As an experiment, I am going to use this prime moment where judgement is imparred, and that inner voice that exists to say no and stop me from doing the things I wish I could. I’m going to stream a long winded post here in this block with no promotion and see. Observe.

I’m Orange Jeff, and this is an orange shirt blog.

When you write, or make videos or sing, but you don’t share, then you are perfect. You can’t be wrong. Life for me, is in Interaction…

Darn. I’ve screwed up already. Too many thoughts fighting to be the next paragraph and the image I was goinbg for…

fuck. I didn’t want to showcase my crazy in this post. I wanted this to be another secret share, where I … oh wait. Yes. This is the kind of post I wanted. I call it a live transcript of NOW. I think at the speed of my tytping and just start talking to myself, through my keyboard.

While high.

My earlier point was, there is no way to determine my worth alone. I am perfect until that first share. The moment when I expose myself to anyone else. I spent most of my life under the false impression I sucked. I was not the cool happy friend everyone I knew would attempt to convince me/ Worthless is a term I hear these days, but I didn’t feel useless. I just wanted to be a real boy.

I wanted to not suck.

Snap. Sometimes I can go off on tangents or only loosely related side stories.

Take 2.
Hi. I’m Orange Jeff, and this is my story.

I’m lost. I have no idea what to do, and among my issues, I seem to have developed a phobia of asking. For anything.

That realiozation led one up to the realization that my Daddy issues are complex, but my top level issue is that I live my intire life, trying not to be yelled at or let anybody down.

As luck would have it, I grew into the person that lets everyone dopwn and fails in more ways than Gilligan trying to get off the island.

Old refrence… should I keep it?

Side Story: I only recently discovered the joy…

beep.
Reset.

Stoner wave saw two stories going and overflowed.

The only part I hate about writing on weed is that I know some times I will end up looking like a… what words am I allowed to use these days. Is moron OK? I always hjated stupid. Even though it doesn’t have a K in it, it is a harsh word to say. Moron is soft.

Ok… I believe I am an interesting person. I believe that the way I think, and express myself is unique and interesting and worthy of friendship, or perhaps – a fan.

One of the key life changes I’ve gone through since I peaked and am now on the other side of life’s mountain is the…

crap. I’m actually getting tired finally. I can’t expend the energy required to write while this high, all the while attempting to not appear as if I am high.
ding
That’s it. A loop I can close from earlier in my real bllog nobody knows about. I was theroroiizing that the reason I seem almost immune to the same level of high that others are, is because the human mind is designed to normalize and once drug use becomes regular enough, the brain has figured out how to repath sobriety for me.

As much as that was a theory I could work with, using the anaologies from the experiments where people learned to normalize upside down vision in about 2 weeks. I remember it took me two weeks to not hate progrtessive lenses.
wait. Is progressive the light dark or the no lines bifocals. I usually get it wrong.
ding
Try to ignore the dinging bells. They are points where I noticed something I didn’t interupt my flow to ramble on about. Usually when I catch mysl;f being negatiove like above, or similar obcession points I like to document as I see them.

I am so much enjoying the slf discovery that this kind of writing can release. I think along one contoinuous stream of thought, and the cartoon version added later is my in my canoe traveling down a reasonably calm river.

As I appraoch a fork in the stream, I transituion back to my writing and wonder if taht was too confusing or genius.

You see… as long as I’m the only one that sees this, it’s perfect. Nopt quite, but it’s hilarious and the only reason I have not been able to figure out a way to profit from this — talent? Skill? Art?

I have not tried. Alone I am perfect. After the first share, I may find out I’m as bad as I worry I might be. This is incoherent ramble. It is unlikely anmyone will make it thi far. Do people even read anymore?

I’ve been imagining the scenarious of failure in my spare time, when I dedicate some actual evening hours to just thinking. Smoking weed, and either writing, or doing the exact same kind of stuff, only thinking at the speed of my voice.

When I was 27, I dicovered a thing called Attention Deficit Disorder. A.DD or ADHD as it’s known today. It’s common now, but back in the days before Internet and DVRs, everyone watched the same TV at night, and talked about it the next day. Nobody had spoilers.

Back then, there were very few mental illnesses named. I was just a smart kid not living up to my potential. Not focused. Not organized. Never completed stuff.

Basically, all the things that make a partent want to yell… if they were prone to do that.

IUn any case, I was saying — I believe that I have value, but I have been a support friend all my life. I have built my entire universe around being as invisible as possible until called apon, and then I’m a fantastic polite, respectful, confident Jeff.

But if I’m not reacting, I stop and gfo into the equivilent of screen saver mode. I turn on Gilligans Island. We were not allowed to watch Hogans Heros ion my family. I never got to hear any of my father’s Germany stories. He tried to be Canadian as soon as her arrived here.

I pause. Am I pleased or shamed by this? Is it #shareworthy ? That is my whole point. I have been recording my thoughts since I was 16 in some way, and almost never shared any. I have no clue how that first share will react. I want to believe that some people do still read, and if I make the effort and actually try, it might not be too hard to get noticed and perhaps change my life again.

However, it might not. I’m 54 and I have tried and failed a lot. At least as many times as that fictional relative that show up in every series eventually. The one that let the family down but with the greatest of optomisim each time. This Kickstarter is a sure fire investment Cousin.

If I am honest, I stopped actually trying along time ago and now just assume Failure.
STOP. Fake news. I think I don’t do that. I have been trying… just not with a real incentive.

I sabotage any success.

I’m terrified.

But nmmore important, I’m lost.

It seems I never learned how to be alone. I wasn’t, till I was 50. I never had my own life. I always lived in somebody else’s. Because I was smart, I developed amazing bluffing skills, inside a personality I am only recnetly aware of and proud of. I’ve always been a cool guy, but because I didn’t know it, I never really had sharing relastionships.

Although I say I’d never really lbeen alone, and always lived in other people’s lives, I never really shared myself, so in taht way I have been very alone my whole life and remain that today. I feel alone in a crowd of friends. Without the ability to ask — ro break a silence and be the first is to risk rejection, but even more extreme. I am afraid of interupting, irritating, adgitating or in any way inconviencing people.

I don’t want to be a bother.

Deeper: I live for a smile. I feel them. Deep. Equally, I pain to see a frown. I feel worse by far than the people who might break a smile for a split second if their car seatbelt takes 4 pulls. I feel sad when the person in front of me feels sad.

So I don’t. I may watch for any opportunity to break in piggybacking on anything that starts a conversation. I know I can win people over. I was a salesman for 15 years back when people shopped at nearby stores and could be loyal regulars and life long friends. I remain friends with a nnumber of early adopters that I proudly sold the Commodore Amiga to in 1985.

It’s clear I keep wandering away from the to[ic. I need some help.

I need to ask for sopme help. You hve no idea how hard it is. I’d rather bungee jump and that’s a lie. But it still feels weird. I’ve built walls in my universe and lines I dare not cross. Really, I just say no most of the time.

Whoops… off on a different issue. My point is – I think. ding I know I am at least interesting enough to look closer. Ideaslly I’d like to find some forward person just willing to be my co depdedant partner lonmg enough to accomplish the most basic tasks of asking for some help. Part of the skill of who I am… I created my universe without loudness and anger as best I can. I’ve managed to come up with ideas that I think can help others. I just need a boss.

I only exist under supervision.
I only progress with nagging.

You’ve witnessed how long it took me to get to here… imagine the path to taking out the garbage.

I am easy going because I’ve created my world with as little stress as possible. I do nothing until somebody asks me, and then I solve the problem and earn my smile. Sometimes I get paid, but always way way less than anyone exp[ects or would consider. Myu competition often did less and got rich. I kept the same rate since 1995 and never asked for protion.

A horrible business personthat everyone liked and trusrted.

The clooser I was to perfect, the less likley anyone wiull yell.

—- I pause briefly wondering if I stop here. 3am. The moment there is a lull, my second voice emerges to crush my joy and ruin the mood with negativity and the bad stories. I tosh them over the wall of tomorrow but not until its too late. A scenario imagined becomes part of my universe. It makes trust harder initially because you’ve seen —

I stop. Wasn’ty I quitting 20 minutes ago? I have some memory of stopping and saying I was too tirted to continue.

This isn’t the end of my journal for tonight… just the end of the one I poted here. I will never read this, and may not vene spellcheck. It will just sit here like a sign on a dead end street.

I don’t want to be famous
I jsut want a few fans

I’d love to discuss my universe to anyone if asked.

I live to be asked, and then praised.

I am terrified of fame on the wrong terms. I am terrified of my first share.

I call it the William Hung syndrome. His first share should have been to honest friends. He found out youre perfect in your head. Don’t make your first share on TV.

Ok… End.
The End
But
no.
3am. Perect OCD reason to stop
Alt FS.