12 May 2014
0711 hrs
in·er·tia
noun \i-ˈnər-shə, -shē-ə\
: lack of movement or activity
especially when
movement or
activity is wanted or needed
: a feeling of not having the energy or desire that is
needed to move, change, etc.
physics : a property of matter by
which something that is not moving
remains still and something that is
moving goes at the same speed and
in the
same direction until another
thing or force affects it
Greets,
Patient Reader and fellow denizens of this broken planet we call Earth. I apologize for not posting, or even writing,
part two of Friday’s rant as promised.
But, as they say, Better late than never.
First of
all, how about Jerry Jones channeling Al Davis and fucking up the draft for the
Cowboys? We’re going to stay with
Romulus, it seems; broken back, age, and the fact that we only won one playoff
game in his history notwithstanding. I
could go on, but we must press on. Shall
I get to the subject at hand? Splendid!
Well let’s
see . . . obviously today I am going to
write about inertia and our seeming inability, as a collective species, to
overcome it.
We are all
surrounded by those who do not move forward, are we not? See, I don’t get that. Take for instance Shmarah* who, for the
reasons of which it is too sad to fully elucidate here, cannot leave a
relationship that she knows is broken. I
weep inside (for I have lost the ability to weep outside so very long ago),
when I see her going through the very thing through which I went oh so many
years in my past.
Her (Man?)
significant other keeps stringing her along, doing the thing that boys do so
well: I promise things will be different, now. I have changed and am ready to accept
responsibility . . . C’mon, Patient Reader . . . we men know what we are doing even as we
watch in horror as we do it. We feel the
terrible need to exert our control . . . If
I win her back, then I simply win . . .
And you
ladies know of what I write: Maybe things
are different . . . Maybe he will be
there as I need him to be; loyal and strong and emotionally available. We tell you what you want to hear when we
are so young and foolish and think we can fix things with a hard-on and a
smile. And y’all fall for it, because
the alternative requires the overcoming of inertia, just as we men stay the
same for far too long for the very same reason.
So there’s that.
There are
those others . . . Shmachael* comes to mind, who are also in similar
circumstances. A woman who has not had a
sexual experience in twelve years because it’s easier to be non-intimate with
the Devil you know than it is to take a risk and reap a reward.
There is
Shmalex*, my openly gay friend who is kowtowed by Mother into staying put in
his life. He is twenty years old, and
finds it easier to tell Mother, “Yes, dear,” than to get up and go do the
things he needs to do; you know, visit his friends and go to their birthday
parties and meet his homosexual lover he found online . . .
He just
dropped by my office, AKA the corner table in the cafeteria, and told me he
could not go to Nyquil’s birthday party yesterday because Mother said no . .
. It’s easier to beat a child than to
raise it; easier to be beaten than to get up and risk being beaten again, or asserting your independence.
I have a
friend who wants to move to my town and go to school, here. I looked into financial aid and student loans
and housing and everything he needs to make it happen. But Shmon* would rather ride the current
downstream and drown in Michigan with his mom than swim to the banks and shake
himself dry.
There is
the inertia of The Flake; friends of mine who agree to projects with me and
then forget; it’s easier to fuck your boyfriend than to spend a couple of hours
singing into a microphone like you planned and promised. OK, that one’s almost understandable. Still though, you keep your commitments when
you have grown the fuck up.
It’s easier
to agree to a date in person and then back out in texted words than it is to
keep the date in the first place.
Ordinarily, this is really understandable, too. Especially if it’s a blind date and you don’t
plan on ever seeing the guy again. But
it’s different when some of the circles in which you are firmly ensconced occasionally
merge with the circles of the other.
Friends like that are a chore, and I had to cut her loose.
People who
are unable to overcome inertia; all those unhappy marriages; the wishes and the
regrets over which they lose so much sleep, they don’t realize that this is
it. That this is their one shot at life
and it should not be spent spinning their wheels and saying “oh well . . . this is my lot in life . . .” Or perhaps they DO realize that this is what
it is; a life freely wasted for no reason at all.
And then
the ones who don’t even realize that they are held in place by inertia simply
because they themselves are too inert to investigate the source of their
paralyzing. These are all the sad people
we see about us. It’s easier to dream
and to wish than it is to DO . . .
OK. So these are a few examples of inertia and
how it affects some of those around me. Why do I care so much? you, Patient
Reader, may be asking yourself. Why is your nose ass-deep in the business of
others?
Good
question, and one that is difficult for me to answer. But I’ll give it a shot:
There is
the obvious reason of my own Desire, which causes Suffering in my own self,
which is only ameliorated with Compassion.
My desire to help those through and out of the miasma in which they
struggle; the quicksand in which they flounder.
I know, it’s not my Job . . . but
if it is not I, then who?
My
Compassion beats vainly against their inertia, banging and bouncing harmlessly
against the veneer of I don’t know what
the fuck I am doing but I’m gonna sit still and suffer through it, anyway.
But here, I
think, is the Main Reason: Sad as it is
that I am unable to help those about whom I have found, surprisingly (I am
never surprised), that I care, their inert bodies are blocking my way. Their barricades are obstacles over which I
can overcome, if they are few and far-between, but it is most of humanity that
parks in the middle of the goddam street like obtuse construction workers
swilling their Jim Beam-laced coffee from their thermosi and waxing such deep
meteorological observations such as, “Jesus.
The sun sure is hot, today . . .”
These are
also those who say, “expecially,” and “supposebly.” They say “heighth” and “drownded . . .” I know it sounds snobberish, especially from
someone who makes so many attempts at neologia such as myself, but c’mon . .
. At least I know the rules I am
breaking.
But I
digress yet again, do I not, Patient Reader?
These inert
bodies understand either subconsciously or not, that it is easier to prompt
another to sit and join them than it is to cheer them ever onward. That it is easier to say, “Sit here with me
on this metaphorical couch and watch my metaphorical TV with me . . .” than it
is to say, “Here, lemme get the fuck outta your way so I can see you pass me
by.”
I know,
Patient Reader, that you see this all around you as well as I do, and most of
you are frustrated, or at least should be, as profoundly as I am, myself.
Why can’t
we encourage the dreams of others as we take up our mats and walk?
Why can’t
we get the hell out of each other’s way and dream and cheer and hope for
them? It’s because we, as a species,
suck.
Sorry this
rant is such an odd one. Inertia has
been on my mind a great deal as of late, and I needed to vent. I know that you, Patient Reader,
understand. I thank you from the bottom
of the smoldering cinder that was my Heart.
And I will now leave you to it, and
always I remain,
The cunning Fennec Fox
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