Started 10/23/20 – 11:35 a.m. , Finished 1/18/21 – 7:40 p.m.
This resource of intellectualism grew out of the depths of despair and depression.
I was raised as an aimless middle class lad in the United States of America. Based on my life circumstances, it came natural for me to grow up as an observer. My earliest conscious memories included noticing various shades of human hair color, and ungraciously deflecting compliments about my pretty blue eyes.
After taking my adolescence and college experience for granted both personally and professionally, I decided to quit video games and nominal academic pursuit. Instead, I Latched onto the tail end of television’s affluence on poverty stricken individuals and became an amateur gambler under the guise of a semi-pro one.
Tired of squandering my earnings from restaurant, warehouse, and assembly line work; plus a rejected attempt at joining the United States military, I returned to formal education and eventually by default graduated with an associate’s degree in liberal arts (from a community college) while exploring the independent contractor world as a taxi driver. After a tumultuous period of family anguish and heartbreak, ideas of suicide begin to form in my brain.
Upon returning to normalcy, I tried my hand for the second time at sales, primarily as a door knocker peddling electronic entertainment services. After transitioning to back office work in the same industry, I had a fortunate run as a sports bettor and made a long overdue transition of primary focus to this medium. However, a chance investment led me back to my original gambling foray: poker. As a manager/owner of a card room, I ran the full circle of my collective life/work experience for as long as possible until I Could no longer run from my demons and addictions. I knew for a while I was a degenerate gambler, but I never imagined I would be a regular smoker, but the world I lived in was filled with junkies; mostly marijuana smokers, and I eventually obliged with a reluctance of having no other choice.
Facing subconscious uncertainty for the first time and a self fulfilling identity crisis, the personas of P.M. Shadow the writer, and Greg Rapids the character were formed; actualized by a rigorous and consuming process I casually refer to as “brain repairs”. I then undertook the imaginative and creative process required to start this project.
I was not cured, and I paid the price heavily to find that out. Now, I just want to write everything I need to say before it is too late.
The name comes from these sources: a play on the phrase rock on, to knock on wood. There was a third, but I can’t remember. I will come back to this later.
I would like to edit as little as possible, so as to show the true nature of the creative process. However, that will not always be possible, especially until I get a rhythm with posts. I will date and timestamp everything. As you can see this took almost 3 months from writing, and many months more to get this far. I mostly started journaling in fury in April 2020, but had started something several months prior. I took trying to put a story together seriously by the end of last Summer. I just want to put whatever needs to be said on here. I am unsure how long I truly have. I am suicidal adjacent, and have health issues for which I may not fully recover. I am 37 years old and it gets harder to live everyday, as Joan Rivers said, it doesn’t get better, you get better. I would have never thought she would have accounted for one of my favorite quotes. I want to rediscover the will to live. I hope one day, even if I have passed away someone will read this and it will matter. To them, to me, to the universe.
The Meanthead 