I suppose the weirdest thing about what I’m about to do my good Gentle Readers, is that I am mapping this all out in my head 12 hours before I do it. It’s a little after 9 on Friday night, I probably won’t be writing down what you’re reading here until well, you can do the math.
It’s not that I haven’t done this before, it’s just that I feel that I could have a more honest writing experience if I can bypass my fingers and put it directly from my brain on the page, and recording my voice allows me to do that. I can go back and fix the inevitable typos and miswordings, but I can never get the raw ideas back that I don’t get in that first draft, at first blush, that first time something leaves my head.
Yesterday, I wrote about thankfulness, mind you, it was a scathing rebuke of an idiot on the internet, but I suppose it was about thankfulness nonetheless. So, lying here in the cold comfort of my bedroom, an entire night to compose something in my head and not have to worry about screaming children and watching college football, think maybe I’ll list a few things in the world that I’m thankful for.
The first has to be My People. Tribe. Circle. Group. I have long screamed their collective wonder to the vastness of the internet. I told you about how they saved my life, I told you about how they saved my sanity, maybe even told you how they have forcibly made me into a better person even when I was too stubborn to realize that I had to do it on my own. I suppose what I haven’t told you were the softer things, the gentler things. The moments when they listen to me when I’m babbling, the simple hugs that mean so much, the fact that they let me lift them and spin them around in a circle because it’s kind of a thing I like to do. They welcomed me into their homes, they come into mine, I’ve met their children, they’ve met mine. They’re My People in as many ways as my Blood is not.
Second, on this list, but never in my heart, are the three absolute wonders that I get to call my children. My Ducks. The oldest who is so goddamn smart, my middle guy who’s laugh could make the fiercest demon weep tears of happiness, and my little guy who is such a wonder as he learns new things day after day that they told me he would never, ever, learn.
My Naomi. Gone but never forgotten. Not with me in flush but forever in my heart, my mind, my soul. The woman who finally taught me what love was, who taught me that not all women were the sideshow horse that I grew up with. The woman who put up with me during the absolute worst, and was single-handedly responsible for the absolute best parts of my life. True, she was taken far too early, but for all of us that knew her, she’s never truly gone.
That’s what I’m going to write, for now, there are more specific things that I will be addressing in the next few days, specific people that I want to laud to the stars and beyond. First I need to ask them a few questions, acquire a few permissions, and let this one sit and let people know that this isn’t just about writing. This isn’t about how many words I can get off in a certain amount of time, this is truly about how thankful I am about these people who have made such massive changes in my life that I’ll never be the same person again, and praise be the goddess for that.
© 2019, TheJameyBear. All rights reserved.
I am JameyBear. Liberal. Hippie. Dad. Widower. Poet. Author. Sarcastic Ass. Friend. Lover. Hater.
I have lied and cheated, stolen and done violence in word and deed.
I have given the shirt off my back and they wanted the skin underneath instead.
I am a notorious soft touch, wearing my heart on my sleeve and wanting to make everyone happy.
I tip too much, too often, too many places, and it is has burned me even as recent as this week.
I love everyone I have ever hated still. I will always love the memory of being in love with them.
I want to be your friend. No. I want you to want me to be your friend.
I am clingy and needy, dependent and hopelessly lost in times that I will never live in.
I use language that was archaic when archaic was a new word in the early 19th century.
I want to record myself reading everything so people won’t forget me when I disappear.
I talk too much, listen too deeply, process too quickly and infer way too much.
My beard is also better than yours