Christ Complex Birthday

My birthday is tomorrow. I'll be 34 years old, and finally ready to live my life like a proper adult man. I've given up the childish behavior of insecurity and dependency, and embraced the eternal youth qualities of joy and wonder that have been the steadfast rock of my soul.

Despite a proper religious education, I have always been fascinated by the life of Jesus. A man who is more myth than real, yet is more real than any other myth. A magician of sorts, who, through his life story, his trials and stations of the cross, changed humanity forever. He sacrificed his life, bowed before torture to show the mechanics of the society he lived in.

Was I drawn to that because of my own suffering in life, overtaken by a desire to assign some sort of divine purpose to my meager existence? Did I orchestrate my own suffering based on my drive to ascend beyond a simple life? Can the power of belief affect reality to the degree that ridiculous situations craft themselves around me? Is it some magnetic pull over random coincidences?

I can only assume my father's own fantasy impulses have become imprinted on my own psyche, forging a hero's journey for me to follow. I inately understand the structure of stories, and this must be a factor. Having the last name Christenson also ties into this Christ Complex, as well as my father's own tendency to play the role of martyr.

But with this birthday which I always saw as some sort of deadline, Jesus himself only living til 33 and the other signifiicant numerology behind the number, I now find myself at the start of a new journey. I've completed my novel, a self-indulgent introspective creative diary of sorts, and I've gone through the massochistic tendencies that I saw in myself.

I think I'm ready to grow up, to be happy, to build a life for myself and finally achieve the success I've always felt undeserving of. I've forgiven myself. I know what I am to blame for in my past. I truly feel I have always done my best, treated those around me as I wish to be treated, and now I no longer need this story to live within.

I'm prepared to live my life.

Now I Know Why I Don't Blog

I feel like I've said too much. I've opened up at vulnerable moments and immortalized them. I want to delete all of this. I feel like I've screwed something up before it even begins. But maybe I'm just worried because I haven't felt this feeling in a long time.

I'm being vague. Sorry. Now I get it, why people keep stuff to themselves. I open up too much, or need to, so I turn to writing this nonsense down and in turn, it reveals too much of me. I scare people away don't I? I really don't mean to. I worry people, I don't mean to. I just feel things and don't know how to process them sometimes.

I'm good right now. Well, not RIGHT now, as my laptop is suddenly acting up, so now that I finally have solid internet connection, now my browsers are crashing on me every 5 seconds. And it's that feeling of something not working right, something that is just off a bit, or even could be off, that really makes me crazy. Obsessive tendencies aside, I just want things to be good, for them to work.

My comic looks great, Reilly's doing an amazing job on the art. My job is frustrating, mainly because the hours make me feel so isolated, but also because morale is so low there. My kitty comes back to me tomorrow which will be nice. But now PayPal is taking money from my account and giving it to Ebay and Ebay has no record of it.

For every settled piece of my life, there is a broken bit. Oh, yeah, my iPod is busted for good so I don't even have music right now to make the commuting pleasant. Fuck, I want to cry right now, but I'm somewhere between exhausted and numb. I just hope that writing this exorcises something from me and I can sleep for awhile.

Please just let my past be my past and allow me to move on and be happy. That's all I want. Well, that and maybe a working computer.

Thanks.

K