Hello? Is This Thing On?

OK, I gotta get back into blogging. Google+ is peachy for a lot of stuff. Less peachy for others.

For example, I started writing a thing about this guy...

...because I'm beginning to get some real insight into what's driving him. I mean, it's him driving himself, right? 

After all, what would the gods do if Sisyphus just said "Oh, kiss my ass, I ain't doing this anymore"? Kill him? He's been killed at least twice already, and to hell at least one of those times, so how big a threat can that be?

Anyhow, I was sitting at the bottom of the hill with an oversized double shot of Jack, contemplating one of the versions of one of my own personal rocks (unlike Sisyphus, many of us in the current world have elected to push multiple rocks up the hill at the same time,) which had yet again, as every single time before, rolled back over the top of me just as we crested out of the shadows into a momentary flash of sunlight and were nearly there, and bounced crashing back to the bottom.

The "Oh, kiss my ass, I ain't doing this anymore," line was running strong through me. 

Of course, I immediately looked over my shoulder waiting for the gods to slap me upside the haid - then it occurred to me that I've been slapped before and it was HUGELY simpler than pushing that fucking rock. Or at least not as permanent. But I already knew that.

So, if I already knew that, why am I doing it? 

A self-righteous thought puffed itself up and pushed to the front, but a glance at the rock quickly dispelled the comforting notion that it was probably the rock's doing. It was just being a rock, and doing what rocks do, e.g., roll to the lowest spot they can find at any opportunity, and if you're between them and that point, well tough shit for you. The rock doesn't care about rolling over you, nor dragging you back down the hill with it, nor the fact that in order to begin again you have to start in the same valley that the rock lives in.

My next thought was that the gods' real curse was not to assign the task, but to install an overwhelming, near-instinctive drive to get the rock to the top of the hill. Of course if the gods can do that to Sisyphus OR me, it seems like they would have just re-geared our heads in order to make us not piss them off in the first place.

Now, you know as well as I that there's generally no accounting for why gods do anything. As far as I can tell, they are a bunch of whiny Jersey-Shore style teen-agers (the Greeks mistook Snookie's fat ass for the moon, and named her Selene, for example.) In other words, all this "instilling a drive" stuff strikes me as WAY too much work for the lazy fuckers. 

Selene Brings The Moon Out After
Getting Punched In A Bar Fight On Her "Reality" Show

In short, the gods don't have any real power to keep me doing it. The rock's not making me do it, and in fact is resisting any slightest advance out of the valley as a matter of physics and blind nature. No gods, no rock - the only remaining party here is ME. Or Sisyphus, if that silly fuck is still out there doing it.

So why, even now, am I considering another path to get the rock to where it seems like it belongs? And who am I to try to sort out "where it belongs?" It's been mired in the shadows of its valley since the beginning of time and seemed to be getting along fine long before I got here. Have I finally figured out that I can and should just walk away from it?

THAT'S what I was gonna blog about.

In Our Next Episode: I may actually get around to a point, if I think of one. Still working on it.