Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about red herrings, existence, and struggles.

"Red herring: Something, especially a clue, that is or is intended to be misleading or distracting. More info can be found here  . The prompt for June 2, 2015: In writing a mystery is it essential to have a red herring?"

Thank you, and welcome back to this week's "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  roundtable discussion on the Mystery genre, where yesterday I determined I don't really know much about it and should probably be sitting this round out. However, it's been quite awhile since I participated in anything, so I'm gonna subject you all myself to my own ignorance.

I'm gonna be very upfront about this...I've heard the term "red herring" before, but I never bothered to look it up or see what it meant. As for what I do between blogging and my loose attempts at poetry, the need has never really made itself known to me. I guess I could say that what I assumed about it is right, in that it's a device meant to throw someone (in this case, the reader) off the trail of the final reveal. I get it...it's a fancy way of holding my right fist up while I suckerpunch you with my left, preferably in the nether regions (the old "What's the capital of Thailand?" joke). There should be more nicknames for plot tricks like this...just not seafood-themed ones (unless they're of shrimp or breaded fish sticks or a beer-battered fish fry like I like to get from the Main Street Grille   whenever I head back home...and the fact that I usually leave there a drunken hot mess is irrelevant to this entry).

Back to the purpose of this entry though...a red herring, in my opinion, is absolutely vital to maintaining a good mystery. Ever watch a movie and think, "Gee, if the main character did 'A' instead of 'B', this farce would be over in the first five minutes..."? I know; I do it all the time when I watch a movie, or a tv show. It's that dumb decision that generally sucks you in, mainly because you wanna see how the protagonist is gonna get out of the nonsense he/she has gotten into. And by golly, it works!

That's why I'm ok with them. A well-executed red herring reminds me that I don't know everything, as hard as I sometimes try to convince myself otherwise. While my head is sniffin' around all these other angles...Bangkok!! And suddenly I'm rolling on the ground, cursing "Why why why?" enlightened to the fact that maybe I need to pay even more attention rather than allowing myself to get sidetracked.

You win, mystery writers. Until I figure out where to hide an open can of tuna fish in your closet in such a way that you won't find it for days.

"'When you’re awake, you know you’re awake. But when you aren’t, you don’t know you aren’t. The question is, how do you know you exist?' by Maria Popova in Brain Pickings. Write whatever you wish about this, through any form, style, genre, fiction, non-fiction or poetry."

Mind, already = blown.

Well-documented is how I'd describe my relationship with sleep. Last night was the first night in awhile that I've had a serious problem falling asleep, mainly because I misjudged the amount of Ambien I have left before my next doctor's visit, and I'm trying to save it for when I really need it...which would've been last night. And my sleeping patterns have been so jacked-up for years that it's hard to know when I've actually settled into a good one until it's too late (and I know, I could call my doc's office to get the script renewed, but it always turns into a freakin' hassle...so save yourself from reminding me of that tip).

But damn, the existential question! I love it! I feel like, at times, because of habits and bad decisions and nights of heated passion, I've missed out on a ton of great dreams...when I do dream now, it's a- pardon the wordplay- nightmare. The latest series of themes recurring in my dreamtime movies involve random situations where I'm unable to speak. I try but the words don't come out. Things are happening and I'm unable to use my voice to stop them. I wake myself up by talking, but I don't remember what's been going on in my head. It's a scary way to greet the day. If only there were an opt-out clause built in to my sleep aids that says "Ya know what, we're not gonna haunt you tonight...", I'd be all-in on that. You don't miss what you didn't know you had, right?

But sleep doesn't work that way. I know I exist because I'm here, tapping away on a keyboard. I have interactions on virtual platforms. I went to the store earlier for a few things, and I heard some of my neighbors in the hallway. So there's proof that life exists around me. But I'd be lying if I didn't say I derive the most enjoyment out of life when I'm asleep. When you miss out on a solid night of it for over a decade, you learn how to enjoy it, even when it's terrifying at times. You can only make so many adjustments when you're awake to compensate before it catches up to you. I'm more than happy to not be in control of my head for a few hours at a time each night.

There are days when I wake up and look forward to going back to sleep at night. Sure, it's a product of sleep aids and sedatives and pain meds coupled with not having any ambition for anything (a vicious cycle)...but it beats being a zombiefied mess of a person blah-ing through life. There are times when I crave interaction and enjoyment, but solely on my terms. I've looked. I don't see it.

At least I'm cognizant of when I start to ramble, which I'm doing now. I don't have a good knot ready to tie this portion of the entry up with, and I blame that on the sleep I didn't get last night.

"I'm reminded of a great truth in life: We're all struggling down our life paths. Nobody has it easy in life. You can take any five people, for example, and in the group you have...it's your story to tell. Inquiring minds are curious what story you will share about those five people."

So true. I remember one morning as a teenager, walking into my sister's room. She had a sleepover with a few of her friends, and after subtle early-morning conversation I judged them all as the big dick older brother. "You're the nerd, you're the alcoholic, you're the desperate loner stuck with six cats, etc." I was an asshole! Judgements at 18 over the lives of a bunch of impressionable 14-year-old girls, like I'd already seen the big bad world or some shit. Not knowing anything about the future, the eating disorders, the suicides, the struggles to fit in, anything that would happen later on. In retrospect, I was a terrible person, projecting all I knew about me at that age on people who didn't deserve it because that's all I remembered about me...the name-calling, the bullying, other people acting out to hide their insecurities. I thought that that's what I should've been doing to protect myself. Create doubt in others to assert something greater within.

And wow was I wrong. You'd think I'd know better, having gone through it. But no. There's no right answer. There is no "tearing others down to make yourself feel better and fit in". It's not politics or lunchroom philosophy. It's people. They're people. And we're all full of doubt because that resonates within a hell of a lot more than someone saying you're good at something...because when you're not sure about who or what you can trust, motives cloud your sight. And you can deny it until you're blue in the face, but it's true.

Don't judge. Everyone is fighting something you can't see. This world would be a much better place if we looked out for one another first rather than destroying people for our own perceived gain. The self-satisfying oneupsmanship doesn't get anyone any further ahead. Unfortunately, it's still a losing battle against those who want nothing more than to put you in the proverbial ground.

Again, I'm rambling. I'll stop now...but not before I remind you to look out for each other as you would yourself. You never know.

You guys know I love The Tragically Hip. From their (in my opinion) worst album comes this poignant song...the great white north in your soul.

"Oh, Honey Watson, we were born with sin.
Some truth, some reconciliation, and gone with the wind.
If it feeds the need...if it dies, it dies.
Now, the struggle has a name. We are the same; it hasn't changed.
I still feel the same."
Lyrics.  

I may have found the new unofficial mascot/hero for my blog (not that I need one). Ladies and gentlemen, #56 in your program, but #1 in your hearts, Ben Ancheff  . I miss pitching...being able to rock a two-seamer. Good on this dude. I'm a fan.

And kudos to NBC, for making Aquarius available on-demand in its entirety through Hulu. Took me a few nights to get through the first episode (I kept bailing because I was exhausted) but I stuck through it and now I'm hooked. It helped that I was an insomniac last night, but ever since I knew the story of The Beatles through "The White Album" I'd been fascinated with Charles Manson (just not in a cultish serial killer way)...I read Helter Skelter one summer during high school. I don't worship the guy the way some do Marilyn Monroe or Joe Montana or Bob Marley, so let me have this "watching a fictional tv show based on historical events" thing without me being labled. Cool? Cool.

Took a selfie the other day, and I swear to gawd I need to start the #nonewselfies movement, because it's so unnatural. Yes, I know I need a proper haircut, and yes, I need to stop making the "no, I'm not making a face" face when I take my own picture. Hence, #nonewselfies.

Sun's out, bun's out.

And finally, how about 15 words that don't mean what they used to  ?

I think that means I'm done here. Join us tomorrow, won't you...as I figure out more ways of being ill-prepared in all things "mystery genre". Peace, like the sun in a mirror, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!

I don't understand any of this, and it's probably better that way...
but the brand statement at the end was kinda cool.