Let all of heaven and earth stop on a dime and lend an ear. It's as if the gods themselves delivered a message from the mountain, etched in stone and seared permanently in with fire and brimstone. I consider myself quite blessed to have had such a religious experience while eating my fried sheet of chicken and shoelace french fries.
As anybody who has been following my story for any length of time knows, I am not the king of relationships. Never have been. My relationship story reads like a who's who of great moments in historic monumental failures.
But for this moment...in this day...it finally hit me what I want out of a long term relationship, and I am still reeling from the clarity that has shone down upon me, opening my eyes to new and brave worlds.
So let me share with you, my readers, my epiphany. My grand plan for the hopes that on some day, on some distant planet, I can find the female who wants the same things and we can make beautiful babies together.
1. I do NOT want to get married again. No way, no how. Fuck that. The laws of this country are incredibly ridiculously skewed towards women in a divorce, and I am not going to place myself in that position ever ever again.
2. I have no issue in buying a woman a ring. But I will not spend more than $50, tops on the mother fucker. What a giant gaping waste of money to spend anything more than that on a ring. And what does the man get in a return? We are encouraged to spend 3 months salary on a ring. What is a woman encouraged to get a man in return? ....... *crickets*........For 3 months salary, I could buy a hooker every weekend for 3 years. Are you kidding me?
2. I have no issue with standing in front of my family and friends and declaring my love and my commitment to a woman. "Wedding" is not quite the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. Just don't ask me for a marriage certificate. If you want that, I'll print you one off my computer and put little cartoon giraffes on it and make it cute if you want. Let's leave the government out of our affair please. What I refuse to do is to spend ridiculous amounts of money on such an affair. We don't need a big elaborate ceremony. I'll get up in a suit and tie, you wear your sunday best and do your hair. Then we'll cart off to a restaraunt somewhere with family and friends and enjoy their company. AFter that, if you want to spend money on a nice trip, I'm all fucking for it. I'd rather spend my money living my life in an experience that lasts more than 5 minutes, thank you very much.
3. There is no "work" to this relationship. If it feels like "work," why don't we stop wasting each other's time and go off and be happy with other people? What misplaced since of ridiculous bullshit has told us that to get with someone for a long term it takes work? You have friends, right? Do you feel like those friendships take an enormous amount of work to maintain? NO. N-O. They work because you are on the same page, you get together and chill, talk, whatever. Sometimes, on the off chance, you fight, but you always work it out and it's not a huge deal to hang shit over their heads. You forgive...then you move on. Simple. Effective. Efficient. REAL. I have no issue, however, with performing routine maintainence. We can go on dates, we can learn to comprimise our issues, we can learn to listen to each other. I can handle that. What I won't stand for, in no way, is leveraging issues that arise to gain the "power" in the relationship. When that happens, goodbye--don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Go assert your power over someone else who gives a big fat flying fuck over power. I don't. I don't want to control the people who get close to me. That's their own business.
4. A relationship consists of the following things: someone to talk to, someone to fuck, someone to eat with, and someone who knows when to leave you the fuck alone. That's about it. If you, my fair woman, would be so gracious as to have a hot meal waiting for me when I get home from work, I'll suck it up and do the dishes. If you, my fair lady, will be so gracious as to wash my clothes (you don't even have to separate the whites and the darks! I'm not picky!), I'll pull them out and fold them. Better yet, fuck that. I'll wash my own damn clothes and you wash yours, deal? If you, my fair lady, will be so gracious as to clean up after yourself, I will in turn clean up after myself. Keep shit off the damn floor. Take your dishes to the sink. Those are my only two requirements, and I'll be sure to help make that a reality. We'll get together and clean up the cobwebs some other time...together. The point: there are things that need done...fucking do them. Sometimes I'll do them. Sometimes you'll do them. That's life, let's not bitch and groan about who does what.
5. If you have credit card debt up to your eyeballs, please find someone else. I'm not paying YOUR debts, and I don't expect you to pay mine. If you have a credit card with any sort of serious balance, you're not the girl for me. Sorry. I don't want debt. I've went through hell (and bankruptcy) to get out of debt and I intend to stay there. If that means not buying today what we can save up for tomorrow, so be it. We'll take a 15 year mortgage for a house, small loans for slightly used vehicles, and on ocassion even small debts that we can pay off quickly (think 3 months). Beyond that, cash is king of this house. Get used to it or go find someone who wants what you want.
6. I have a career. I expect you to have one too. I can't quit my job whenever the hell I feel like it, neither should you. If we have kids, we'll work something out until they get into school. But it's your own responsibility to make sure you are marketable for a career on the chance that our relationship doesn't work and you have to support yourself. BTW, we'll keep our bills limited to what one of us could survive on if the other lost their job. That way, we aren't stuck together. I want to make it as easy as possible to walk away at any moment. That way we don't stay together because we NEED each other. We stay together because we WANT each other. A relationship built on that basis is far more healthy.
7. While I'm not the healthiest eater in the world and I can slack on my gym time from time to time, I do try my damnedest to stay in shape. I want to look and feel healthy. I expect you to have a similar outlook on life as well. Yes, I'll still <3 you if you get fat, but I probably won't be attracted to you sexually. Just know that in advance. I figure you to be the same way and to hold me to the same standard.
8. Honesty at all times, no exceptions. Secrets? What are those?
9. I have kids. They are a package deal. They are number one in my life...always. They will always be number one in my life, and sometimes you are going to take a backseat to them. Understand that upfront.
10. I like to play games. Relationship games. I'll make you a promise: I'll never play a game to manipulate or deceive you. Aside from that, it's game on. Let's have some fun.
Yes, yes...That's an extremely tall order and pretty much goes against anything society tries to ram at us nowadays. But that's ok. If I find that and someone who wants THAT, there'll be no question that we are made for each other.
I hope this didn't come across as bitter, because it's not coming from a place of bitterness at all. It's more from a place of blunt, honest truth. This is what I want. I'll never force anyone to do any of those things, but I don't have to change what I want either. I'm looking for compatibility, not comprimise.
Etched in stone. These are my ten most basic needs. Hallelujah!
Monday, March 16, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
A Shiny New Blog/Website
Well, I'm at it again. This blog was shortlived, I guess. I dunno if I'll keep this one going at the same time or not. I haven't decided that yet, but I do want to announce that I've started a new website:
http://soulsasylum.org/
I used to have a similar site, it got to be way too much for me to handle at the time so I shut it down and walked away. Like an itch, that desire to do it again his jumped up and bit me. For now I'm going to keep it simple. I may add some message boards sometime in the future, but right now I just want to post blog content to the main page and get some traffic. From there, we'll see what happens.
In the back of my head I'm thinking of it becoming a second source of income (from ad revenue and the like), but right now it's just a simple blog. And it'll probably stay that way for a while.
Thought you guys would like to know, as I may be abandoning this particular blog for the greener pastures over there. :D
It's been real.
http://soulsasylum.org/
I used to have a similar site, it got to be way too much for me to handle at the time so I shut it down and walked away. Like an itch, that desire to do it again his jumped up and bit me. For now I'm going to keep it simple. I may add some message boards sometime in the future, but right now I just want to post blog content to the main page and get some traffic. From there, we'll see what happens.
In the back of my head I'm thinking of it becoming a second source of income (from ad revenue and the like), but right now it's just a simple blog. And it'll probably stay that way for a while.
Thought you guys would like to know, as I may be abandoning this particular blog for the greener pastures over there. :D
It's been real.
Setback
First things first: I bought a pack of cigs and a pack of cigars last night and smoked myself silly. There was no sudden relief (that I thought would come) or no hooey cloud of "wow this is amazing." It just light...smoke...oh, ok, i'm right back here now with no real immediate joy to the smoking anymore.
I wanted to wake up and say...Boom! Day 1: Recharge or some bullshit like that, but that's not going to happen today. I feel like I've been whipped through a war. I feel like someone has taken me out and flogged me and left me to rot. I don't feel a shred of guilt about smoking. I just feel exhausted from a week without smoking. I assume it's because the wounds that the smoking is "crutching" haven't healed enough for me to walk on alone. This is why this blog post exists. I may be smoking again, but I still intend to figure out why I got so depressed when I quit and why, all of a sudden, the depression is slowly starting to fade now that I've had a few cigs.
To do that, I'll probably make a series of posts (some here and some that will probably never see the light of day) and work through from where things started for me. Just because I'm feeling better (almost immediately actually) doesn't mean that that depression isn't sitting there under the surface. I know it's still there, even if I am feeling it less and less now that I am smoking. So I supposed I'm going to have to go in there after it. The thought, frankly, kinda scares me.
It scares me because in order for it to disappear while smoking, it almost means that has to be some subconscious shit. It's like I dealt with the conscious part of it in the past couple of years, but there's apparently some stuff underneath that I haven't dealt with and I don't want to go digging in there to see what's causing it.
So, as soon as I can get some sort of break at work again, I'm going to find a therapist/counsellor of some sort and see what I can come up with. In the meantime, I'll be writing through it, I'll be looking for ways to find ridiculous amounts of contentment in my current life. And I have a new desire to become more of a presence in the lives of my kids. I've realized lately I've just sort of been going through the motions...getting them on my days, but not really being "available" to them while I have them.
So, I have lots of stuff to work through. And lots of cigs to smoke.
Big thanks to all of your comments, though. I appreciate the support and the comments helped me immensely.
I wanted to wake up and say...Boom! Day 1: Recharge or some bullshit like that, but that's not going to happen today. I feel like I've been whipped through a war. I feel like someone has taken me out and flogged me and left me to rot. I don't feel a shred of guilt about smoking. I just feel exhausted from a week without smoking. I assume it's because the wounds that the smoking is "crutching" haven't healed enough for me to walk on alone. This is why this blog post exists. I may be smoking again, but I still intend to figure out why I got so depressed when I quit and why, all of a sudden, the depression is slowly starting to fade now that I've had a few cigs.
To do that, I'll probably make a series of posts (some here and some that will probably never see the light of day) and work through from where things started for me. Just because I'm feeling better (almost immediately actually) doesn't mean that that depression isn't sitting there under the surface. I know it's still there, even if I am feeling it less and less now that I am smoking. So I supposed I'm going to have to go in there after it. The thought, frankly, kinda scares me.
It scares me because in order for it to disappear while smoking, it almost means that has to be some subconscious shit. It's like I dealt with the conscious part of it in the past couple of years, but there's apparently some stuff underneath that I haven't dealt with and I don't want to go digging in there to see what's causing it.
So, as soon as I can get some sort of break at work again, I'm going to find a therapist/counsellor of some sort and see what I can come up with. In the meantime, I'll be writing through it, I'll be looking for ways to find ridiculous amounts of contentment in my current life. And I have a new desire to become more of a presence in the lives of my kids. I've realized lately I've just sort of been going through the motions...getting them on my days, but not really being "available" to them while I have them.
So, I have lots of stuff to work through. And lots of cigs to smoke.
Big thanks to all of your comments, though. I appreciate the support and the comments helped me immensely.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Day 7: Got to be
It's 9 PM on day 7 and I am sitting in my apartment watching the Office. This weekend was pure hell, but by some stretch, some friking miracle, I managed to make it to this point with no cigs. Which means that when I go to bed and wake up tomorrow morning, this will officially be my most successful attempt at quitting to date. So, whatever happens, I can be proud of myself for that. I've also learned more about myself this time than I have in times past. I've faced a few inner demons and come to terms with them. All in all, I've grown. So yeah, I consider it to be a success.
The problem is, that I can't explain just how close I came to buying a pack of cigs or cigars tonight. The only thing holding me back was that it was day 7 and if I were to wake up tomorrow without having one I will have broken my "old record" for days without a cig.
At this point on? I have no idea what is going to stop me. This weekend was the absolute hardest time. My mind was a flurry, my nerves were on edge, and my head was a mess. I'm a little better now, but I'm still not solid. I still don't feel strong enough to say I'll never smoke another one again. I honestly don't know if I'll break down and buy a pack or not. I'm not going to bullshit myself here (like I've done in the past).
But tomorrow I get to start a new cycle. I've been through everyday of the week and tomorrow I get to start over with the cycle. Which means I've gotten a chance to ward off most of my "normal" triggers that happen in a week's time. Which means that this coming week *should* be a little easier because I've already been down this road once.
The two things that have kept me from buying a pack of cigs on this attempt:
1. The thought of being able to run and to not be out of breath.
2. The thought that one cigarette will put me right back where I was.
In other news, I went to church this morning (for the first time in a lonnnng time). It was a new church that the one I used to go to. I was just curious to branch out and go to some different places and see what it's like. So far, I once again find myself sitting in the pew staring up at the people that take the stage, and thinking of them as just "entertainers." It all just seems like one giant show to me, and that drives me bonkers. Seems like a load of bullshit. Even in my old church, the one I like to go to, it seems that way.
I should probably get over it. I'm finding bits and pieces of my faith again, but I know that I'll probably never be able to reconcile myself with church or with some of the things in the bible. Just too much that doesn't make sense to me, even if I do believe in a God that actually gives a shit what we are doing. But I take all that by faith...as I think you have to. The only proof I offer is the cosmological arguement (by Aristotle), beyond that I think it's up to each of us to take things on what we believe to be true.
There's a Universal Unitarian church in the area that I think I might try next Sunday morning. They are supposedly more open than most churches, so we'll see how it goes. I'd sort of like to find a place where I can go and get help and support, make a few friends, and maybe get involved in something within the community through them. I don't want to delve too deep into it. I'd rather keep it to the surface for the most part. Old wounds from churches have taught me that...don't get too close or you'll get ripped in half.
Ah well, it's 9:30 and I'm still smoke free on day 7. I feel good about that. How long that will last? Fuck if I know.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Almost
Ok, wow. I had no idea that I could get a craving that intense this late in the game. I sort of figured that in time, the cravings/desires would get easier.
Oh yeah, and I am sorry to my readers that this is all I can talk about lately. Hopefully I can move on to bigger and brighter things soon.
Anyway, I tell you if I get a moment like I just had again, I really don't think I'll be strong enough to resist it. It's almost like I was on autopilot.
I took the kids out to eat again tonight. Just here in town to a local Dennys. Nothing major. We at and all I could think about while eating was getting a pack of cigs while I was out. And when I paid for the meal and walked out, it came down over me. HARD. I drove to the gas station and got gas. When I was done pumping, I turned and stared at the doors for 5 minutes. I just stared at the doors. I could see cigs behind the counters. I stared. My kids yelled at me and I got in.
I had a bag of suckers on the seat, so I quickly opened one and threw it in my mouth (first one today lol). And of course, I had to give one to each of my kids. But I started the car and drove. I circled my house like 5 times before I pulled in. My kids were confused.
And my nerves are shot. I am snapping at my kids left and right. Today has been a hard one, and my daughter is driving me up the wall. I chewed my son out, to the point where I actually scared him. I swear, if I do something like that again I'm buying a fucking pack. Yelling at my kids, moreso than is called for, is something I'm not going to just "fight my way through."
But I'm hear, in my house, typing and writing and reading, trying to calm my nerves. I feel a small wave of peace right now. Like a feeling of exhaustion...you know how when you exert yourself and then when you are done you feel this wave of peace like you are just gonna chill and enjoy that peace. That's where I am now. My body is going nuts. I broke down in the car crying...although it wasn't enough to be noticed by my kids. Just some tears streaming down my face.
I almost just threw away 6 days. I almost just gave in. I almost bought a pack.
I'll give up tomorrow...
Oh yeah, and I am sorry to my readers that this is all I can talk about lately. Hopefully I can move on to bigger and brighter things soon.
Anyway, I tell you if I get a moment like I just had again, I really don't think I'll be strong enough to resist it. It's almost like I was on autopilot.
I took the kids out to eat again tonight. Just here in town to a local Dennys. Nothing major. We at and all I could think about while eating was getting a pack of cigs while I was out. And when I paid for the meal and walked out, it came down over me. HARD. I drove to the gas station and got gas. When I was done pumping, I turned and stared at the doors for 5 minutes. I just stared at the doors. I could see cigs behind the counters. I stared. My kids yelled at me and I got in.
I had a bag of suckers on the seat, so I quickly opened one and threw it in my mouth (first one today lol). And of course, I had to give one to each of my kids. But I started the car and drove. I circled my house like 5 times before I pulled in. My kids were confused.
And my nerves are shot. I am snapping at my kids left and right. Today has been a hard one, and my daughter is driving me up the wall. I chewed my son out, to the point where I actually scared him. I swear, if I do something like that again I'm buying a fucking pack. Yelling at my kids, moreso than is called for, is something I'm not going to just "fight my way through."
But I'm hear, in my house, typing and writing and reading, trying to calm my nerves. I feel a small wave of peace right now. Like a feeling of exhaustion...you know how when you exert yourself and then when you are done you feel this wave of peace like you are just gonna chill and enjoy that peace. That's where I am now. My body is going nuts. I broke down in the car crying...although it wasn't enough to be noticed by my kids. Just some tears streaming down my face.
I almost just threw away 6 days. I almost just gave in. I almost bought a pack.
I'll give up tomorrow...
Day 6: Ten Days to Self-Esteem
We're in the car and we're driving. My son is crying....he doesn't WANT to go to the bigger store. He doesn't want to leave town. He wants to go to Subway. I want a big juicy steak. A reward for my week of intense ridiculous want.
Every store in the world is packed, so I pull into Applebees and grab a little light thingamabob and wait the 20 minute wait for a seat. We sit down, I order a giant NY Strip, cooked medium, with french fries and mixed vegetables and side salad. He gets a hamburger and french fries. She gets macaroni and french fries. We eat and talk and color and laugh and enjoy the evening. I get them desert shooters and we are all so full we can burst. Its been a good night.
"Now it's time to go to the bigger store," I say to my son. He doesn't care at this point. He tells me he was being mean because he was tired earlier. I laugh.
We go to the bigger store (the mall lol) and I let them look at toys. Then on the way out, I have to make my stop at the bookstore. I'm here for a purpose after all. To find something, anything, to help me work through the depression aspect of quiting smoking. I'm in the store looking, my kids run to the kids books and they drag up all kinds of coloring books. I let out a sigh and tell them they can each have one and to go put the other ones back and to stop running around like heathens before I get crannnnnnky.
I'm looking for a book, any book. My daughter walks up and screams "DADDY I HAVE TO POOP!" I look around and everybody is looking at us. I laugh my ass off and tell her to come on. I drag her to the men's room and watch as the guys kinda look at me funny for bringing her in. I ask myself what the fuck they expect me to do with my daughter when I'm out alone with her? Fucking idiots.
The seat in the stall is pure filth and she won't put her ass anywhere near it. So we stand and wait for the other stall to empty. Eventually a little boy walks out and she goes in. I lift her up on the seat and she poops. She leans forward a little too far and the autoflush flushes and she screams and jumps off the toilet. I laugh and put her back up. She says she's done, so I wipe her ass. I hate using dry toilet paper to wipe their asses (I'd rather have a baby wipe), but this is all I have.
We go back to the bookstore and I'm looking for a book and my kids are running down the aisle like banshees. I have to yell at them to settle down. And they do, a little. They come back with books. One princess painting book. One Wall-E sticker book. Huzzah.
I look down and spy a workbook.
Ten Days to Self-Esteem.
I have decent self-esteem, I think, but I pick it up and notice that it's a workbook full of writing exercises dealing with depression and anxiety. Perfect. I don't want to read about shit. I want to write about shit.
I feel funny paying for it, because it seems like a small, very public admission of what I'm going through. And I am not that open. I don't want people knowing my shit.
I get home and play games and watch cartoons with the kids. When they go to sleep, I pull out the workbook and work through the first section.
I take the initial tests. Apparently I have a mild case of depression (surprise surprise), but more interesting is that I have unusually high anxiety. Something I never really thought about before. And quitting smoking, I'm sure, has contributed to that. I'm a fairly anxious person as it is, but this past week I've been a flipping freak about it. In the past I've dealt with anxiety by getting active. Playing sports, walking miles, biking, basketball, fishing, whatever I can get into to get me busy and keep me moving. Smoking cigarettes was a way to relieve a lot of that without having to get off my ass. Now I need to get off my ass again. Which is cool because I WANT to start running and get to place where I can run a couple of miles without stopping. But I can only do so much of that.
I need some other stuff to work through. Meditation or something along those lines. I can't eat suckers forever.
But there I am. I'm about to work through the section section of my workbook. lol I feel like an idiot, but so far it's been educational.
And everyday is the same thing. I wake up, and I feel really good about myself knowing that I've made it just one more day. But that quickly fades and within a couple of hours my mind is slammed. Pounded from all directions with very little let up. It's been like that for about 5 days now with no real noticable change. Everybody keeps telling me that this will subside, and I believe it will, but I'm not there yet and I'm having trouble seeing forward to that day when it becomes something more manageable that "just exist through this day to get to the next one."
But hey, my steak was pretty damn delicious. I'll have to treat myself to one of them more often.
Every store in the world is packed, so I pull into Applebees and grab a little light thingamabob and wait the 20 minute wait for a seat. We sit down, I order a giant NY Strip, cooked medium, with french fries and mixed vegetables and side salad. He gets a hamburger and french fries. She gets macaroni and french fries. We eat and talk and color and laugh and enjoy the evening. I get them desert shooters and we are all so full we can burst. Its been a good night.
"Now it's time to go to the bigger store," I say to my son. He doesn't care at this point. He tells me he was being mean because he was tired earlier. I laugh.
We go to the bigger store (the mall lol) and I let them look at toys. Then on the way out, I have to make my stop at the bookstore. I'm here for a purpose after all. To find something, anything, to help me work through the depression aspect of quiting smoking. I'm in the store looking, my kids run to the kids books and they drag up all kinds of coloring books. I let out a sigh and tell them they can each have one and to go put the other ones back and to stop running around like heathens before I get crannnnnnky.
I'm looking for a book, any book. My daughter walks up and screams "DADDY I HAVE TO POOP!" I look around and everybody is looking at us. I laugh my ass off and tell her to come on. I drag her to the men's room and watch as the guys kinda look at me funny for bringing her in. I ask myself what the fuck they expect me to do with my daughter when I'm out alone with her? Fucking idiots.
The seat in the stall is pure filth and she won't put her ass anywhere near it. So we stand and wait for the other stall to empty. Eventually a little boy walks out and she goes in. I lift her up on the seat and she poops. She leans forward a little too far and the autoflush flushes and she screams and jumps off the toilet. I laugh and put her back up. She says she's done, so I wipe her ass. I hate using dry toilet paper to wipe their asses (I'd rather have a baby wipe), but this is all I have.
We go back to the bookstore and I'm looking for a book and my kids are running down the aisle like banshees. I have to yell at them to settle down. And they do, a little. They come back with books. One princess painting book. One Wall-E sticker book. Huzzah.
I look down and spy a workbook.
Ten Days to Self-Esteem.
I have decent self-esteem, I think, but I pick it up and notice that it's a workbook full of writing exercises dealing with depression and anxiety. Perfect. I don't want to read about shit. I want to write about shit.
I feel funny paying for it, because it seems like a small, very public admission of what I'm going through. And I am not that open. I don't want people knowing my shit.
I get home and play games and watch cartoons with the kids. When they go to sleep, I pull out the workbook and work through the first section.
I take the initial tests. Apparently I have a mild case of depression (surprise surprise), but more interesting is that I have unusually high anxiety. Something I never really thought about before. And quitting smoking, I'm sure, has contributed to that. I'm a fairly anxious person as it is, but this past week I've been a flipping freak about it. In the past I've dealt with anxiety by getting active. Playing sports, walking miles, biking, basketball, fishing, whatever I can get into to get me busy and keep me moving. Smoking cigarettes was a way to relieve a lot of that without having to get off my ass. Now I need to get off my ass again. Which is cool because I WANT to start running and get to place where I can run a couple of miles without stopping. But I can only do so much of that.
I need some other stuff to work through. Meditation or something along those lines. I can't eat suckers forever.
But there I am. I'm about to work through the section section of my workbook. lol I feel like an idiot, but so far it's been educational.
And everyday is the same thing. I wake up, and I feel really good about myself knowing that I've made it just one more day. But that quickly fades and within a couple of hours my mind is slammed. Pounded from all directions with very little let up. It's been like that for about 5 days now with no real noticable change. Everybody keeps telling me that this will subside, and I believe it will, but I'm not there yet and I'm having trouble seeing forward to that day when it becomes something more manageable that "just exist through this day to get to the next one."
But hey, my steak was pretty damn delicious. I'll have to treat myself to one of them more often.
Friday, February 27, 2009
My Toxic Friend
When my life fell apart, you were there making me feel as if things were ok.
When I was bored, you were there, entertaining me enough and making me feel better about me.
When I was scared, you calmed me and made me see that there was no reason to be scared.
When I was angry, you reached inside and soothed my nerves, splashing me with waves of calmness and relief.
You were my friend when I had no friends. You were the one thing that was always there for me. You were the one thing that always made me feel better.
But you were destroying me. For every visit you gave me, you took something from me that I may never have again. For every time we got together, you dulled me, duped me, and chained me to you. You told me to come to you when I needed you, but you never said that when I wanted to get away you wouldn't let me. You never said that you would haunt me and taunt me if ever I wanted to try it on my own. You never said that you would make my body shake and ache, play games with my mind, and bring me into depression if I ever walked away.
I fell for your lies, but now I see you for the truth. You are a friend, but not a friend. The toxicity of our relationship is too much for me to handle anymore. I want to go it alone. I want to be free from you. I'm tired of you telling me I'm not good enough to make it without you.
I'm tired of feeling like I lost a friend. You are an inanimate object. A ball and chain. Go away. Go away. Come back. Go away. I hate you. I love you. Come back. Go away.
Flurry...flurry. Whir.
When I was bored, you were there, entertaining me enough and making me feel better about me.
When I was scared, you calmed me and made me see that there was no reason to be scared.
When I was angry, you reached inside and soothed my nerves, splashing me with waves of calmness and relief.
You were my friend when I had no friends. You were the one thing that was always there for me. You were the one thing that always made me feel better.
But you were destroying me. For every visit you gave me, you took something from me that I may never have again. For every time we got together, you dulled me, duped me, and chained me to you. You told me to come to you when I needed you, but you never said that when I wanted to get away you wouldn't let me. You never said that you would haunt me and taunt me if ever I wanted to try it on my own. You never said that you would make my body shake and ache, play games with my mind, and bring me into depression if I ever walked away.
I fell for your lies, but now I see you for the truth. You are a friend, but not a friend. The toxicity of our relationship is too much for me to handle anymore. I want to go it alone. I want to be free from you. I'm tired of you telling me I'm not good enough to make it without you.
I'm tired of feeling like I lost a friend. You are an inanimate object. A ball and chain. Go away. Go away. Come back. Go away. I hate you. I love you. Come back. Go away.
Flurry...flurry. Whir.
Day 5: Strong and Weak
So, this morning I finally broke down and bought a pack. I swore I wasn't going to buy another pack, but I did.
Of suckers.
Guess I'm going to need a patch for that too.
Uttering the words "day 5" means that this is my second best attempt yet to quit smoking. It also means that, since I haven't had the patch on since Monday, that this is starting the 4th day without nicotine in my body. Which means that at this point, all the nicotine and the toxins should be officially swept out of my body (or mostly so) and that the physical addiction has been beaten.
Now, at this point, it becomes purely a mind game. The physical addiction is easy to beat. That's never been a huge problem for me. It's always been in my head. I've always psyched myself out of it. I've always allowed myself to crumble in a moment of weakness. And I'm not sure how long the mind battle will last. I suspect that it could last as long as a month or two, and that even for a couple of weeks that it will be rough.
I've been spending my time going through why I feel depression when I quit. I've spent the past two nights crying myself to sleep thinking about things I don't want to think about anymore. I've been writing like a banshee both by hand and on the computer. I keep imagining a life without cigarettes and the thought is both relief and fear at the same time. I feel strong and weak at the same time.
I imagine being able to run through the woods or along the street by the river without stopping to suck in air. I imagine being able to eat a meal at a restaraunt and not have to worry about wanting a cigarette immediately after. I imagine how my car is going to smell, once I scrub the absolute shit out of it to try and get the smell that is gagging me out of it. I imagine no longer having to hypocritically tell my kids how terrible smoking is for them while they are watching me take a drag. I imagine taking the money I save and putting it into savings and using it to fund a vacation every year. I imagine the reduction of the price in my insurance by signing the affidavit in 6 months. I imagine the steak dinner I told myself I was going to get myself if I made it until tonight. I imagine...I imagine...and I imagine.
And each day that dream gets a little stronger and my desire gets a little weaker. Each day I begin to believe that this just may be the time. This may be it. And that makes me giddy.
But each day my addiction reminds me that it's not going to go down easy. I'm not going to be able to just ignore it away. I am going to have to fight it each and every time or it's going to get inside my head as it's done before.
Right now, there is a little war going on inside of me. Strong and weak is how I feel. But I've always believed that our greatest weakness bring out our greatest strengths. I'm waiting for that strength to arrive.
Of suckers.
Guess I'm going to need a patch for that too.
Uttering the words "day 5" means that this is my second best attempt yet to quit smoking. It also means that, since I haven't had the patch on since Monday, that this is starting the 4th day without nicotine in my body. Which means that at this point, all the nicotine and the toxins should be officially swept out of my body (or mostly so) and that the physical addiction has been beaten.
Now, at this point, it becomes purely a mind game. The physical addiction is easy to beat. That's never been a huge problem for me. It's always been in my head. I've always psyched myself out of it. I've always allowed myself to crumble in a moment of weakness. And I'm not sure how long the mind battle will last. I suspect that it could last as long as a month or two, and that even for a couple of weeks that it will be rough.
I've been spending my time going through why I feel depression when I quit. I've spent the past two nights crying myself to sleep thinking about things I don't want to think about anymore. I've been writing like a banshee both by hand and on the computer. I keep imagining a life without cigarettes and the thought is both relief and fear at the same time. I feel strong and weak at the same time.
I imagine being able to run through the woods or along the street by the river without stopping to suck in air. I imagine being able to eat a meal at a restaraunt and not have to worry about wanting a cigarette immediately after. I imagine how my car is going to smell, once I scrub the absolute shit out of it to try and get the smell that is gagging me out of it. I imagine no longer having to hypocritically tell my kids how terrible smoking is for them while they are watching me take a drag. I imagine taking the money I save and putting it into savings and using it to fund a vacation every year. I imagine the reduction of the price in my insurance by signing the affidavit in 6 months. I imagine the steak dinner I told myself I was going to get myself if I made it until tonight. I imagine...I imagine...and I imagine.
And each day that dream gets a little stronger and my desire gets a little weaker. Each day I begin to believe that this just may be the time. This may be it. And that makes me giddy.
But each day my addiction reminds me that it's not going to go down easy. I'm not going to be able to just ignore it away. I am going to have to fight it each and every time or it's going to get inside my head as it's done before.
Right now, there is a little war going on inside of me. Strong and weak is how I feel. But I've always believed that our greatest weakness bring out our greatest strengths. I'm waiting for that strength to arrive.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Day 4: I'll give up tomorrow...
The mere fact that I can say "Hey, this is day 4 in an attempt to quit smoking" means that this is like my 3rd most successful attempt yet.
I left work at 7PM last evening. On my way home, I get a call and it's my son. He asked me if I wanted to go to Dennys with them, and I said sure. So long as I don't have other plans, I'll usually do whatever my kids want me to do when they call.
Eating dinner with the ex and the kids, however, does trigger the desire to have a cigarette. First of all, the kids act WAY different around her, and it becomes obvious that she doesn't give a flying fuck what they do when she has them. They kept getting out of their seat and running around the restaraunt and I was the one who kept yelling for them to sit down.
But for the most part, it was fine. My daughter saw my sucker in my mouth (which has been pretty much a fixture with me these past few days) and immediately came running up to me, gave me a giant hug, and decided she wanted a lick too. So I got to share my sucker with her and we got to swap germs.
The funniest thing that happened was when I told them bye and left, I got into my car and on the way home I was wrestling with the thought of stopping at the store and buying a pack of cigs. And as I passed the store, I actually thought to myself that it was like 8:30 and I only had a few hours before I went to bed, so I'll give up tomorrow.
I'll give up tomorrow.
LOL. That's funny, because it's usually "I'll quit smoking tomorrow/Monday/whenever." Maybe this represents a new way of thinking for me, I dunno. But I laughed about that for a little while and drove home.
The only other thing of note was that I was watching American Idol (I know, it's my guilty pleasure) last night and that redhead's rendition of "Alone" made me cry like a girl. I guess this shit has my emotions out of whack, because the thought of crying over something on American Idol is the most ridiculous bullshit I've ever heard.
I also recognize that it's either start smoking again or figure out why it causes me to be depressed when I quit and ways to deal with it. Which isn't that bad, considering I've battled depression a couple of other times before and have beat it. I guess this is the residual stuff that I couldn't feel before because the cigs were taking care of it.
When the suckers run out, I'm giving them up too. No more crutches. I use a crutch to get over a crutch, but now it's time to put some pressure down on that foot and see how it fares.
For the first time, though, I can see myself changing. I'm making changes here...huge changes. And I feel like I'm getting stronger. I know I start and stop and give up on stuff. Like the gym. that's been very start and stop. But each time it's a little easier to start. The new habits I'm trying to build are getting easier to start. I'm going to bed earlier and getting up at 5AM. I'm going to the gym/trying to run, I'm quitting smoking. These are big changes (to me at least) and have required me to face big changes in the way I think.
I think the effects of those changes will resonate throughout my life and I'll see myself in new territory. Perhaps this 2 year marathon of pain/agony/self-reflection is starting to pay off. Perhaps I'm starting to see the finish line. Perhaps, just perhaps, I'm gonna be ok.
There's hope for me after all. I'll give up tomorrow.
I left work at 7PM last evening. On my way home, I get a call and it's my son. He asked me if I wanted to go to Dennys with them, and I said sure. So long as I don't have other plans, I'll usually do whatever my kids want me to do when they call.
Eating dinner with the ex and the kids, however, does trigger the desire to have a cigarette. First of all, the kids act WAY different around her, and it becomes obvious that she doesn't give a flying fuck what they do when she has them. They kept getting out of their seat and running around the restaraunt and I was the one who kept yelling for them to sit down.
But for the most part, it was fine. My daughter saw my sucker in my mouth (which has been pretty much a fixture with me these past few days) and immediately came running up to me, gave me a giant hug, and decided she wanted a lick too. So I got to share my sucker with her and we got to swap germs.
The funniest thing that happened was when I told them bye and left, I got into my car and on the way home I was wrestling with the thought of stopping at the store and buying a pack of cigs. And as I passed the store, I actually thought to myself that it was like 8:30 and I only had a few hours before I went to bed, so I'll give up tomorrow.
I'll give up tomorrow.
LOL. That's funny, because it's usually "I'll quit smoking tomorrow/Monday/whenever." Maybe this represents a new way of thinking for me, I dunno. But I laughed about that for a little while and drove home.
The only other thing of note was that I was watching American Idol (I know, it's my guilty pleasure) last night and that redhead's rendition of "Alone" made me cry like a girl. I guess this shit has my emotions out of whack, because the thought of crying over something on American Idol is the most ridiculous bullshit I've ever heard.
I also recognize that it's either start smoking again or figure out why it causes me to be depressed when I quit and ways to deal with it. Which isn't that bad, considering I've battled depression a couple of other times before and have beat it. I guess this is the residual stuff that I couldn't feel before because the cigs were taking care of it.
When the suckers run out, I'm giving them up too. No more crutches. I use a crutch to get over a crutch, but now it's time to put some pressure down on that foot and see how it fares.
For the first time, though, I can see myself changing. I'm making changes here...huge changes. And I feel like I'm getting stronger. I know I start and stop and give up on stuff. Like the gym. that's been very start and stop. But each time it's a little easier to start. The new habits I'm trying to build are getting easier to start. I'm going to bed earlier and getting up at 5AM. I'm going to the gym/trying to run, I'm quitting smoking. These are big changes (to me at least) and have required me to face big changes in the way I think.
I think the effects of those changes will resonate throughout my life and I'll see myself in new territory. Perhaps this 2 year marathon of pain/agony/self-reflection is starting to pay off. Perhaps I'm starting to see the finish line. Perhaps, just perhaps, I'm gonna be ok.
There's hope for me after all. I'll give up tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Faltering
I feel my mind faltering. It's telling me that I want a pack of cigarettes. It's telling me I need a pack of cigarettes. It's telling me that I can smoke only one. I can control this habit. I can control it. Try those new cigarettes! The ones without no additives (American Spirits)! Don't you want to taste them?
It's like a jackhammer tripping away at my mind. I am weak and am getting weaker and my mind is a flurry and I can't concentrate and my mouth is sore from all these suckers. And I can smell again! My sense of smell is returning ever so slightly. I'm smelling the smoke on others again. I smelt a cigarette from like a 100 yards away. I smell lunches.
My breathing seems clearer. I'm remembering what I've been through the past two days and I don't want to face that again. I've done that far too many times to turn around now. Do I want to go through this again? And hell, the whole reason I did this was for lent, and why give up on the first damn day? lol
This is hard. This is very very hard.
It's like a jackhammer tripping away at my mind. I am weak and am getting weaker and my mind is a flurry and I can't concentrate and my mouth is sore from all these suckers. And I can smell again! My sense of smell is returning ever so slightly. I'm smelling the smoke on others again. I smelt a cigarette from like a 100 yards away. I smell lunches.
My breathing seems clearer. I'm remembering what I've been through the past two days and I don't want to face that again. I've done that far too many times to turn around now. Do I want to go through this again? And hell, the whole reason I did this was for lent, and why give up on the first damn day? lol
This is hard. This is very very hard.
Cigarettes Anonymous
Heh, sorry this has overtaken my blog lately but the only way I know how to work through negative feelings right now is to write through them. It's my only line of defense for dealing with that kind of stuff, so here goes.
I think it's important that somebody quitting a habit make sure they understand WHY they are quitting so that they can quit for good. It makes no viable sense to me to quit smoking only to pick it up a year or two later. Maybe someday I'll understand how that happens, but for right now I think it happens when people:
1. Know they NEED to quit smoking
2. Use willpower or medication or aids to actually QUIT smoking
But never actually look at WHY they were smoking in the first place. Why they started. Why they continued. So I want to look at that here. Actually, I'm going to take the 12 steps from AA and cater them toward my habit and see what I come up with. Another writing exercise to commence.
The 12 Steps of AA
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
--Ok, I can do that much. I mean the fact that I can barely make it 2 days without a cigarette is proof enough that this addiction has rendered me powerless. I'm not even going to pretend I can control this habit. It controls me. It's always controlled me. From the moment I inhaled for the first time until now...a string of 9 long years I've been chained to a pack of cigarettes in some way. But I always found money for them, even at the expense of my own family's needs. Powerless? You bet I am powerless to this.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
--I believe that a power greater than just willpower is needed. Willpower will only last so long. A day, a month, a year even. Willpower is what people who quit and then pick it back up and then quit again use. I think to truly overcome an addiction we have to admit the full affects of that addiction, have a strong desire to quit, and have a strong desire to mend up the reasons why we do it in the first place. I believe in a power greater than myself, but it's not "God" as most would know him. I believe it's the power and drive and determination to be better in a world full of shit and pain and misery. It's a "spirit" so to speak that exists in each and every one of us. I call it God, of course, but not an angry OT God.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
--Sorry, but I think this one is a cop out. It's way too easy to say "Here God, I made a mess of my life come and fix me." I got myself into my own mess and I'll get myself out of it. Even if I DO believe in God I believe that he wants me to take responsibility for my actions.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
Here's the good stuff. Moral inventory....why did I start smoking in the first place? Why did I continue when I knew it would hook me and be difficult to quit? And why am I still wanting to do it right now?
I started smoking out of curiosity. I had just turned 18 and it was legal for me to buy them and I had a brother who smoked and a mother who smoked and I was curious to see what the big deal was. I bought a pack of cigs, smoked one or two and thought they tasted ok, but I never inhaled. So I threw the rest of them away. THen I had a friend who used to smoke swisher sweet cigars, so I was constantly bumming one off of him. I loved the taste. And when he told me I needed to start inhaling, I finally understood why people smoked. Walking around with a buzz, almost a headache. Floating on cloud 9 after that first pack seriously altered my state. I bought another pack of cigarettes, Marlboro Reds, and boom...started inhaling and realized how much better it was.
Why did I continue? My parents discovered that I was smoking not very long after that. I hid it from everybody (because at the time I was still fighting to get away from church). I was still labeled as a "goody goody" and I so desperately wanted to drop that image. Smoking was a way to do that. Smoking was a way for me to stand up to my parents and tell them that this was my life and that I was going to do what I wanted to do. Smoking was a way for me to grow up....a crutch for me to find my own independence.
Then it didn't take long for it to become a necessity. In a marriage that was crap, it became a way to relieve tension, to avoid my ex-wife and the arguements, and to just do something relaxing on my own. I can't remember how many arguements I walked away from to go smoke, and how angry that used to make her. I put smoking before her. I put smoking before everything. It was a constant chain of...when am I going to be able to get my next cigarette? How lame is that...to be afraid of a long trip or drive in a car you can't smoke in. Or a meeting or class that goes on forever....Everything becomes about grabbing that next smoke...that next cig. And it's relief. Relief from the unhappiness of life. Relief from the hard stuff. A way to avoid. A way to remove. A way to take.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
I am sorry, A, for walking away from our arguements to smoke a cig.
I am sorry, J&A, for smoking while you were in the car.
I am sorry, J&A, for smoking in my apartment and putting your health at risk.
But most of all, I apologize to myself for fighting to keep a habit that has been destroying me since I have started it. I apologize to myself for not being strong enough to do this sooner. I apologize to myself for not taking care of my body, for damaging my lungs to the point where I can't hardly walk without getting out of breath anymore, for damaging my teeth. And I apologize to anybody who has unwittingly ever had to inhale my smoke.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
Another cop out. "God rescue me" syndrome. Fuck that. I can pray for strength, I can pray for guidance and help in rough moments, but it's ME that has the task of changing these characteristics. If God is there, he is merely there as a guide and helper. He's not there to rescue us from our bad decisions. He wants us to do it on our own. And I will do that. I am ready to stop using this crutch to deal with situations. I'm ready to find new ways to cope with stress and work. I'm ready to be free from the chains again.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
Another cop out. I'm derailing this train. Give me strength to not put the train back on the tracks. That's all I ask. In my weakest moments, let me be my strongest. In the pangs of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, let me find acceptance with a swiftness, and let me understand the true ramifications and how rich my life will be without them. Let me believe that I am strong enough to make it. That by holding on, just holding on, for another minute, another second, that this too will pass in time. That's all I ask. I won't pretend to seek anything more than that.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
My ex-wife, my kids, anybody who's had to breathe in my smoke (which usually wasn't many because for the most part I smoked outside)...my ammends will be to not do it anymore.
To myself, the one who is most damaged by this, I pledge to be a strong as I can, to get through this, and to heal. To exercise and start running and know what it's like to breath fresh air again. To stop wasting money on a habit that is killing my health.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Beyond this, it's a day by day process. I've looked at why I started, why I continued, and why it's so hard to walk away. And the habit is mostly just destructive. It's done me no good.
So that's my admission...that's my delving into the addiction. I continue to dig. I continue to scratch at my skin as the nicotine leaves my body. I continue to fight the fog of depression. But I remember why I am doing this. And in those tough moments I know all I gotta do is just not give in. That's it. Just exist until it passes. Just exist until it passes. And reach forward for the moment when I accept that I am done with smoking for good, and it no longer is a process. It's a nothing. It's life.
I am J, and I am a non-smoker. I am J, and I am a nonsmoker. I am J, and I am a nonsmoker.
Lord, help me believe that.
I think it's important that somebody quitting a habit make sure they understand WHY they are quitting so that they can quit for good. It makes no viable sense to me to quit smoking only to pick it up a year or two later. Maybe someday I'll understand how that happens, but for right now I think it happens when people:
1. Know they NEED to quit smoking
2. Use willpower or medication or aids to actually QUIT smoking
But never actually look at WHY they were smoking in the first place. Why they started. Why they continued. So I want to look at that here. Actually, I'm going to take the 12 steps from AA and cater them toward my habit and see what I come up with. Another writing exercise to commence.
The 12 Steps of AA
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
--Ok, I can do that much. I mean the fact that I can barely make it 2 days without a cigarette is proof enough that this addiction has rendered me powerless. I'm not even going to pretend I can control this habit. It controls me. It's always controlled me. From the moment I inhaled for the first time until now...a string of 9 long years I've been chained to a pack of cigarettes in some way. But I always found money for them, even at the expense of my own family's needs. Powerless? You bet I am powerless to this.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
--I believe that a power greater than just willpower is needed. Willpower will only last so long. A day, a month, a year even. Willpower is what people who quit and then pick it back up and then quit again use. I think to truly overcome an addiction we have to admit the full affects of that addiction, have a strong desire to quit, and have a strong desire to mend up the reasons why we do it in the first place. I believe in a power greater than myself, but it's not "God" as most would know him. I believe it's the power and drive and determination to be better in a world full of shit and pain and misery. It's a "spirit" so to speak that exists in each and every one of us. I call it God, of course, but not an angry OT God.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
--Sorry, but I think this one is a cop out. It's way too easy to say "Here God, I made a mess of my life come and fix me." I got myself into my own mess and I'll get myself out of it. Even if I DO believe in God I believe that he wants me to take responsibility for my actions.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
Here's the good stuff. Moral inventory....why did I start smoking in the first place? Why did I continue when I knew it would hook me and be difficult to quit? And why am I still wanting to do it right now?
I started smoking out of curiosity. I had just turned 18 and it was legal for me to buy them and I had a brother who smoked and a mother who smoked and I was curious to see what the big deal was. I bought a pack of cigs, smoked one or two and thought they tasted ok, but I never inhaled. So I threw the rest of them away. THen I had a friend who used to smoke swisher sweet cigars, so I was constantly bumming one off of him. I loved the taste. And when he told me I needed to start inhaling, I finally understood why people smoked. Walking around with a buzz, almost a headache. Floating on cloud 9 after that first pack seriously altered my state. I bought another pack of cigarettes, Marlboro Reds, and boom...started inhaling and realized how much better it was.
Why did I continue? My parents discovered that I was smoking not very long after that. I hid it from everybody (because at the time I was still fighting to get away from church). I was still labeled as a "goody goody" and I so desperately wanted to drop that image. Smoking was a way to do that. Smoking was a way for me to stand up to my parents and tell them that this was my life and that I was going to do what I wanted to do. Smoking was a way for me to grow up....a crutch for me to find my own independence.
Then it didn't take long for it to become a necessity. In a marriage that was crap, it became a way to relieve tension, to avoid my ex-wife and the arguements, and to just do something relaxing on my own. I can't remember how many arguements I walked away from to go smoke, and how angry that used to make her. I put smoking before her. I put smoking before everything. It was a constant chain of...when am I going to be able to get my next cigarette? How lame is that...to be afraid of a long trip or drive in a car you can't smoke in. Or a meeting or class that goes on forever....Everything becomes about grabbing that next smoke...that next cig. And it's relief. Relief from the unhappiness of life. Relief from the hard stuff. A way to avoid. A way to remove. A way to take.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
I am sorry, A, for walking away from our arguements to smoke a cig.
I am sorry, J&A, for smoking while you were in the car.
I am sorry, J&A, for smoking in my apartment and putting your health at risk.
But most of all, I apologize to myself for fighting to keep a habit that has been destroying me since I have started it. I apologize to myself for not being strong enough to do this sooner. I apologize to myself for not taking care of my body, for damaging my lungs to the point where I can't hardly walk without getting out of breath anymore, for damaging my teeth. And I apologize to anybody who has unwittingly ever had to inhale my smoke.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
Another cop out. "God rescue me" syndrome. Fuck that. I can pray for strength, I can pray for guidance and help in rough moments, but it's ME that has the task of changing these characteristics. If God is there, he is merely there as a guide and helper. He's not there to rescue us from our bad decisions. He wants us to do it on our own. And I will do that. I am ready to stop using this crutch to deal with situations. I'm ready to find new ways to cope with stress and work. I'm ready to be free from the chains again.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
Another cop out. I'm derailing this train. Give me strength to not put the train back on the tracks. That's all I ask. In my weakest moments, let me be my strongest. In the pangs of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, let me find acceptance with a swiftness, and let me understand the true ramifications and how rich my life will be without them. Let me believe that I am strong enough to make it. That by holding on, just holding on, for another minute, another second, that this too will pass in time. That's all I ask. I won't pretend to seek anything more than that.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
My ex-wife, my kids, anybody who's had to breathe in my smoke (which usually wasn't many because for the most part I smoked outside)...my ammends will be to not do it anymore.
To myself, the one who is most damaged by this, I pledge to be a strong as I can, to get through this, and to heal. To exercise and start running and know what it's like to breath fresh air again. To stop wasting money on a habit that is killing my health.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Beyond this, it's a day by day process. I've looked at why I started, why I continued, and why it's so hard to walk away. And the habit is mostly just destructive. It's done me no good.
So that's my admission...that's my delving into the addiction. I continue to dig. I continue to scratch at my skin as the nicotine leaves my body. I continue to fight the fog of depression. But I remember why I am doing this. And in those tough moments I know all I gotta do is just not give in. That's it. Just exist until it passes. Just exist until it passes. And reach forward for the moment when I accept that I am done with smoking for good, and it no longer is a process. It's a nothing. It's life.
I am J, and I am a non-smoker. I am J, and I am a nonsmoker. I am J, and I am a nonsmoker.
Lord, help me believe that.
Day 3: Depression
Hello Depression, my old friend.
Lawdy, I'm on day 3 without a cig and that's the first time I can say that for a long time. So I guess that makes this one of my more serious attempts. I won't celebrate until I reach day 7 (that's my record thus far) and beyond, but I am starting to feel some momentum pick up. I'm feeling a little strength to this resolve, even if it's not much. The first two days are always ricketty and unsure. By the time day 3 rolls around, though, you know I'm serious about this attempt.
But along with day 3 (or rather the last part of day 2 actually), comes good old depression. It hit me last night in bed, actually. A deep cut in an old wound, grunging up feelings that I had laid to rest a long time ago. The impending doom, clouding over my head. It was not a good feeling. I woke up this morning in a somewhat better state, but now it's cloudy head time. Now it's impending WOE IS ME time.
I think I cycle through the stages of grief when I quit smoking.
At first it's denial...haha, I've been struggling with this? Lord this'll be EASY. I'm so disgusted with this habit.
Then anger...hey, wait a minute here. I didn't think you were serious! I hate the world! Fuck all y'all!
Then bargaining....hey, ok, look. Just have one. Just smoke a cigar man, a cigar isn't a habit. You can do that once in a while. Just cut back. That's all you need to do is cut back to like a half pack a day like when you first started. You can control this habit. You can!
Then depression....Ok man, seriously, this has gone on long enough. Give me a cigarette or I am going to make you wanna jump off a damn bridge. No more Mr. Nice Guy here, you and I go back a long ways...9 years....don't fuck with me. I'm your oldest most closest friend! Your crutch! How will you live without me??? How will you make it??? You won't! You won't. You'll be back you fucker. Oh yeah, you'll be back once I tweak up this UNENDING PAIN AND CLOUD OF DEPRESSION on your ass.
Where are you acceptance? Are you out there? I call on you now. Maybe that's like day 8 or 9? Fuck....
Lawdy, I'm on day 3 without a cig and that's the first time I can say that for a long time. So I guess that makes this one of my more serious attempts. I won't celebrate until I reach day 7 (that's my record thus far) and beyond, but I am starting to feel some momentum pick up. I'm feeling a little strength to this resolve, even if it's not much. The first two days are always ricketty and unsure. By the time day 3 rolls around, though, you know I'm serious about this attempt.
But along with day 3 (or rather the last part of day 2 actually), comes good old depression. It hit me last night in bed, actually. A deep cut in an old wound, grunging up feelings that I had laid to rest a long time ago. The impending doom, clouding over my head. It was not a good feeling. I woke up this morning in a somewhat better state, but now it's cloudy head time. Now it's impending WOE IS ME time.
I think I cycle through the stages of grief when I quit smoking.
At first it's denial...haha, I've been struggling with this? Lord this'll be EASY. I'm so disgusted with this habit.
Then anger...hey, wait a minute here. I didn't think you were serious! I hate the world! Fuck all y'all!
Then bargaining....hey, ok, look. Just have one. Just smoke a cigar man, a cigar isn't a habit. You can do that once in a while. Just cut back. That's all you need to do is cut back to like a half pack a day like when you first started. You can control this habit. You can!
Then depression....Ok man, seriously, this has gone on long enough. Give me a cigarette or I am going to make you wanna jump off a damn bridge. No more Mr. Nice Guy here, you and I go back a long ways...9 years....don't fuck with me. I'm your oldest most closest friend! Your crutch! How will you live without me??? How will you make it??? You won't! You won't. You'll be back you fucker. Oh yeah, you'll be back once I tweak up this UNENDING PAIN AND CLOUD OF DEPRESSION on your ass.
Where are you acceptance? Are you out there? I call on you now. Maybe that's like day 8 or 9? Fuck....
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Day 2 Jitters
Wow, like clockwork here are the excuses running in my mind.
A lack of nicotine is suddenly sending off bells and whistles. A lack of habit is saying "WTF are you doing to me?"
Never fails on the 2nd day, right about noon that this happens. Every single time. And every single time I give in to it.
So what are some of the things my mind tells me? It tells me that I'll never be able to smoke a cigarette again. And that depresses me. That frustrates me. My little crutch is gone. I can't run and grab a smoke when I am angry??? I have to find a new way to cope with nerves and stress? How will I do that? How will I ease these nerves. My skin is itching..this is not good.
And these fucking suckers SUCK. Ok, I'm tired of the damned suckers. I'm almost through the bag I bought yesterday.
But I can't believe the way my mind works when I try to quit. It's so crazy that my mind keeps telling me all these lies to get me to grab a cigarette. But in the back of my head, getting squeezed away by these lies, is the memory of how disgusting my last one was and how disgusting my first one would be. The memory of how I am doing this so that I can breathe again. So that my teeth don't permanently stain yellow. So that I can run and job and not get winded. I want to replace cigarettes with an addiction to running.
Here come the excuses...the itch. Here come 50,000 reasons why I need to go buy a pack of cigarettes. My mind was ok for eeking out a day without a cigarette. Now the addiction is wondering what the hell is up. What the heck are you doing buddy? It's been 36 hours since you had a cigarette.
I'll tell you what, I'll just flood your mind....I'll hammer you to the point of desperation. You'll pick one up. I know you will. Because you are weak. Because you've never truly beaten me. You've never truly beaten me.
Gah....
A lack of nicotine is suddenly sending off bells and whistles. A lack of habit is saying "WTF are you doing to me?"
Never fails on the 2nd day, right about noon that this happens. Every single time. And every single time I give in to it.
So what are some of the things my mind tells me? It tells me that I'll never be able to smoke a cigarette again. And that depresses me. That frustrates me. My little crutch is gone. I can't run and grab a smoke when I am angry??? I have to find a new way to cope with nerves and stress? How will I do that? How will I ease these nerves. My skin is itching..this is not good.
And these fucking suckers SUCK. Ok, I'm tired of the damned suckers. I'm almost through the bag I bought yesterday.
But I can't believe the way my mind works when I try to quit. It's so crazy that my mind keeps telling me all these lies to get me to grab a cigarette. But in the back of my head, getting squeezed away by these lies, is the memory of how disgusting my last one was and how disgusting my first one would be. The memory of how I am doing this so that I can breathe again. So that my teeth don't permanently stain yellow. So that I can run and job and not get winded. I want to replace cigarettes with an addiction to running.
Here come the excuses...the itch. Here come 50,000 reasons why I need to go buy a pack of cigarettes. My mind was ok for eeking out a day without a cigarette. Now the addiction is wondering what the hell is up. What the heck are you doing buddy? It's been 36 hours since you had a cigarette.
I'll tell you what, I'll just flood your mind....I'll hammer you to the point of desperation. You'll pick one up. I know you will. Because you are weak. Because you've never truly beaten me. You've never truly beaten me.
Gah....
Off to see the Wizard
I walk inside and immediately the smell of chlorine hits my face. It's been a while since I've been here and I've missed it. I walk down the corridor by the pool, make a left turn and go up the steps.
I hit the men's bathroom and shrug off my coat and hat and put them up on the hook. I feel excited. I know I've been dragging ass lately, but I know that when I get up there and start running I am going to feel better.
I run the patch on my arm and I curse lent. My tongue is a bit sore and my teeth feel grimey from all the suckers. I experience a cacaphony of stuff right there in the bathroom. I pull up my pants and I'm on my way up. To the top room. I open the door and immediately things are alive.
It's like down there it's dim and the lights are week and it's relaxing. The chlorine in the water and the heat from the spa creates a lovely warm atmosphere as you come through the door.
But up here it's bright and loud. People bustle about their business, lifting weights, riding the bikes, running the treadmill.
I look around tonight and it's alive. Surprising considering I'm there an hour and a half before they close. I would think at this moment people would be scarce, but there's more people here tonight than I've seen in a while.
I step up, unwind my mp3 player, and push the button. I think to myself that I'd much rather be outside doing this, but it's 10 degrees and snow is flying outside. Perhaps one day I won't let that stop me, but not today. Today I am trying to restart a habit and quit one at the same time and I need to coddle myself as much as I can.
I'm walking. I go nowhere. I'm walking. I go nowhere. I'm walking. I go nowhere.
Fuck.
That's what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm supposed to be going nowhere. That's the point. I'm looking at the wall and glancing up at the TV every once in a while. Some gay ass girly bullshit is on the TV. I raise the volume on my mp3 player.
10 minutes. I crank up the speed and crank up the music. I am running. I feel my legs underneath me and they feel great. I'm looking straight into a wall with some posters on it, but my mind has me out running in the woods or in a field; I can almost smell the brush and the leaves and cool fall air.
12.5 minutes. I stop running. I'm surprised that I haven't lost any progress in the past couple of months. I haven't done this for a while, but this is pretty much where I was at the last time I was here. A quarter of a mile without stopping. For a heavy smoker with shit for lungs, that's not too shabby. One day it will be a mile though. Then 5 miles. I think about that thought with an air of giddiness. Something about running calms me. It soothes me. I have no idea why, but it does. I wish I had discovered that sooner. I could be out running through the trails right now. I might never have picked up that first cigarette if I had know that underneath it all was the heart of a runner.
I curse the patch on my arm.
20 minutes. I'm running again. I imagine this time that I'm running through the amazon and that I am a jewel thief and I have just stolen the Queen's diamonds. I imagine that I am shooting behind me and the cops are on my tail, but I don't care. I have the diamonds for now and that's all that matters. That's all that matters.
25 minutes. I change the elevation and suddenly I get the illusion that I am walking uphill. Oh goody.
30 minutes. I'm running again. This time I imagine that I am a circus midget and I am being chased by a herd of buffalo. I smile. I curse the patch on my arm. I glance at the faggy show on TV and shake my head. My legs are like steel pillars. I feel the heat and my feet are starting to show me why you don't take months off from doing this. A dull ache roars through my foot after 2 more minutes of running and I am forced to slow down.
35 minutes. My hand swings into the emergency stop switch (although I don't know how I pulled that off considering where it's located). I am jarred to stop and I look around goofily, hoping nobody saw that. They didn't. I put the switch back on and hit start. I just lost all the data from the first part of my running. Great. Ah well.
39 minutes. I'm running again and this time I can feel the burn in my legs. And it's not a good burn. It's the struggle to keep my legs moving burn. I eek out 2 minutes and realize that it's time to wind this session down.
42 minutes I put the elevation up again. 43 minutes it's as high as it can go. 44 minutes it's flat again. 45 minutes I slow down considerably and begin the process of cooling down. I wipe my brow...it's soaked with sweat as is my shirt. I feel good. My legs are tired and I little bit like lead. I realize that I took it right up to my limit and maybe a little further than I should have on my first day back, but I feel good. The music in my ears tells me not to be afraid. I glance at the TV and cringe. There's Miley Cyrus. Yipee Ki-Yah.
The music stops. I stop. I wipe off the treadmill and walk over to another room, where I do 20 situps with the cruncher thing (that's what I call it, the "cruncher thing" because I have no fucking clue what any of these machines are called and I really don't care. All I know is that this machine helps you do a smooth sit up without craning your neck. I envision my abs of steel. I laugh at the thought.
I wipe of the cruncher and I walk out. I wave bye to Nancy as I go past and open the door. I walk down the step into the warm pool room. If I had more time I'd take a few laps around the pool. But alas, they will be closing in a half an hour and I don't want to rush with that.
I grab my coat off the hook and throw it on the bunch behind the sink. I take out some paper towels and wipe the sweat off my head. I feel good. My lungs are burning, but I'm taking them back. I'm taking them back. I'm taking them the fuck back.
It's a good day. A new day. And I feel good. I feel good.
I hit the men's bathroom and shrug off my coat and hat and put them up on the hook. I feel excited. I know I've been dragging ass lately, but I know that when I get up there and start running I am going to feel better.
I run the patch on my arm and I curse lent. My tongue is a bit sore and my teeth feel grimey from all the suckers. I experience a cacaphony of stuff right there in the bathroom. I pull up my pants and I'm on my way up. To the top room. I open the door and immediately things are alive.
It's like down there it's dim and the lights are week and it's relaxing. The chlorine in the water and the heat from the spa creates a lovely warm atmosphere as you come through the door.
But up here it's bright and loud. People bustle about their business, lifting weights, riding the bikes, running the treadmill.
I look around tonight and it's alive. Surprising considering I'm there an hour and a half before they close. I would think at this moment people would be scarce, but there's more people here tonight than I've seen in a while.
I step up, unwind my mp3 player, and push the button. I think to myself that I'd much rather be outside doing this, but it's 10 degrees and snow is flying outside. Perhaps one day I won't let that stop me, but not today. Today I am trying to restart a habit and quit one at the same time and I need to coddle myself as much as I can.
I'm walking. I go nowhere. I'm walking. I go nowhere. I'm walking. I go nowhere.
Fuck.
That's what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm supposed to be going nowhere. That's the point. I'm looking at the wall and glancing up at the TV every once in a while. Some gay ass girly bullshit is on the TV. I raise the volume on my mp3 player.
10 minutes. I crank up the speed and crank up the music. I am running. I feel my legs underneath me and they feel great. I'm looking straight into a wall with some posters on it, but my mind has me out running in the woods or in a field; I can almost smell the brush and the leaves and cool fall air.
12.5 minutes. I stop running. I'm surprised that I haven't lost any progress in the past couple of months. I haven't done this for a while, but this is pretty much where I was at the last time I was here. A quarter of a mile without stopping. For a heavy smoker with shit for lungs, that's not too shabby. One day it will be a mile though. Then 5 miles. I think about that thought with an air of giddiness. Something about running calms me. It soothes me. I have no idea why, but it does. I wish I had discovered that sooner. I could be out running through the trails right now. I might never have picked up that first cigarette if I had know that underneath it all was the heart of a runner.
I curse the patch on my arm.
20 minutes. I'm running again. I imagine this time that I'm running through the amazon and that I am a jewel thief and I have just stolen the Queen's diamonds. I imagine that I am shooting behind me and the cops are on my tail, but I don't care. I have the diamonds for now and that's all that matters. That's all that matters.
25 minutes. I change the elevation and suddenly I get the illusion that I am walking uphill. Oh goody.
30 minutes. I'm running again. This time I imagine that I am a circus midget and I am being chased by a herd of buffalo. I smile. I curse the patch on my arm. I glance at the faggy show on TV and shake my head. My legs are like steel pillars. I feel the heat and my feet are starting to show me why you don't take months off from doing this. A dull ache roars through my foot after 2 more minutes of running and I am forced to slow down.
35 minutes. My hand swings into the emergency stop switch (although I don't know how I pulled that off considering where it's located). I am jarred to stop and I look around goofily, hoping nobody saw that. They didn't. I put the switch back on and hit start. I just lost all the data from the first part of my running. Great. Ah well.
39 minutes. I'm running again and this time I can feel the burn in my legs. And it's not a good burn. It's the struggle to keep my legs moving burn. I eek out 2 minutes and realize that it's time to wind this session down.
42 minutes I put the elevation up again. 43 minutes it's as high as it can go. 44 minutes it's flat again. 45 minutes I slow down considerably and begin the process of cooling down. I wipe my brow...it's soaked with sweat as is my shirt. I feel good. My legs are tired and I little bit like lead. I realize that I took it right up to my limit and maybe a little further than I should have on my first day back, but I feel good. The music in my ears tells me not to be afraid. I glance at the TV and cringe. There's Miley Cyrus. Yipee Ki-Yah.
The music stops. I stop. I wipe off the treadmill and walk over to another room, where I do 20 situps with the cruncher thing (that's what I call it, the "cruncher thing" because I have no fucking clue what any of these machines are called and I really don't care. All I know is that this machine helps you do a smooth sit up without craning your neck. I envision my abs of steel. I laugh at the thought.
I wipe of the cruncher and I walk out. I wave bye to Nancy as I go past and open the door. I walk down the step into the warm pool room. If I had more time I'd take a few laps around the pool. But alas, they will be closing in a half an hour and I don't want to rush with that.
I grab my coat off the hook and throw it on the bunch behind the sink. I take out some paper towels and wipe the sweat off my head. I feel good. My lungs are burning, but I'm taking them back. I'm taking them back. I'm taking them the fuck back.
It's a good day. A new day. And I feel good. I feel good.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Lent Grinch
So, I'd like to invite you into my own little personal hell. Pull up a chair and have a seat.
The wonderful season of lent is about to begin. While I don't buy into the bullshit that it represents, I DO kind of like the concept behind lent...sacrificing something for a period of 40 days and 40 nights. Building inner strength by doing without and all that jazz. I really don't know much beyond that (and what I learned from that movie by the same name lol). All I know is that it starts on Ash Wednesday and runs through easter, and it's a period of 40 days in which you sacrifice something of value that you do or partake in during that time to recognize what Christ went through in the desert.
Beyond that I am clueless.
I didn't even know when it was coming this year until one day I'm standing outside smoking a cig at work and a coworker was smoking with me and told me that she was going to give up cigs for lent. And like a little worm that detail started gnawing on me and has been gnawing on me for a week now.
Well, stupid me, I thought it started today (and not Wednesday). And I decided that I was going to do the same thing as my coworker. Put on the patch and go to town. Give it up for 40 days and then boom I got the home stretch laid out before me to put this disgusting ass habit behind me for good. To be able to breathe again, so that I can go to the gym and actually make progress with my running. To not have to take prilosec OTC everyday for heartburn that rips me apart if I don't take it (that smoking is no doubt the catalyst for). To lower my insurance bill considerably. To not be chained to shelling out $35 per paycheck twice a month for something I get no positive value from.
It seems my sacrifice for the sake of Christ's suffering (OH GLORY HALLELUJAH!) was a win/win. I get to quit my bane habit, Christ gets a little something out of me for a change. Rite? Rite?
Yeah, I already said I thought it started today, so I have a patch on my arm. It actually starts Wednesday, so it looks like it's going to be 42 days for me. That's immaterial anyway. The idea is to quit smoking for good. The 40 days shit is just something to psyche my mind out, but please don't tell it. I don't think it could handle it at this moment.
In times past, in one of the other 11ty billion attempts I've made at quitting, when I put the patch on it has completely killed the physical cravings for me to where all I had to do was focus on the habit. And the times that I would rip the patch off my arm and fire one up have been times that I purely missed the habit of smoking, not the nicotine itself.
Today, however, I feel as if the patch is a useless fucking piece of crap that I have tacked to my shoulder. Today I feel as if I could smoke 80 cigarettes all at once. Just cram my mouth full, light a fire with a torch and just smoke myself into some sort of ridiculous oblivion. It is not a good start.
And I've already have like 5 things happen to me today to trigger INTENSE FUCKING CRAVINGS. I am in nicotine-less hell here and it's not going good. At all. This is the worst fucking attempt ever. Can you tell by my language? I've been trying to scale back my use of "fuck" lately so that when I do say it it had has more meaning behind it than just a pause in my conversation to help me think of more stuff. But fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
Lent has caused me to increase my use of foul language. Praise Jesus and pass the ham.
On a more positive note, however, I usually supplement the patch with pretzel rods. Today, I took a different route and bought me a giant honkin' bag of suckers. And I am relishing their sweet sugary goodness. I scoff at my slightly yellowing teeth by deciding to go ahead and rot them all the way out.
But they are great suckers. And they help way more than pretzels. I can't wait to get in the car and eat one. And if my kids lay a finger on them, I'll have to get violent.
So here I am, the lent Grinch. Ho hum and pass me another sucker.
The wonderful season of lent is about to begin. While I don't buy into the bullshit that it represents, I DO kind of like the concept behind lent...sacrificing something for a period of 40 days and 40 nights. Building inner strength by doing without and all that jazz. I really don't know much beyond that (and what I learned from that movie by the same name lol). All I know is that it starts on Ash Wednesday and runs through easter, and it's a period of 40 days in which you sacrifice something of value that you do or partake in during that time to recognize what Christ went through in the desert.
Beyond that I am clueless.
I didn't even know when it was coming this year until one day I'm standing outside smoking a cig at work and a coworker was smoking with me and told me that she was going to give up cigs for lent. And like a little worm that detail started gnawing on me and has been gnawing on me for a week now.
Well, stupid me, I thought it started today (and not Wednesday). And I decided that I was going to do the same thing as my coworker. Put on the patch and go to town. Give it up for 40 days and then boom I got the home stretch laid out before me to put this disgusting ass habit behind me for good. To be able to breathe again, so that I can go to the gym and actually make progress with my running. To not have to take prilosec OTC everyday for heartburn that rips me apart if I don't take it (that smoking is no doubt the catalyst for). To lower my insurance bill considerably. To not be chained to shelling out $35 per paycheck twice a month for something I get no positive value from.
It seems my sacrifice for the sake of Christ's suffering (OH GLORY HALLELUJAH!) was a win/win. I get to quit my bane habit, Christ gets a little something out of me for a change. Rite? Rite?
Yeah, I already said I thought it started today, so I have a patch on my arm. It actually starts Wednesday, so it looks like it's going to be 42 days for me. That's immaterial anyway. The idea is to quit smoking for good. The 40 days shit is just something to psyche my mind out, but please don't tell it. I don't think it could handle it at this moment.
In times past, in one of the other 11ty billion attempts I've made at quitting, when I put the patch on it has completely killed the physical cravings for me to where all I had to do was focus on the habit. And the times that I would rip the patch off my arm and fire one up have been times that I purely missed the habit of smoking, not the nicotine itself.
Today, however, I feel as if the patch is a useless fucking piece of crap that I have tacked to my shoulder. Today I feel as if I could smoke 80 cigarettes all at once. Just cram my mouth full, light a fire with a torch and just smoke myself into some sort of ridiculous oblivion. It is not a good start.
And I've already have like 5 things happen to me today to trigger INTENSE FUCKING CRAVINGS. I am in nicotine-less hell here and it's not going good. At all. This is the worst fucking attempt ever. Can you tell by my language? I've been trying to scale back my use of "fuck" lately so that when I do say it it had has more meaning behind it than just a pause in my conversation to help me think of more stuff. But fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
Lent has caused me to increase my use of foul language. Praise Jesus and pass the ham.
On a more positive note, however, I usually supplement the patch with pretzel rods. Today, I took a different route and bought me a giant honkin' bag of suckers. And I am relishing their sweet sugary goodness. I scoff at my slightly yellowing teeth by deciding to go ahead and rot them all the way out.
But they are great suckers. And they help way more than pretzels. I can't wait to get in the car and eat one. And if my kids lay a finger on them, I'll have to get violent.
So here I am, the lent Grinch. Ho hum and pass me another sucker.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The first real lie I've told my kids...
My son, J: What are you making daddy?
Me: I'm making pasta. You gonna eat some when I am done?
J: Yeah.
Me: Go play your game. I'll call you when it's ready.
*some time passes*
Me: Hey, it's ready. Come eat guys.
J: (sitting at table) Yum. This is good daddy.
Me: Hell yeah it's good. It's one of my favorite foods.
J: It's your favorite food?
Me: No, pizza is my favorite food. But this is one of my favorites.
J: (takes a bite) I love you, daddy.
Me: lol I love you too bud.
J: Do you love A (my daughter)?
Me: Of course. I love you both more than anything and anybody else in the world.
J: (smiles) Do you love mommy?
Me: (stutters and stammers and pauses for minute).... ....
J: Do you love mommy?
Me: Uh, yeah.
How the hell do you answer a question like that?
Me: I'm making pasta. You gonna eat some when I am done?
J: Yeah.
Me: Go play your game. I'll call you when it's ready.
*some time passes*
Me: Hey, it's ready. Come eat guys.
J: (sitting at table) Yum. This is good daddy.
Me: Hell yeah it's good. It's one of my favorite foods.
J: It's your favorite food?
Me: No, pizza is my favorite food. But this is one of my favorites.
J: (takes a bite) I love you, daddy.
Me: lol I love you too bud.
J: Do you love A (my daughter)?
Me: Of course. I love you both more than anything and anybody else in the world.
J: (smiles) Do you love mommy?
Me: (stutters and stammers and pauses for minute).... ....
J: Do you love mommy?
Me: Uh, yeah.
How the hell do you answer a question like that?
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Disenchanted (Writing Exercise part 3)
****So, last part. What commonalities do these [exgirlfriends] have? Are there any? Within your lists, can you identify any patterns that you notice in regards to the ways they are emotionally unavailable?****
That about sums it up, I think.
Friday, February 20, 2009
I am not Broken (Part 2)
***When you're finished with that, write down what "emotionally available" looks like to you. ***
This is the first blog post I'm going to make with my eyes closed. Right now I'm closing my eyes and imagining what emotionally available looks like...
Emotionally available is:
someone who can understand the time i need with my kids, and work around it and still be happy
someone who lives within an hour of me
someone who may have a similar past as me, but has taken it and used it to change for the better
someone who can give me a true, honest compliment without intentionally trying to stroke my ego
someone who doesn't play mind games for manipulative or deceitful purposes
someone who is open and honest, who doesn't hold back secrets because they are scared of how it may make me feel
someone who can be faithful to me, and is not tempted by what else is out there
someone who doesn't push me to change, but challenges me to be a better man just by being a being a better woman
*opens eyes*
Hope there's no typos because I'm not re-reading that until I hit submit. I can't remember what I typed, it was basically a stream of consciousness typing. So I can't wait to read it.
Anyway, I had a realization through this writing challenge. I've compared myself to Humpty Dumpty...having a great fall and shattering into pieces. Bruised and broken and beat down. That's how I've discribed myself for a LONG time now.
Then it hit me. I'm not broken. That implies that there is something unfixable about me. That I am hopeless and helpless and a lost case. And that's not true. Everything that I work to improve, is somethign that can be fixed. By telling myself I am broken, I set up an impossible trap with which to get out of. I'm creating impossible odds. A pink unicorn to chase. Something to keep me busy doing nothing.
Here is my resolve:
1. I take full responsibility for my life and the things that have happened to me. If something is terribly wrong with me, it's because I allow it to be.
2. I may not be able to stop terrible things from happening to me, but I can stop them from ruining my life.
3. Failure is not something to be feared, it's something to be embraced.
4. The ugly stuff is just as important as the pretty stuff.
5. Inspiration comes from action, not words.
6. I am broke because I want to be. If I didn't want to be broke, I wouldn't be broke. I may never be rich, but it is within my power to make the sacrifices I need to make to live comfortably.
7. The pain of losing someone is much easier to deal with than the pain of never having them at all.
8. Loneliness is just a word. Alone is not bad. Alone is only bad when I use it as an excuse to avoid doing the things I want to do.
9. Whining about life will never change anything about my life. I can only change things about my life by taking some sort of action.
10. I do not have to be perfect. I do not always have to be improving my life. It's ok to relax.
11. No more big resolves. No more outlandish goals. Just action. Sometime's I'll do and be busy, and other times I'll relax and just be. I'll make no excuses or apology for either.
12. All other points above are bullshit.
Hahaha....
This is the first blog post I'm going to make with my eyes closed. Right now I'm closing my eyes and imagining what emotionally available looks like...
Emotionally available is:
someone who can understand the time i need with my kids, and work around it and still be happy
someone who lives within an hour of me
someone who may have a similar past as me, but has taken it and used it to change for the better
someone who can give me a true, honest compliment without intentionally trying to stroke my ego
someone who doesn't play mind games for manipulative or deceitful purposes
someone who is open and honest, who doesn't hold back secrets because they are scared of how it may make me feel
someone who can be faithful to me, and is not tempted by what else is out there
someone who doesn't push me to change, but challenges me to be a better man just by being a being a better woman
*opens eyes*
Hope there's no typos because I'm not re-reading that until I hit submit. I can't remember what I typed, it was basically a stream of consciousness typing. So I can't wait to read it.
Anyway, I had a realization through this writing challenge. I've compared myself to Humpty Dumpty...having a great fall and shattering into pieces. Bruised and broken and beat down. That's how I've discribed myself for a LONG time now.
Then it hit me. I'm not broken. That implies that there is something unfixable about me. That I am hopeless and helpless and a lost case. And that's not true. Everything that I work to improve, is somethign that can be fixed. By telling myself I am broken, I set up an impossible trap with which to get out of. I'm creating impossible odds. A pink unicorn to chase. Something to keep me busy doing nothing.
Here is my resolve:
1. I take full responsibility for my life and the things that have happened to me. If something is terribly wrong with me, it's because I allow it to be.
2. I may not be able to stop terrible things from happening to me, but I can stop them from ruining my life.
3. Failure is not something to be feared, it's something to be embraced.
4. The ugly stuff is just as important as the pretty stuff.
5. Inspiration comes from action, not words.
6. I am broke because I want to be. If I didn't want to be broke, I wouldn't be broke. I may never be rich, but it is within my power to make the sacrifices I need to make to live comfortably.
7. The pain of losing someone is much easier to deal with than the pain of never having them at all.
8. Loneliness is just a word. Alone is not bad. Alone is only bad when I use it as an excuse to avoid doing the things I want to do.
9. Whining about life will never change anything about my life. I can only change things about my life by taking some sort of action.
10. I do not have to be perfect. I do not always have to be improving my life. It's ok to relax.
11. No more big resolves. No more outlandish goals. Just action. Sometime's I'll do and be busy, and other times I'll relax and just be. I'll make no excuses or apology for either.
12. All other points above are bullshit.
Hahaha....
Lucky Penny's insanely ridiculous writing exercise...Part 1
***Write down all the reasons why your past relationships didn't work out. Not from a "what did I do wrong" stance, but "what did she do wrong." Then, for each person write a list entitled "what was I not receiving that I needed." Compare those notes. Chew on it for a bit. See what pops up. See if there are any common threads in the ways they were emotionally unavailable.***
Ok, so instead of filling this post with paragraphs and fluff, I'm going to get right down to it and make use of lists moreso than my typical writing. I'm gonna change the names to protect the innocent and all that jazz. First of all let's establish the relationships of merit (there's one of the five that are pretty much inconsequential, so I'll leave it out).
Relationships:
1. Clarissa--My first love, lasted 3 months
2. Suzanna--My first relationship after tanking hard from my first love 5 years prior, lasted 2 months
3. Yazmine--I'll give my exwife an interesting name (instead of the negative route), lasted 6 years.
4. Isabella--first relationship outside of the divorce, lasted 3 months
It's not my fault, it's hers:
***Write down all the reasons why your past relationships didn't work out. Not from a "what did I do wrong" stance, but "what did she do wrong.***
1. Clarissa: This relationship was really doomed to failure, not only because we were so young, but because it was like a pressure cooker boiling up. What did she do wrong? I'm finding it hard to find things. As far as the relationship was concerned, I was like a puppy dog in love. I don't think I harbor any ill feelings towards her. I hardly ever see her anymore. I suspect that she was using me as a cover up for the situation between her and an older man in our church, but I have no way of seeing if that was a fact or not. This relationship is too old and long ago for me to think of any details that she did wrong. The relationship itself was very good (in a puppy dog sort of way). I had the butterflies, the whole nine yards. It was the ending of this relationship that was my undoing, not the relationship itself (or her). Blech, first one and I already am not following the exercise. Don't worry, I got bullet points for the rest of them. :D
A. She was a bit of a slut
B. She had just ended a long term relationship with her boyfriend
C. She used me as a rebound for that
D. She was a party girl, wild and uninhibited, and she didn't really care ABOUT me. She was using me.
E. She was fucking four other guys while with me
F. She didn't respect me
Why she was emotionally unavailable to me: I was a rebound to her. She had just come off a serious relationship and she wasn't ready for anything serious at all. She wanted to experiment around with other guys. I wanted more than she had to offer.
3. Yazmine: (where the hell do I start?)
A. She was overly jealous
B. She was clingy
C. She was a fucking slob
D. She had mental issues (not professionally, but I won't go into why I know that)
E. She had issues with me going out with friends
F. She had issues with my mother
G. She pulled me away from my family
H. All she wanted to do was eat, sleep, fuck, or go visit family. I was bored with that and with her.
I. She had no drive to do anything
J. She took took took took toook took took with little give. She wanted ME to give, and got upset the times I wouldn't.
K. She walked around the house all the time naked. PLEASE, leave SOMETHING to my imagination if you want to have sex with me.
I'll stop there. I could spend days and days on this list. Those are the main ones that came to mind immediately and I stopped where I had to pause to think of something else.
Why she was emotionally unavailable to me: For years I've believed that she was emotionally unavailable to me because I was emotionally unavailable to her, and I think there is a lot of truth to that. I was never into her the way I probably should have been. I went out with her the first time, not because I truly wanted to or was extremely attracted to her (there was attraction but not the way it should be), but because I felt guilty that I knew she had a huge crush on me and her friends kept telling me to ask her out. I was always forced toward this relationship instead of naturally being drawn, so on a lot of levels I was never fully invested in her. But in the interest of looking at it from what SHE did, let me see if there's anything I think of. She was young (like 16 when we met), and she'd never had a serious relationship before either. So neither one of us really knew how relationships worked. She wanted to stay in a box, I wanted to be free (in a sense). I wanted to get away from our hometown and branch out, she got homesick the year we were away when I was at college and didn't want to leave. We were always on two different wavelengths, and hence I now believe that we were just incompatible, although we intially hit it off and got along great. We went from being that lovey couple everybody was jealous of, to just the opposite and the transition tore us apart.
4. Isabella: (the positives far outweigh the negatives, so I consider this to be my only "plus" relationship to date, so the negative stuff here is overshadowed by the good stuff. But it is a writing exercise after all and I want to do this publicly...so...)
A. She was too far away
B. There was very little (almost non-existent) face time
C. She was just coming off a long term relationship
D. She didn't (and couldn't) cut ties with her ex because there were kids involved, but I think the relationship with him was probably inappropriate from what I told her I wanted.
E. She had detachment issues (can't remember the right word for it right now). Basically she never allowed anyone to get close to her, and if they did she would push them away.
F. Her idea of a serious relationship clashed with what I would have eventually wanted in a serious relationship.
G. She would tell me things that I specifically told her NOT to tell me. I suspect as an attempt to try and make me jealous or get a reaction out of me of some kind.
H. Her bond with her ex was just far too strong for any other guy to break.
Ok, so instead of filling this post with paragraphs and fluff, I'm going to get right down to it and make use of lists moreso than my typical writing. I'm gonna change the names to protect the innocent and all that jazz. First of all let's establish the relationships of merit (there's one of the five that are pretty much inconsequential, so I'll leave it out).
Relationships:
1. Clarissa--My first love, lasted 3 months
2. Suzanna--My first relationship after tanking hard from my first love 5 years prior, lasted 2 months
3. Yazmine--I'll give my exwife an interesting name (instead of the negative route), lasted 6 years.
4. Isabella--first relationship outside of the divorce, lasted 3 months
It's not my fault, it's hers:
***Write down all the reasons why your past relationships didn't work out. Not from a "what did I do wrong" stance, but "what did she do wrong.***
1. Clarissa: This relationship was really doomed to failure, not only because we were so young, but because it was like a pressure cooker boiling up. What did she do wrong? I'm finding it hard to find things. As far as the relationship was concerned, I was like a puppy dog in love. I don't think I harbor any ill feelings towards her. I hardly ever see her anymore. I suspect that she was using me as a cover up for the situation between her and an older man in our church, but I have no way of seeing if that was a fact or not. This relationship is too old and long ago for me to think of any details that she did wrong. The relationship itself was very good (in a puppy dog sort of way). I had the butterflies, the whole nine yards. It was the ending of this relationship that was my undoing, not the relationship itself (or her). Blech, first one and I already am not following the exercise. Don't worry, I got bullet points for the rest of them. :D
Why she was emotionally unavailable to me: I'm not so sure she wasn't. Which is an interesting thought that this was the only relationship I've been in that's been like that. But discovering that all relationships after this one has been affected by this first real one isn't something that's new. But seeing it in this light, makes it interesting to me.
2. Suzanna:A. She was a bit of a slut
B. She had just ended a long term relationship with her boyfriend
C. She used me as a rebound for that
D. She was a party girl, wild and uninhibited, and she didn't really care ABOUT me. She was using me.
E. She was fucking four other guys while with me
F. She didn't respect me
Why she was emotionally unavailable to me: I was a rebound to her. She had just come off a serious relationship and she wasn't ready for anything serious at all. She wanted to experiment around with other guys. I wanted more than she had to offer.
3. Yazmine: (where the hell do I start?)
A. She was overly jealous
B. She was clingy
C. She was a fucking slob
D. She had mental issues (not professionally, but I won't go into why I know that)
E. She had issues with me going out with friends
F. She had issues with my mother
G. She pulled me away from my family
H. All she wanted to do was eat, sleep, fuck, or go visit family. I was bored with that and with her.
I. She had no drive to do anything
J. She took took took took toook took took with little give. She wanted ME to give, and got upset the times I wouldn't.
K. She walked around the house all the time naked. PLEASE, leave SOMETHING to my imagination if you want to have sex with me.
I'll stop there. I could spend days and days on this list. Those are the main ones that came to mind immediately and I stopped where I had to pause to think of something else.
Why she was emotionally unavailable to me: For years I've believed that she was emotionally unavailable to me because I was emotionally unavailable to her, and I think there is a lot of truth to that. I was never into her the way I probably should have been. I went out with her the first time, not because I truly wanted to or was extremely attracted to her (there was attraction but not the way it should be), but because I felt guilty that I knew she had a huge crush on me and her friends kept telling me to ask her out. I was always forced toward this relationship instead of naturally being drawn, so on a lot of levels I was never fully invested in her. But in the interest of looking at it from what SHE did, let me see if there's anything I think of. She was young (like 16 when we met), and she'd never had a serious relationship before either. So neither one of us really knew how relationships worked. She wanted to stay in a box, I wanted to be free (in a sense). I wanted to get away from our hometown and branch out, she got homesick the year we were away when I was at college and didn't want to leave. We were always on two different wavelengths, and hence I now believe that we were just incompatible, although we intially hit it off and got along great. We went from being that lovey couple everybody was jealous of, to just the opposite and the transition tore us apart.
4. Isabella: (the positives far outweigh the negatives, so I consider this to be my only "plus" relationship to date, so the negative stuff here is overshadowed by the good stuff. But it is a writing exercise after all and I want to do this publicly...so...)
A. She was too far away
B. There was very little (almost non-existent) face time
C. She was just coming off a long term relationship
D. She didn't (and couldn't) cut ties with her ex because there were kids involved, but I think the relationship with him was probably inappropriate from what I told her I wanted.
E. She had detachment issues (can't remember the right word for it right now). Basically she never allowed anyone to get close to her, and if they did she would push them away.
F. Her idea of a serious relationship clashed with what I would have eventually wanted in a serious relationship.
G. She would tell me things that I specifically told her NOT to tell me. I suspect as an attempt to try and make me jealous or get a reaction out of me of some kind.
H. Her bond with her ex was just far too strong for any other guy to break.
Why she was not emotionally available to me: She too had just come out of a serious relationship, and her number one devotion has always and will always be to only one man, I suspect until death of one or the other of them. She never really had it to offer, because it's already there for someone else. And even though she became physically available, there was never any chance of emotional availability because of that strong bond. She couldn't be available to me, because she could never be kept apart from him. And I actually admire that, even if I don't admire the way they cope with it (by constant separation and reconciliation).
Conclusions:
Something I discovered from this exercise is something I've always been aware of, but have never looked at from an "emotionally available" point of view. That the ending of my first relationship has spiralled this intense desire to protect myself. I went through massive pain on that first break up and I've never truly reconciled myself to face opening myself up to that pain again.
I came close in my last relationship, by being completely and totally honest (well, 99% of the time anyway), not holding anything back, allowing myself to let go and just relish the experience while it lasted. But the distance was there in the form that it was always going to be an impossible relationship. And I think I knew that, but I didn't allow myself to truly realize that.
Stay tuned for the second half of this exercise to be continued later...
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
So help me God...
Every now and then something happens that you know you shouldn't laugh it. Something so horrible, an action so pathetic, that a good flogging is in order or just a straight up crucifixion. But when you read the words, something inside of you shakes and you laugh.
This is one such story:
http://news.aol.com/article/boy-essay-father-arrest/347380
A father was arrested after his boy wrote an essay about how he was sitting on the couch watching TV, wouldn't move to go do his homework, and his father shot him in the ass with a BB gun to make him get up.
Yes, it's child abuse. Yes, this guy needs to be locked away in a cell so dark that his eyes gouge out of his head in horror. Yes, I do feel bad for the boy.
But when I read this story, I laughed so hard my sides hurt and tears came to my eyes. Then when I was done laughing, I chuckled. Then I got the giggles.
At face value, this is a funny fucking story. Damn the haters.
Am I a bad person because I laughed at this?
I don't think so, Tim.
This is one such story:
http://news.aol.com/article/boy-essay-father-arrest/347380
A father was arrested after his boy wrote an essay about how he was sitting on the couch watching TV, wouldn't move to go do his homework, and his father shot him in the ass with a BB gun to make him get up.
Yes, it's child abuse. Yes, this guy needs to be locked away in a cell so dark that his eyes gouge out of his head in horror. Yes, I do feel bad for the boy.
But when I read this story, I laughed so hard my sides hurt and tears came to my eyes. Then when I was done laughing, I chuckled. Then I got the giggles.
At face value, this is a funny fucking story. Damn the haters.
Am I a bad person because I laughed at this?
I don't think so, Tim.
Procrastination
I am avoiding my current writing project.
I started it a week or so ago, and it's a memoir (of sorts) that I'm not sure is going to end up as a memoir or if I'm going to take liberties with some of the characters and make it a fiction piece "based on a true story."
I'm delving into new territory because for the first time I am trying to write something of length in present tense. That has proved to be really tricky and I've caught myself switching tenses a couple of times already.
But now I have been sheepishly avoiding the next scene. I've been avoiding it because it's going to be a tough scene to write. Rehashing the moment in your life when you hit rock bottom isn't something that's easy or that you look forward to. Although, I am willing to bet that it's going to feel really good to get it out of me.
Being a writer, it's amazing how a simple thing like putting your words to the page can affect your moods and bring about various feelings: euphoria, depression, anger, humor, etc. If you don't write for a while, you get the itch and it has a negative affect on your life. A writer has to write, and sometimes a writer has to write ugly. I've always been more of a fan of writing inspiration, but in the past year or so I've discovered how absolutely therapeutic it is to write ugly. To be real about what you think. To expose yourself raw on the page with no regretes or apologies.
But it's hard to do. It's hard to start into something like that because you are afraid of not only the feelings it will evoke, but more importantly you are afraid of what's going to come out. Are you going to be proud of what you see on the page when you are finished? Sometimes fingers have a mind of their own and if you just let them flow without thinking, it can produce some ugly stuff. Although, I have to admit that the ugly stuff is some of the more fantastic writing I've done.
Then there is the fact that I am a guy. I don't really handle emotions very well. I don't know how to deal with them. Just "feeling" is something foreign to me, and I avoid it more often than I let it happen. Granted, there's nothing wrong with a guy feeling the range of emotions that a particular piece brings out in him, but something on the inside says "Hey, this isn't right for you. You aren't designed for this." I'd much rather act than feel. I'd much rather be DOING something than FEELING something.
So here I sit, procrastinating because I know what the next scene in my writing holds. I know where it's going to take me and I haven't been to that place for such a long time. But it has to be told. I have to put it out there. And the story itself does have a happy ending. This is the lowest I'll have to go before things start getting more positive. The story beyond this scene is one of hope, and I know that when I get there I'm going to have a pretty powerful story.
But I sit and I stall. I sit and want to write but I can't because I know what's coming. I can't stop it and I can't avoid it and I just have to go through it. See you on the flip side.
I started it a week or so ago, and it's a memoir (of sorts) that I'm not sure is going to end up as a memoir or if I'm going to take liberties with some of the characters and make it a fiction piece "based on a true story."
I'm delving into new territory because for the first time I am trying to write something of length in present tense. That has proved to be really tricky and I've caught myself switching tenses a couple of times already.
But now I have been sheepishly avoiding the next scene. I've been avoiding it because it's going to be a tough scene to write. Rehashing the moment in your life when you hit rock bottom isn't something that's easy or that you look forward to. Although, I am willing to bet that it's going to feel really good to get it out of me.
Being a writer, it's amazing how a simple thing like putting your words to the page can affect your moods and bring about various feelings: euphoria, depression, anger, humor, etc. If you don't write for a while, you get the itch and it has a negative affect on your life. A writer has to write, and sometimes a writer has to write ugly. I've always been more of a fan of writing inspiration, but in the past year or so I've discovered how absolutely therapeutic it is to write ugly. To be real about what you think. To expose yourself raw on the page with no regretes or apologies.
But it's hard to do. It's hard to start into something like that because you are afraid of not only the feelings it will evoke, but more importantly you are afraid of what's going to come out. Are you going to be proud of what you see on the page when you are finished? Sometimes fingers have a mind of their own and if you just let them flow without thinking, it can produce some ugly stuff. Although, I have to admit that the ugly stuff is some of the more fantastic writing I've done.
Then there is the fact that I am a guy. I don't really handle emotions very well. I don't know how to deal with them. Just "feeling" is something foreign to me, and I avoid it more often than I let it happen. Granted, there's nothing wrong with a guy feeling the range of emotions that a particular piece brings out in him, but something on the inside says "Hey, this isn't right for you. You aren't designed for this." I'd much rather act than feel. I'd much rather be DOING something than FEELING something.
So here I sit, procrastinating because I know what the next scene in my writing holds. I know where it's going to take me and I haven't been to that place for such a long time. But it has to be told. I have to put it out there. And the story itself does have a happy ending. This is the lowest I'll have to go before things start getting more positive. The story beyond this scene is one of hope, and I know that when I get there I'm going to have a pretty powerful story.
But I sit and I stall. I sit and want to write but I can't because I know what's coming. I can't stop it and I can't avoid it and I just have to go through it. See you on the flip side.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
My Chuck-E Valentine
So, I took my kids to Altoona, PA to Chuck E Cheese for Valentine's day. Or, as I like to call it, the madhouse. What I thought would be a short jaunt for some pizza and some arcade fun, turned into a 10 hour mass of confusion and exhaustion. The kids had a blast (as did I), though, so it was worth it.
Seriously, it was insane how many kids were running around. I was originally just going to take my two kids by myself, but now I'm glad I coaxed my mom into coming (with my dad) and bringing my nephew. I'm not sure I could've handled both of my kids on my own in all the confusion. Seriously, the place was a madhouse. Kids were running everywhere, there was a huge birthday party in the back, and trying to keep up with my own kids amid all the people was sort of like trying to coax a donkey through a mine shaft (whatever that means).
There I was, King Jackass, chasing my kids through the maze of people, trying to spend the 100 tokens we get from coupons online. When each game takes only one token to play, spending a 100 tokens was a tricky ordeal. It took us almost 4 hours to go through them all. Fortunately they serve pizza (which wasn't really the best pizza I've ever had, but ah well) so we ate while we were there. But by the time we left, the kids were hungry again.
Walking out the front, we spied an Olive Garden and thought "Hell yes!" We walk down to it (amid the snow flurries that were flying through the air), and as soon as we get to the front door it was a wall of people. A woman coming out told her family that there was a 2 hour wait. We quickly decided that you'd have to be a complete idiot to wait 2 hours for ANY restaraunt (even though Olive Garden has the best salad and breadsticks ever), and we left. We drove down the street and found another restaraunt that wasn't near as busy. The food was fine, but it reminded me of a place that old people would come (sort of like an old fashioned version of Dennys). The service was slow and even though we didn't have to wait for a seat, it was still packed full of people.
I remember thinking to myself how foolish it is to think you are going to go out to eat on Valentine's Day. And the people who wait 2 hours? Absolute fucking idiots.
We finally managed to get out by about 8 o'clock and arrived back home at 10. My nephew was staying with my parents, so I decided to just take my kids up their and spend the night so that they could play (as if they didn't play enough at Chuck E Cheese's lol).
All in all, as exhausting as the day turned out to be, we had a lot of fun. Probably one of the best Valentine's Days I've had since my divorce. My first V-day after my separation was on a Wednesday, so I had my kids then too. Last year I was alone on V-day, so, at the behest of a friend's advice, I decided to go to the bar. My friend, who shall remain nameless as the "fucking idiot," told me in plain terms that "Valentine's Day is the best night of the year to go into a bar and get laid."
So I, being the ever diligent researcher, decided to test his theory. I walk into the bar, and immediately I am struck by how full the bar was of COUPLES. I silently cursed to myself as I walked up and ordered a beer. After the first beer, I managed to spot a girl who was alone. So, I went over and talked to her. I secretly hailed my friend as a genious as I spent a good half an hour working on her. But there is no happy ending to this story. My little foray was cut short when her boyfriend walked in later. I cursed my friend and paid the tab and walked out, vowing never to waste my time on V-day in a bar again.
That was my experience last year, and it left me a little agititated. This year, I didn't even give a shit about trying to hook up with someone. Somewhere in the middle of feeding the machines tokens, I was struck with the stark realization that this is the first V-day that I have been truly happy without needing a relationship to make it so. For the first time it stopped being "Single Awareness Day" and became a symbol that my newfound contentment is very much still alive and kicking. It waxes and wanes from time to time, but at the end of the day I feel like I've faced my "final test" and another fear and come out ok. From this point forward, I think I want to make all V-day's about my kids. I truly enjoyed taking them somewhere fun, and I think we got a little closer to each other this weekend. We made Valentines for people in the family, I got them some gifts, and we had a blast at a place where you can let your guard down and just be a kid. A-plus.
In other news, on the way home I made a little detour, found a Staples, and bought myself a new laptop with the extra money I made from working overtime. My old laptop was on it's last leg (and it wasn't even 3 years old yet), lagging and just being a bitch. So I decided to upgrade (rather than take it to be serviced). It was a cheap Walmart laptop I bought thinking that the only thing I would be using it for would be to write. Little did I know that when my ex-wife sold our computer (the one that I let her borrow--BORROW), it quickly became my primary computer. It worked well enough for a while, but in the past couple of months it got out of hand. I did a complete wipe of the hard drive and rebooted everything and it still didn't get any better.
My new computer doesn't have as big a screen as my old one, but it zips and has WAY less bullshit on it. I'm happy as a lark with what I've got.
It's been a long, exhausting weekend, but I had fun and so did my kids. So I consider it to be a success.
Seriously, it was insane how many kids were running around. I was originally just going to take my two kids by myself, but now I'm glad I coaxed my mom into coming (with my dad) and bringing my nephew. I'm not sure I could've handled both of my kids on my own in all the confusion. Seriously, the place was a madhouse. Kids were running everywhere, there was a huge birthday party in the back, and trying to keep up with my own kids amid all the people was sort of like trying to coax a donkey through a mine shaft (whatever that means).
There I was, King Jackass, chasing my kids through the maze of people, trying to spend the 100 tokens we get from coupons online. When each game takes only one token to play, spending a 100 tokens was a tricky ordeal. It took us almost 4 hours to go through them all. Fortunately they serve pizza (which wasn't really the best pizza I've ever had, but ah well) so we ate while we were there. But by the time we left, the kids were hungry again.
Walking out the front, we spied an Olive Garden and thought "Hell yes!" We walk down to it (amid the snow flurries that were flying through the air), and as soon as we get to the front door it was a wall of people. A woman coming out told her family that there was a 2 hour wait. We quickly decided that you'd have to be a complete idiot to wait 2 hours for ANY restaraunt (even though Olive Garden has the best salad and breadsticks ever), and we left. We drove down the street and found another restaraunt that wasn't near as busy. The food was fine, but it reminded me of a place that old people would come (sort of like an old fashioned version of Dennys). The service was slow and even though we didn't have to wait for a seat, it was still packed full of people.
I remember thinking to myself how foolish it is to think you are going to go out to eat on Valentine's Day. And the people who wait 2 hours? Absolute fucking idiots.
We finally managed to get out by about 8 o'clock and arrived back home at 10. My nephew was staying with my parents, so I decided to just take my kids up their and spend the night so that they could play (as if they didn't play enough at Chuck E Cheese's lol).
All in all, as exhausting as the day turned out to be, we had a lot of fun. Probably one of the best Valentine's Days I've had since my divorce. My first V-day after my separation was on a Wednesday, so I had my kids then too. Last year I was alone on V-day, so, at the behest of a friend's advice, I decided to go to the bar. My friend, who shall remain nameless as the "fucking idiot," told me in plain terms that "Valentine's Day is the best night of the year to go into a bar and get laid."
So I, being the ever diligent researcher, decided to test his theory. I walk into the bar, and immediately I am struck by how full the bar was of COUPLES. I silently cursed to myself as I walked up and ordered a beer. After the first beer, I managed to spot a girl who was alone. So, I went over and talked to her. I secretly hailed my friend as a genious as I spent a good half an hour working on her. But there is no happy ending to this story. My little foray was cut short when her boyfriend walked in later. I cursed my friend and paid the tab and walked out, vowing never to waste my time on V-day in a bar again.
That was my experience last year, and it left me a little agititated. This year, I didn't even give a shit about trying to hook up with someone. Somewhere in the middle of feeding the machines tokens, I was struck with the stark realization that this is the first V-day that I have been truly happy without needing a relationship to make it so. For the first time it stopped being "Single Awareness Day" and became a symbol that my newfound contentment is very much still alive and kicking. It waxes and wanes from time to time, but at the end of the day I feel like I've faced my "final test" and another fear and come out ok. From this point forward, I think I want to make all V-day's about my kids. I truly enjoyed taking them somewhere fun, and I think we got a little closer to each other this weekend. We made Valentines for people in the family, I got them some gifts, and we had a blast at a place where you can let your guard down and just be a kid. A-plus.
In other news, on the way home I made a little detour, found a Staples, and bought myself a new laptop with the extra money I made from working overtime. My old laptop was on it's last leg (and it wasn't even 3 years old yet), lagging and just being a bitch. So I decided to upgrade (rather than take it to be serviced). It was a cheap Walmart laptop I bought thinking that the only thing I would be using it for would be to write. Little did I know that when my ex-wife sold our computer (the one that I let her borrow--BORROW), it quickly became my primary computer. It worked well enough for a while, but in the past couple of months it got out of hand. I did a complete wipe of the hard drive and rebooted everything and it still didn't get any better.
My new computer doesn't have as big a screen as my old one, but it zips and has WAY less bullshit on it. I'm happy as a lark with what I've got.
It's been a long, exhausting weekend, but I had fun and so did my kids. So I consider it to be a success.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Economic hardship my ass
There are few things more satisfying than exposing my bare, hairy ass to a beautiful woman. So, when I dropped my pants slightly to take a shot in the "hip" last week, I felt like I was there in all my glory--until the fiery spike of death made contact with my skin and brought out sweat beads on my head.
Today, for some odd reason, that's what I want to blog about.
I opened my word processor and typed out a few paragraphs about the recession and how to survive in dwindling economic times. Then I got bored and almost choked to death on my own sleepy drool.
Then I hit backspace, and in the title bar I wrote: "The 7 things that women just need to stop saying" and was all ready to go with that idea (complete with the "I don't usually do this" or "I'm mostly friends with guys"), and it made my misogyny meter move from blue to orange and I had to stop because I am trying to be better about that with this blog. Feminism be damned.
Again I hit backspace and I immediately went to a time and place where I was most happy and the only thing I could think of was the doctor's office last week, where I exposed the upper portion of my ass to the cute nurse. Then I began to wonder just how much of my ass I exposed. I mean, I can clearly remember what it looked like in front. My pant line remained in the same place there. But I can't wrap my mind around just how far I allowed my pants to drop in the back.
Did I expose some crack? Was it enough for her to see how hairy my ass really is? Was she immediately turned on or instantly repulsed by my wiry hips?
I do know that I was clean. I remember that much because I took a shower before visiting the doctor. So I'm fairly confident that my ass did indeed smell like a meadow that day and wasn't grimey sweaty or greasy.
Now I am trying to embrace a reality that encompasses the fact that I let some strange nurse witch doctor ram a sharp metal spike into my hip. I remember clearly the band aid she put there when she was done and how agonizing the pain of taking it off was later. Don't they issue bics at the Doctor's offices anybody? Would it have been too much trouble for her to take a tiny razor to my hip before applying the venom of death?
What does my ass have to do with my lungs anyway? And what does it matter WHERE they put that shit? Is there something more effective about injecting an antibiotic into your ass than into your arm?
Where else can you go that you would have to drop your pants to get some service? I mean, if I am standing in line at Walmart, if I drop my pants would they open a new register for me? Or if I am at Dairy Queen eating an ice cream cone, and decided to drop my pants at the register, would they smear ice cream on my ass? If I go to my mechanic and tell them that my muffler is making my car sound like an Indie 500 mud dogging tractor pulling big rig, would their response be "Hey man, drop them pants and lets get a look at that ass"?
When I finally snap out of my day dream and stop asking myself these non-sensical questions, I somehow feel complete. Whole. I am me again.
Yes, I have been mistaken for sasquatch. Yes, when I wipe I have to take extra care not to have the toilet paper get all mangled up in there. No, I will not put my ass out on exhibit in a musuem. And yes, if you are :
1. Female
2. Beautiful
I do get incredible satisfaction from showing you my ass.
So I say again, in these tough economic times, when gold-digging bitches are struggling to find men to take care of them, I say unto you:
Know ye this. When thy lungs be infected, make sure your ass is meadowy and lemon scented. Take a bic with you. And smile.
Today, for some odd reason, that's what I want to blog about.
I opened my word processor and typed out a few paragraphs about the recession and how to survive in dwindling economic times. Then I got bored and almost choked to death on my own sleepy drool.
Then I hit backspace, and in the title bar I wrote: "The 7 things that women just need to stop saying" and was all ready to go with that idea (complete with the "I don't usually do this" or "I'm mostly friends with guys"), and it made my misogyny meter move from blue to orange and I had to stop because I am trying to be better about that with this blog. Feminism be damned.
Again I hit backspace and I immediately went to a time and place where I was most happy and the only thing I could think of was the doctor's office last week, where I exposed the upper portion of my ass to the cute nurse. Then I began to wonder just how much of my ass I exposed. I mean, I can clearly remember what it looked like in front. My pant line remained in the same place there. But I can't wrap my mind around just how far I allowed my pants to drop in the back.
Did I expose some crack? Was it enough for her to see how hairy my ass really is? Was she immediately turned on or instantly repulsed by my wiry hips?
I do know that I was clean. I remember that much because I took a shower before visiting the doctor. So I'm fairly confident that my ass did indeed smell like a meadow that day and wasn't grimey sweaty or greasy.
Now I am trying to embrace a reality that encompasses the fact that I let some strange nurse witch doctor ram a sharp metal spike into my hip. I remember clearly the band aid she put there when she was done and how agonizing the pain of taking it off was later. Don't they issue bics at the Doctor's offices anybody? Would it have been too much trouble for her to take a tiny razor to my hip before applying the venom of death?
What does my ass have to do with my lungs anyway? And what does it matter WHERE they put that shit? Is there something more effective about injecting an antibiotic into your ass than into your arm?
Where else can you go that you would have to drop your pants to get some service? I mean, if I am standing in line at Walmart, if I drop my pants would they open a new register for me? Or if I am at Dairy Queen eating an ice cream cone, and decided to drop my pants at the register, would they smear ice cream on my ass? If I go to my mechanic and tell them that my muffler is making my car sound like an Indie 500 mud dogging tractor pulling big rig, would their response be "Hey man, drop them pants and lets get a look at that ass"?
When I finally snap out of my day dream and stop asking myself these non-sensical questions, I somehow feel complete. Whole. I am me again.
Yes, I have been mistaken for sasquatch. Yes, when I wipe I have to take extra care not to have the toilet paper get all mangled up in there. No, I will not put my ass out on exhibit in a musuem. And yes, if you are :
1. Female
2. Beautiful
I do get incredible satisfaction from showing you my ass.
So I say again, in these tough economic times, when gold-digging bitches are struggling to find men to take care of them, I say unto you:
Know ye this. When thy lungs be infected, make sure your ass is meadowy and lemon scented. Take a bic with you. And smile.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
It's Pnuemonia, lol
Saturday morning I wake up and lift my head off the pillow. It feels as if someone has hooked wires around my brain and is pulling it back to the pilllow. My son, who is sleeping next to me, wakes up. A few minutes later, my daughter wakes up too.
"Peanah Butter, Daddy! I want Peanah Butter!"
"Ok, baby, just give me a minute."
My head hits the pillow and suddenly it's five hours later. My daughter is crying. I pull myself out of bed and slather some bread with peanut butter and jelly. I make one for my son too. I lay back down.
3 hours later I wake up.
"Daddy, I'm hungry." My son says.
"Ok."
I reach into my pocket and dial the number to the pizza place. Fuck cooking food today.
I ooze through the rest of the day, like a mindless, numb, zombie. Finally, I get my kids to sleep and fall back into bed.
Sunday, I wake up at 8:30. I don't feel quite as bad, but my head is still pounding, and suddenly I am coughing like crazy. Dear good, the flu is killer this year, I think to myself. I get my kids dressed and out the door when my dad stops by to pick them up for sunday school. I go back inside, drink a glass of god-awful alka seltzer, and fall onto my couch. It's 10 AM.
I wake up and look at the clock. 4 PM. Oh shit. My stomach is growling, I'm hungry as shit, but I have no food in the house because I haven't had a chance to go to the market yet. I throw on some clothes on my crusy, nasty body and go out the door. I stop at Burger King and order a Whopper (yeah, can you believe that shit?). Funnily enough my stomach isn't affected at all by this. But my head feels like it's going to pop.
I got to my parents and get reamed out by my mom because my daughter apparently looked pretty dirty. lol I tell her that I've been on my deathbed all weekend, and she calms down and asks why I didn't call them--that they'd come get the kids. I shake my head. Even when I'm sick it somehow seems wrong to me to let someone else watch my kids on my time with them.
Today, I wake up. It's 5 AM and my head is doing summer salts. I'm sweaty and cold and hot and clammy. I knock back another glass of alka seltzer and call my boss.
"Sorry, boss, but I can't make it in today."
I want to say that I understand we're under a crunch to get work out, but I feel as if someone is piercing my skull with a railroad spike.
Finally, at 2 PM today I drag my ass out of bed, take a shower (which feels both great, but also a bit numb due to the bed sores), and go to my local doctor. I haven't been to her for probably 8 years. I know this is bad, but I couldn't even begin to predict that I'd be diagnosed with pnuemonia.
So here I sit, checking my email and watching The Office. I decided to treat myself to the third season, so that while I'm laying on my deathbed, I'll have over 9 hours worth of comedy goodness.
It took them 45 minutes to fill my perscription at Walmart. So I bought some much needed food (seriously my fridge was frikin bare lol), got me some popsicles, and finally made it home at about 7PM. So I was out walking around with pnuemonia not only yesterday but today for 5 hours.
Now, I'd like to say that the medicine has kicked in but I still feel rather crappy. But I now know what it feels like to have pnuemonia. I always wondered about that.
P.S. Oh yeah, and the doctor brought sweat beads out on my head by giving me a shot in the butt. Or, as I like to call it, the rust iron spike of death.
"Peanah Butter, Daddy! I want Peanah Butter!"
"Ok, baby, just give me a minute."
My head hits the pillow and suddenly it's five hours later. My daughter is crying. I pull myself out of bed and slather some bread with peanut butter and jelly. I make one for my son too. I lay back down.
3 hours later I wake up.
"Daddy, I'm hungry." My son says.
"Ok."
I reach into my pocket and dial the number to the pizza place. Fuck cooking food today.
I ooze through the rest of the day, like a mindless, numb, zombie. Finally, I get my kids to sleep and fall back into bed.
Sunday, I wake up at 8:30. I don't feel quite as bad, but my head is still pounding, and suddenly I am coughing like crazy. Dear good, the flu is killer this year, I think to myself. I get my kids dressed and out the door when my dad stops by to pick them up for sunday school. I go back inside, drink a glass of god-awful alka seltzer, and fall onto my couch. It's 10 AM.
I wake up and look at the clock. 4 PM. Oh shit. My stomach is growling, I'm hungry as shit, but I have no food in the house because I haven't had a chance to go to the market yet. I throw on some clothes on my crusy, nasty body and go out the door. I stop at Burger King and order a Whopper (yeah, can you believe that shit?). Funnily enough my stomach isn't affected at all by this. But my head feels like it's going to pop.
I got to my parents and get reamed out by my mom because my daughter apparently looked pretty dirty. lol I tell her that I've been on my deathbed all weekend, and she calms down and asks why I didn't call them--that they'd come get the kids. I shake my head. Even when I'm sick it somehow seems wrong to me to let someone else watch my kids on my time with them.
Today, I wake up. It's 5 AM and my head is doing summer salts. I'm sweaty and cold and hot and clammy. I knock back another glass of alka seltzer and call my boss.
"Sorry, boss, but I can't make it in today."
I want to say that I understand we're under a crunch to get work out, but I feel as if someone is piercing my skull with a railroad spike.
Finally, at 2 PM today I drag my ass out of bed, take a shower (which feels both great, but also a bit numb due to the bed sores), and go to my local doctor. I haven't been to her for probably 8 years. I know this is bad, but I couldn't even begin to predict that I'd be diagnosed with pnuemonia.
So here I sit, checking my email and watching The Office. I decided to treat myself to the third season, so that while I'm laying on my deathbed, I'll have over 9 hours worth of comedy goodness.
It took them 45 minutes to fill my perscription at Walmart. So I bought some much needed food (seriously my fridge was frikin bare lol), got me some popsicles, and finally made it home at about 7PM. So I was out walking around with pnuemonia not only yesterday but today for 5 hours.
Now, I'd like to say that the medicine has kicked in but I still feel rather crappy. But I now know what it feels like to have pnuemonia. I always wondered about that.
P.S. Oh yeah, and the doctor brought sweat beads out on my head by giving me a shot in the butt. Or, as I like to call it, the rust iron spike of death.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Torn
Do you ever get the realization that you know what you have to do, but you are afraid of actually doing it? What it could mean if you do, who it may hurt, and whether it's actually the right thing to do?
I've been wrestling with that thought ever since I separated from my ex. And after tonight, I feel even more compelled to do that which I am afraid to do.
Sunday evening, when I returned my kids to her, I told her to make our daughter a doctor's appointment. She was coughing fiercely all day, her eyes were red and watery, and she was tugging at her ear. I told her that my mom said that she would take them if she made the appointment. My ex told me that she would make the appointment and take them herself.
Fast forward to tonight. My daughter shows up, so hoarse she can barely talk, still hadn't been to the doctor, and spent the first hour with me just bawling her eyes out--wanting her "mommy." Which is something she does when she's not feeling good, of course. So, I finally decide to take her to the emergency room. If she has an ear infection, I didn't want it to go another day and was worried about her and wanted to get her some medicine now.
While at the emergency room, I text my ex and tell her that I'm there and that she can pick them up there or at Walmart (where I'll get the perscription filled). And what does she do? She goes off on me, telling me that she had an appointment tomorrow and that I was out of line to take her to the emergency room. I....was....out.....of....line....getting my daughter the medical care that she needed. Read that again. She had an ear infection and the doctor perscribed her some amoxicilin for it, to take it 3 times a day.
When she (my ex) shows up, she's on the phone and she's got a goofy look on her face. I know the look. The look tells me that there is a guy on the other line. (there are other things that make me think this, but I won't go into them) The last time she was interested in a guy, she acted the same way. Just totally disinterested in the kids and their needs. And I was the one who had to step up and take care of things. But she didn't even look at me. Didn't bother to ask me about the doctor (until like a half an hour later). She just took the kids, put them in the car, and drove off (all while on the phone).
And here I am, asking myself, why the kids have taken a backseat to whatever else seems more important to her. I was actually impressed lately with how well she had been taking care of the kids and the things she was doing. Now, however, I have the feeling that that will fall by the wayside and she'll be the same way she was before.
Anyway, for the first time in a long time, I have the feeling. The feeling that I need to get custody of my kids. The feeling that it might be the best thing for them.
But with those thoughts I am left with reservations of my own. First of all, the kids love their mother. They seem happy. And I don't want to disturb that happiness, unless it is absolutely imperative to do so. My original thoughts were that if she was doing drugs, or dating somebody who did drugs, and/or they were being abused in some way. Now, I'm not so sure. A simple thing like taking them to the doctor has suddenly become too difficult.
I am also left with the doubt that I can handle it. I don't know if I have what it takes to be their primary caregiver. I don't know that I'd be as good a father if I had them all the time, and I'm afraid that I would start taking our time together for granted again. I am also, quite selfishly, not sure I'm ready to give up that freedom for something of this magnitude. I know that's selfish, but I can't help some of the things I feel.
The thought resonates in me, though, and it keeps coming back to haunt me. I know that in order to get custody there will be a host of things I'll have to do. First of all I'd have to establish a better residence than my shitty one bedroom apartment. Secondly, I'd have to figure out what angle to use to prove that they are better off with me. There are other things I think I would have to get in order and I keep wondering if now is really the right time.
For now, these are just thoughts that I am wrestling around in my head. All of this is based on how things go from this point on. But everytime this happens, I wonder if this is the moment that it's going to have to happen. But everytime it happens, she turns things around and things are good for them again.
I think I need to start preparing for that day, though. It may not be soon, but I think I need to step things up. I think I need to get things in order and finish the things I set out to do. Because I truly believe the day will come when I will have to step in and get serious about this.
I've been wrestling with that thought ever since I separated from my ex. And after tonight, I feel even more compelled to do that which I am afraid to do.
Sunday evening, when I returned my kids to her, I told her to make our daughter a doctor's appointment. She was coughing fiercely all day, her eyes were red and watery, and she was tugging at her ear. I told her that my mom said that she would take them if she made the appointment. My ex told me that she would make the appointment and take them herself.
Fast forward to tonight. My daughter shows up, so hoarse she can barely talk, still hadn't been to the doctor, and spent the first hour with me just bawling her eyes out--wanting her "mommy." Which is something she does when she's not feeling good, of course. So, I finally decide to take her to the emergency room. If she has an ear infection, I didn't want it to go another day and was worried about her and wanted to get her some medicine now.
While at the emergency room, I text my ex and tell her that I'm there and that she can pick them up there or at Walmart (where I'll get the perscription filled). And what does she do? She goes off on me, telling me that she had an appointment tomorrow and that I was out of line to take her to the emergency room. I....was....out.....of....line....getting my daughter the medical care that she needed. Read that again. She had an ear infection and the doctor perscribed her some amoxicilin for it, to take it 3 times a day.
When she (my ex) shows up, she's on the phone and she's got a goofy look on her face. I know the look. The look tells me that there is a guy on the other line. (there are other things that make me think this, but I won't go into them) The last time she was interested in a guy, she acted the same way. Just totally disinterested in the kids and their needs. And I was the one who had to step up and take care of things. But she didn't even look at me. Didn't bother to ask me about the doctor (until like a half an hour later). She just took the kids, put them in the car, and drove off (all while on the phone).
And here I am, asking myself, why the kids have taken a backseat to whatever else seems more important to her. I was actually impressed lately with how well she had been taking care of the kids and the things she was doing. Now, however, I have the feeling that that will fall by the wayside and she'll be the same way she was before.
Anyway, for the first time in a long time, I have the feeling. The feeling that I need to get custody of my kids. The feeling that it might be the best thing for them.
But with those thoughts I am left with reservations of my own. First of all, the kids love their mother. They seem happy. And I don't want to disturb that happiness, unless it is absolutely imperative to do so. My original thoughts were that if she was doing drugs, or dating somebody who did drugs, and/or they were being abused in some way. Now, I'm not so sure. A simple thing like taking them to the doctor has suddenly become too difficult.
I am also left with the doubt that I can handle it. I don't know if I have what it takes to be their primary caregiver. I don't know that I'd be as good a father if I had them all the time, and I'm afraid that I would start taking our time together for granted again. I am also, quite selfishly, not sure I'm ready to give up that freedom for something of this magnitude. I know that's selfish, but I can't help some of the things I feel.
The thought resonates in me, though, and it keeps coming back to haunt me. I know that in order to get custody there will be a host of things I'll have to do. First of all I'd have to establish a better residence than my shitty one bedroom apartment. Secondly, I'd have to figure out what angle to use to prove that they are better off with me. There are other things I think I would have to get in order and I keep wondering if now is really the right time.
For now, these are just thoughts that I am wrestling around in my head. All of this is based on how things go from this point on. But everytime this happens, I wonder if this is the moment that it's going to have to happen. But everytime it happens, she turns things around and things are good for them again.
I think I need to start preparing for that day, though. It may not be soon, but I think I need to step things up. I think I need to get things in order and finish the things I set out to do. Because I truly believe the day will come when I will have to step in and get serious about this.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
WIP it good...
I have no idea what the hell I am doing.
I open up a fresh, shiny, new word document and watch the cursor blink. I want to write something fun and dark and majestic. I want people to mull over my story for years, discuss the intricate details laced throughout, like a thorny branch through a nautilus (whatever that means). And as much as I despise Oprah, one day I want to go on her show and talk about my book.
I could be like, "Yo, Oprah, I hate you and all but it's nice that you like my book. Because of your stamp, my book sold a million copies and I'm grateful, even though I think you are some kind of something."
So I did that. I opened up a new document and let the first line beat out (much like I did last year for my first completed novel). Again I was surprised at the outcome:
A man walked into a convenience store holding a bow and arrow. The clerk, a young teenage girl wearing too much makeup and chewing bubble gum, looked up at him as if he had five heads. He stopped in front of her, pulled an arrow from the quiver, and drew it back. The gum fell out of her mouth as her jaw dropped in disbelief.
“Give me all the cash in the cash register.” He said gruffly.
Not at all what I expected to roll of my fingers. Apparently, I am knee deep in a thriller right now. Because only a few pages later this man takes said clerk hostage (just for shits and giggles). He licks her face at one point--not from sheer sexual desire but because it felt like the right thing to do. His name is Frank, and he likes the gravy at some country restaraunt on the outskirts of town.
Who the hell is Frank? Why, of all things, is THIS the junk that came out of me yesterday evening? I can ponder a million ideas, but why is it that when I sit down to write them, this kind of random stuff is what comes out?
It's like I have to write the rest of the story, just to see what this nonsense is in the first chapter. And, like last time, the ideas are budding from that one paragraph and in my head is this monster story, complete with characters and plots and ideas, that, two seconds before I opened my word document were not even figments of my imagination.
It's not like I can blame drugs. I don't do drugs (although I wonder what kind of stuff I would write if I did). I can't be like "Oh, fiddlesticks, I blame crack." And I don't drink that much. Once every few weeks or so. I was sober at the time.
Maybe it's Jesus. Maybe the Lord wants me to write about a guy who holds up convenience stores with a bow and arrow and takes clerks hostage. Perhaps the universe was all created for this moment...a moment to tell the quirky comedic thriller that is rolling off my fingers. The meaning of life itself...to lick your hostage's face while driving in your primer grey pickup truck listening to Dwight Yoakum.
Yee haw. Woopdie doo. I got a new WIP and it's whipping me good.
I open up a fresh, shiny, new word document and watch the cursor blink. I want to write something fun and dark and majestic. I want people to mull over my story for years, discuss the intricate details laced throughout, like a thorny branch through a nautilus (whatever that means). And as much as I despise Oprah, one day I want to go on her show and talk about my book.
I could be like, "Yo, Oprah, I hate you and all but it's nice that you like my book. Because of your stamp, my book sold a million copies and I'm grateful, even though I think you are some kind of something."
So I did that. I opened up a new document and let the first line beat out (much like I did last year for my first completed novel). Again I was surprised at the outcome:
A man walked into a convenience store holding a bow and arrow. The clerk, a young teenage girl wearing too much makeup and chewing bubble gum, looked up at him as if he had five heads. He stopped in front of her, pulled an arrow from the quiver, and drew it back. The gum fell out of her mouth as her jaw dropped in disbelief.
“Give me all the cash in the cash register.” He said gruffly.
Not at all what I expected to roll of my fingers. Apparently, I am knee deep in a thriller right now. Because only a few pages later this man takes said clerk hostage (just for shits and giggles). He licks her face at one point--not from sheer sexual desire but because it felt like the right thing to do. His name is Frank, and he likes the gravy at some country restaraunt on the outskirts of town.
Who the hell is Frank? Why, of all things, is THIS the junk that came out of me yesterday evening? I can ponder a million ideas, but why is it that when I sit down to write them, this kind of random stuff is what comes out?
It's like I have to write the rest of the story, just to see what this nonsense is in the first chapter. And, like last time, the ideas are budding from that one paragraph and in my head is this monster story, complete with characters and plots and ideas, that, two seconds before I opened my word document were not even figments of my imagination.
It's not like I can blame drugs. I don't do drugs (although I wonder what kind of stuff I would write if I did). I can't be like "Oh, fiddlesticks, I blame crack." And I don't drink that much. Once every few weeks or so. I was sober at the time.
Maybe it's Jesus. Maybe the Lord wants me to write about a guy who holds up convenience stores with a bow and arrow and takes clerks hostage. Perhaps the universe was all created for this moment...a moment to tell the quirky comedic thriller that is rolling off my fingers. The meaning of life itself...to lick your hostage's face while driving in your primer grey pickup truck listening to Dwight Yoakum.
Yee haw. Woopdie doo. I got a new WIP and it's whipping me good.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Hers and His
She crawls up on my lap and looks up to me. My heart melts. She smiles. I smile.
She lays her head against my chest and watches TV.
"Are you my sweetie?" I ask.
"Yeah. I your friend."
I smile and look at the TV. I think to myself of her sweet innocence, her slightly exaggerated bossiness, woven delicately within the kinks of her insecurities, fears, and sadness. I watch her cry and it's my eyes that tear up. I watch her laugh, and I feel joy. When she's angry, it's my face that's flush.
We clash. I yell. She yells. She turns away and is no longer my friend and I say "fine."
Moments later she's back on my lap and the process starts again.
I worry about her. I worry about the things she'll face. I worry if she'll be ok. I worry about the sick freaks that are out there who would lay a hand on her.
Behind her eyes I see a wave of fluid, not tears, but a fluid of change and adaptation. I watch her grow and evolve; I watch her attention change on a dime or her incredible stubborness and again...I smile.
****
He barrels right past. He's got one thing on his mind. I reach for a hug and am met with resistance, but I coax him into it. He turns his back to me and leans back. I flip him around and tell him to hug me right, and he sighs with impatience.
He runs to the bed, flips on the TV, puts in his game.
"Come watch me," He says.
I cringe slightly, but eventually oblige.
He plays and his man dies. He yells at the screen and I tell him to chill out. He plays again and dies again. He hands me the controller.
"Do if for me."
I shake my head and hand it back. "No."
"It's too hard!"
"Be harder."
He throws a fit, and I sit in silence and wait. Soon, he picks it up and does it again and he wins.
"I'm proud of you." I say with a smile. He beams like the sun.
Behind his eyes is a single path. A rock. There is no wavering. He wants it done his way or no way. He can't understand why the world doesn't bend, and I can't tell him. I watch him and I see strength. I watch him and I see the seeds of a large oak, still a sappling, waiting for its time to bloom. I see a boy trying to figure out the world...I smile.
****
Sometimes it feels like an eternity. Each day without them takes a little more strength to endure. Each day I don't see their face, is a day that's lost in the annuls of time forever. The moment they come through my doorstep, I shower them with hugs and kisses and affection for I know that our time is short. These days will never come again and I want to enjoy them to their fullest while I can.
Sometimes I get so angry at them I can spit. Sometimes I say things I shouldn't. Sometimes I do things I shouldn't. Sometimes we fight. Sometimes we are silent. But there is always a connection. Always a bond there.
I am their father. I love them. I miss them.
She lays her head against my chest and watches TV.
"Are you my sweetie?" I ask.
"Yeah. I your friend."
I smile and look at the TV. I think to myself of her sweet innocence, her slightly exaggerated bossiness, woven delicately within the kinks of her insecurities, fears, and sadness. I watch her cry and it's my eyes that tear up. I watch her laugh, and I feel joy. When she's angry, it's my face that's flush.
We clash. I yell. She yells. She turns away and is no longer my friend and I say "fine."
Moments later she's back on my lap and the process starts again.
I worry about her. I worry about the things she'll face. I worry if she'll be ok. I worry about the sick freaks that are out there who would lay a hand on her.
Behind her eyes I see a wave of fluid, not tears, but a fluid of change and adaptation. I watch her grow and evolve; I watch her attention change on a dime or her incredible stubborness and again...I smile.
****
He barrels right past. He's got one thing on his mind. I reach for a hug and am met with resistance, but I coax him into it. He turns his back to me and leans back. I flip him around and tell him to hug me right, and he sighs with impatience.
He runs to the bed, flips on the TV, puts in his game.
"Come watch me," He says.
I cringe slightly, but eventually oblige.
He plays and his man dies. He yells at the screen and I tell him to chill out. He plays again and dies again. He hands me the controller.
"Do if for me."
I shake my head and hand it back. "No."
"It's too hard!"
"Be harder."
He throws a fit, and I sit in silence and wait. Soon, he picks it up and does it again and he wins.
"I'm proud of you." I say with a smile. He beams like the sun.
Behind his eyes is a single path. A rock. There is no wavering. He wants it done his way or no way. He can't understand why the world doesn't bend, and I can't tell him. I watch him and I see strength. I watch him and I see the seeds of a large oak, still a sappling, waiting for its time to bloom. I see a boy trying to figure out the world...I smile.
****
Sometimes it feels like an eternity. Each day without them takes a little more strength to endure. Each day I don't see their face, is a day that's lost in the annuls of time forever. The moment they come through my doorstep, I shower them with hugs and kisses and affection for I know that our time is short. These days will never come again and I want to enjoy them to their fullest while I can.
Sometimes I get so angry at them I can spit. Sometimes I say things I shouldn't. Sometimes I do things I shouldn't. Sometimes we fight. Sometimes we are silent. But there is always a connection. Always a bond there.
I am their father. I love them. I miss them.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
A day in the life...
The alarm clock blares out like a beacon call, an ambulance coarsing through the cold night to find it's victim. I roll over, lift a crusty eye sleepily open, and beat on the snooze button.
5 minutes.
Another call. Again, my hand beats down on the snooze button and all is calm for another 4 minutes and 59 seconds. Bliss. Warmth. Heat. Blare. Beat. Blare. Beat. I beat the fucking top. I pound it into the nightstand. I curse and turn and pound and fight.
I'm half awake now, so everything that surrounds me feels real. I see myself standing at the coffee pot at work. I see myself fall into my chair and the phone rings. I pick it up, but it continues to ring. I pick it up, but it continues to ring. I pick it the fuck up and it continues to ring; so, I slam it back on the receiver and it continues to ring.
My eyes crack open and I am awake. I realize that the phone wasn't ringing--it was just my alarm. I sit straight up in bed and immediately am struck with the desire to lay back down. Just 5 more minutes...borrow some time from the morning...sleepy sleepy time. I heave my legs over to the side of the bed, shut off the alarm clock, but I continue to hear the bleating. I stand up, walk over to my daughter's small toddler bed and I shut off that alarm clock. I walk out into the living room and shut off the alarm clock on my nightstand. I chuckle to myself at the fact that I have 3 alarm clocks all torturing me in the morning. I read the time: 5:30 AM. For weeks I have beaten my nemesis. For weeks I have stared in the face of my chrono lateness and sent it packing. I am a man now; the little boy who couldn't get out of bed in the mornings is left lying in the past somewhere, suspended forever in time in the form of a memory.
I push the power on the T.V. as I hobble past towards the bathroom. I put one hand on the wall behind the toilet and slowly fumble for my morning wood and furiously try to aim it down towards the tiny little hole. Relief. Freedom. Slowly but surely it softens back up and the task isn't quite so daunting. I flush. I pull open the mirror to reveal a cacophony of bath products...I fumble for my toothbrush and lazily apply toothpaste. Brush. Brush. Brush. Inspect. Years of smoking are, finally, telling me that if I don't quit soon that I will be staring a pearly yellows. I vow that in the future I will kick that nasty habit for good. But for now, I brush like there is no tomorrow.
Spit. Rinse. Brrr....my teeth are cold. My whole body shivers at the experience. I hobble back out, flop onto the couch, and flip through the channels. I stop when it reaches the morning news and light a cigarette.
Puff. Obama this. Puff. Obama that. Puff. War. Puff. Poor economy. Puff. OH WOE IS ME!
I stub out the cigarette and walk into the kitchen. I pull open the cabinet and fumble out a pill. Prilosec. Hello heartburn my old friend. Meet the antidote. I grab a glass and fill it with water from my water cooler (oh boy oh boy oh boy). I kick back a swig and swallow the pill. I contemplate making breakfast; I decide against it.
Shave. Shower. Clothes. Shoes. Coat. It's freezing. I undo the lock and step outside, pulling the door shut beside me. The winter air blasts me in the face and I silently think, "Buh-buh-buh-buhbrrrrring it the fuck on, winter. Bring it the fuck on."
Scrape scrape scrape scrape. Frost. I look down at my scraper, the lovely little gift (the first one) from my son. He seemed so pleased when I opened it. And why wouldn't he be? Not only was it a scraper, but it's a scraper with a wool scarf for your hand to fit up under so it doesn't get cold. I'm instantly filled with a sense of both longing and peace...I miss my children.
I drive. It squeaks. I drive. It squeaks. I drive. I turn of the heat it squeaks. I turn on the heat it squeaks. I turn it off and throw the car into nuetral it squeaks. I curse the day I was born and murmer a curse word as I turn on the heat and let it squeak. Finally, the squeaking goes away and I fire up another cig. I think about the day before me, and I let a sigh escape my lips. Another long day. Another long day at work. I think of what I am going to do with all the money. I can't decide. I let a sigh escape from my lips.
I walk in the door, it's 6:30. I listen to the guys in my office make snide comments about how I am on time all of a sudden. It's been three weeks...they won't let it go. They can't fathom the fact that I have got it under control. So they joke and sneer and laugh at my expense. I shake my head and I flip on my computer. I walk out and get a cup of coffee and say hi to my boss as I walk past his door.
Work work work. Play. Work. Play work. Laugh. Smile. Talk. Nod. Nod. Yup. I don't relate. I don't relate. I can't relate. They are old I am young they are old I am young. I let a sigh escape from my lips.
Lunch. Drive. Hot dogs. Mountain dew. 4 o'clock...5 o'clock....6 o'clock...7 o'clock. Another day, another dollar. I hobble out to the car. I let a sigh escape from my lips. It's dark. It was dark when I arrived. I drive. I stop. I crack open my keys, and insert it into my mailbox. No mail. Junk mail. Bills. No mail. Junk mail. Bills.
I drive. I am home. I fall onto the bed for a brief moment. I order some food and wait for it to arrive at my door. I watch TV. I play on the internet. I read. Time flies so fast in the evenings and before I know it, I am pulling back the covers. I walk around and set each of my three alarm clocks. I crawl up under the covers and stare at the ceiling. I think about my day and stare at the ceiling. I think about tomorrow and stare at the ceiling.
And for a moment, a brief moment, as I hang suspended between reality and the dream world, I remind myself that life is good and there is always tomorrow.
And so, I wait and watch for tomorrow, but it never comes. It never comes...
5 minutes.
Another call. Again, my hand beats down on the snooze button and all is calm for another 4 minutes and 59 seconds. Bliss. Warmth. Heat. Blare. Beat. Blare. Beat. I beat the fucking top. I pound it into the nightstand. I curse and turn and pound and fight.
I'm half awake now, so everything that surrounds me feels real. I see myself standing at the coffee pot at work. I see myself fall into my chair and the phone rings. I pick it up, but it continues to ring. I pick it up, but it continues to ring. I pick it the fuck up and it continues to ring; so, I slam it back on the receiver and it continues to ring.
My eyes crack open and I am awake. I realize that the phone wasn't ringing--it was just my alarm. I sit straight up in bed and immediately am struck with the desire to lay back down. Just 5 more minutes...borrow some time from the morning...sleepy sleepy time. I heave my legs over to the side of the bed, shut off the alarm clock, but I continue to hear the bleating. I stand up, walk over to my daughter's small toddler bed and I shut off that alarm clock. I walk out into the living room and shut off the alarm clock on my nightstand. I chuckle to myself at the fact that I have 3 alarm clocks all torturing me in the morning. I read the time: 5:30 AM. For weeks I have beaten my nemesis. For weeks I have stared in the face of my chrono lateness and sent it packing. I am a man now; the little boy who couldn't get out of bed in the mornings is left lying in the past somewhere, suspended forever in time in the form of a memory.
I push the power on the T.V. as I hobble past towards the bathroom. I put one hand on the wall behind the toilet and slowly fumble for my morning wood and furiously try to aim it down towards the tiny little hole. Relief. Freedom. Slowly but surely it softens back up and the task isn't quite so daunting. I flush. I pull open the mirror to reveal a cacophony of bath products...I fumble for my toothbrush and lazily apply toothpaste. Brush. Brush. Brush. Inspect. Years of smoking are, finally, telling me that if I don't quit soon that I will be staring a pearly yellows. I vow that in the future I will kick that nasty habit for good. But for now, I brush like there is no tomorrow.
Spit. Rinse. Brrr....my teeth are cold. My whole body shivers at the experience. I hobble back out, flop onto the couch, and flip through the channels. I stop when it reaches the morning news and light a cigarette.
Puff. Obama this. Puff. Obama that. Puff. War. Puff. Poor economy. Puff. OH WOE IS ME!
I stub out the cigarette and walk into the kitchen. I pull open the cabinet and fumble out a pill. Prilosec. Hello heartburn my old friend. Meet the antidote. I grab a glass and fill it with water from my water cooler (oh boy oh boy oh boy). I kick back a swig and swallow the pill. I contemplate making breakfast; I decide against it.
Shave. Shower. Clothes. Shoes. Coat. It's freezing. I undo the lock and step outside, pulling the door shut beside me. The winter air blasts me in the face and I silently think, "Buh-buh-buh-buhbrrrrring it the fuck on, winter. Bring it the fuck on."
Scrape scrape scrape scrape. Frost. I look down at my scraper, the lovely little gift (the first one) from my son. He seemed so pleased when I opened it. And why wouldn't he be? Not only was it a scraper, but it's a scraper with a wool scarf for your hand to fit up under so it doesn't get cold. I'm instantly filled with a sense of both longing and peace...I miss my children.
I drive. It squeaks. I drive. It squeaks. I drive. I turn of the heat it squeaks. I turn on the heat it squeaks. I turn it off and throw the car into nuetral it squeaks. I curse the day I was born and murmer a curse word as I turn on the heat and let it squeak. Finally, the squeaking goes away and I fire up another cig. I think about the day before me, and I let a sigh escape my lips. Another long day. Another long day at work. I think of what I am going to do with all the money. I can't decide. I let a sigh escape from my lips.
I walk in the door, it's 6:30. I listen to the guys in my office make snide comments about how I am on time all of a sudden. It's been three weeks...they won't let it go. They can't fathom the fact that I have got it under control. So they joke and sneer and laugh at my expense. I shake my head and I flip on my computer. I walk out and get a cup of coffee and say hi to my boss as I walk past his door.
Work work work. Play. Work. Play work. Laugh. Smile. Talk. Nod. Nod. Yup. I don't relate. I don't relate. I can't relate. They are old I am young they are old I am young. I let a sigh escape from my lips.
Lunch. Drive. Hot dogs. Mountain dew. 4 o'clock...5 o'clock....6 o'clock...7 o'clock. Another day, another dollar. I hobble out to the car. I let a sigh escape from my lips. It's dark. It was dark when I arrived. I drive. I stop. I crack open my keys, and insert it into my mailbox. No mail. Junk mail. Bills. No mail. Junk mail. Bills.
I drive. I am home. I fall onto the bed for a brief moment. I order some food and wait for it to arrive at my door. I watch TV. I play on the internet. I read. Time flies so fast in the evenings and before I know it, I am pulling back the covers. I walk around and set each of my three alarm clocks. I crawl up under the covers and stare at the ceiling. I think about my day and stare at the ceiling. I think about tomorrow and stare at the ceiling.
And for a moment, a brief moment, as I hang suspended between reality and the dream world, I remind myself that life is good and there is always tomorrow.
And so, I wait and watch for tomorrow, but it never comes. It never comes...
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