lot to look back upon, and I'm amazed that a half-century has come, but I don't see it as gone so much. This has been quite a journey, and I do not plan to have any end to it for a while.
Longevity runs in the family for the most part, and so I think I have got about 25 more left before this body finally gives up and sends me off. It's been alright; I've made a lot of mistakes, said and done a lot of stupid things, but I'd like to think I have learned enough to be able to say, "Okay, now let's move on."
So where are we now? Well, I have nothing to be sad for or complain about. Despite my ongoing depression issues, and the Black Dog that does tend to rear its vile head in numerous ways, I can say I've won a fair number of those fights.
Look at this: my second book, "A Moment in the Sun" is coming out later this month (I hope). I have written furiously over the past eight years. My 20th (I think) novel, "Live from the Cafe" is almost in the can, and I am working toward the hope of a good relationship with my publisher, Sunbury Press Books. The vision I have for these works could have the psychedelic mishmash of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, with a fair amount of Hunter Thompson. Gotta think of these things, or you will get nailed by them.
I have a 31-year broadcasting career, and I don't plan to retire (again). Tomorrow, I officially go full-time with WITF, Inc. as the Morning Desk Anchor for the Radio Pennsylvania Network. After 5-1/2 years of puttering about the radio, tv and network sides, I'm getting my spot. I don't plan to leave it.
After six years of struggling w/numerous part-time jobs, trying to find a real one (hah!) and writing maniacally all through it, here is where we are now. I have settled a bit; my health is at its best, and I am hopeful now to find the time to finish up everything I am meant to do.
I also have more than 3 years with Radio-Airwaves Station; the UK Internet place where I can play the music I like, and sound like me, and not that horrific creature that sounded like he did numerous lines of coke before opening the mic, standing back and screaming! What the fuck was radio thinking?
We are survivors; there are a few of us left in this business, who give a shit. We do it right. We don't think about our fucking egos, and we don't think about what's going to get us to the network, or in that individual's pants we fancy. Being a part of this is what we do.
And this is what I fucking do.
I admit, I am not normal. I do suffer from mental issues, but I am happy to say I no longer am on medication, and I don't need it. Yes, I do have issues from time to time, but I work on it.
The best years are coming for me. I may not be married any longer or have kids, but I wasn't meant for that. No offense to Kaitryth; I don't regret one moment of our marriage because it was good, we did our best and I think we both learned an awful lot about each of us, and ourselves.
Add to it, no one gave us more than a year, heh. We beat that.
I'm alive. Last night, I was having those problems again, but somehow I got out of it. I realized I have matured.
"I'M NOT MATURE, I'M JUST DERELICT!" -- thank you, Ray High (from Psychoderelict).
Anyway...it's been one hell of a ride. I've done a lot more than most of us, and I'm not finished. I have a lot of writing to do, music to play, news to deliver, and I plan to live the rest of my life.
So, rhetoric aside: I do not think of 50 years lived, or wasted, or this, or that. I've long given up thinking about stacking up the things society says you're supposed to have by now. I am not in the mood of wanting more, demanding more or trying to take from someone else what isn't mine. What fucking difference does it make?
We do have to make our own way, and I think I've done well enough. It's been a varied life, and as I say, not done yet.
I'm enjoying my half-century. No, I'm not accepting my AARP card, thank you all the same.
I'm not going to be an old fart. I'm not going to sit around and bitch and moan about the good old days, because you know what? They might just be coming. I really think the best years are not here yet. We have a lot to do in this world, and we have to do for ourselves, and hope that the example rubs off.
I said this about my writing: I hope that it at least entertains. I hope that it makes readers think. I hope that it inspires them, but not in a religious way, because that is not my intent. More....look at the weird shit I put my characters through (my own life, and others). You get through that, you can get through anything.
I should have been dead years ago. I don't thank deities for it, but I do think the life force that rules the universe may have helped a little. We are getting it done. I am getting it done.
We all will.
Namaste.
