Returneth From The Drudgery Of Isolation, In Isolation, I Isolated Myself In.

Let’s try this.

Writing is hard. Not currently, that is a completely different beast. I mean in general. To look into the depths of your stewing think box and extract the exact right verbiage for the situation and to connect over and over again. It is a thankless process too, nothing in me feels an endorphin rush if I do the thing I want to do, it is more knowing that I did the thing that will release me from the panic that slowly starts to build as the words pile inside of me like grain in a silo that is just about full and no market to send it to.

It is not completely without merit mind you, knowing that I have placed a thought, especially a happy one, into someone’s head is a delight for me. I write in a very particular way that people seem to humble me by enjoying, so I try to do my best for myself and them and produce that which I feel would make all of us the happiest we can be with the situation.

You’ve heard the half-hundred metaphors I have used for the words and stories in my head. From the ever-popular airplanes to the less spectacularly worded ‘fuckton-o-things’. They are always there and when they are not pressing against me like a surging tide, they are slowly gathering more and more of themselves so the next wave of them might just break over the lip of the wall of my brain and end up just like the ones you are glancing at now.

I am overly wordy, it is a choice and not a curse. I always have felt the need to say in fifty words what could be said with a non-verbal nod of assent or even an extended middle finger on both hands, preferably after a clever pun about turning something up. I like to see words flow across the page and enjoying them like a multi-course meal that finishes with the perfect dessert of point, or a comical lack of one. It is not for everyone and to them I wish fair feedings at a restaurant that serves their choice of fare, this is mine and I will serve and enjoy what I like, no exceptions.

This morning, which I am fairly certain is a Sunday, the children I call waterfowl are quietly entertaining themselves and the grumpy old man has yet to come down from on high to impart sagacious wisdom on the youth of the world whilst simultaneously telling them to extract forthwith from his front grass patch. Given the state of affairs, it is going to be the same day it has been for months now, and I suppose it is okay because trying to make it anything else is a catastrophe waiting to happen.

My head is firmly attached and, with a little help from a Dragon I know, even shrunk a little. I got a fairly decent amount of sleep so I even feel vaguely human for the first time in a fair bit. Now mind you the cocktail of medicinal powders and tablets I consumed last evening cannot, at all, be repeated for at least another 10 hours, so let us hope the facade of mental and physical health holds up to scrutiny for at least that long.

Speaking of cocktails, while it is a little early for one as I am writing this, mayhap I shall treat myself to one this evening if the pain has not escalated to biblical, don’t look back, proportions. If it has, well, there are always the days that end in Y that come after this one to look forward to.

Tomorrow, with a lot of caveats, I am going to try creativity again and see if I can produce something that I am vaguely happy with. I will try a new thing, as I am wont to do because there are no expectations if I start with a blank canvas.

I’ll also talk about the other thing tomorrow is other than Memorial Day, a very, very not-so-good thing that I need to talk about from time to time.

One thing at a time though.

RAWRZ

Flectere Si Nequeo Superos, Acheronta Movebo. Sorry Princess, Latin Says It Better Without The Translation

I have been up pretty much as long as I normally to tell you the truth.

Got up a little after 5 to get the Elder Duck ready to do the things he needs to do (that means I am the dad that gets him up early so he can play video games before giving up my room all day for him to go to school) and then, normally, even if I don’t fall asleep, I lay in bed for a few hours and gradually acclimate myself to the soul-shattering fact that I need to go a whole day and not be asleep. Sometimes little dude comes up and crashes with me for a bit, which is adorable as it sounds of course.

That was the plan this morning when the power went out.

Now, there isn’t a real reason I couldn’t have stayed in bed, my bedroom is not only cold because I like it that way, but it is also the only room in the house that gets absolutely no direct sunlight into the bedroom proper. It stays cool in there even on the hottest of days, which we are definitely at yet to be sure.

No, the reason I couldn’t stay in there, other than the little squirming child next to me who was bored all of a sudden, was because there was absolutely no noise. I can’t go with absolutely no noise. It freaks the shit out of me and I just don’t do perfectly normal and quiet. Hence the sound machine, the fan when there was one in there, the air conditioner, the diurnal things I listen to. I can’t be absolute silence, it brings up memories of things that I don’t want to have memories of and, regardless of the skills I have learned, it always flips that particular switch.

So I am tired.

Know what else I am?

Soul-crushingly fucking tired.

I don’t have any of the spoons and fucks anymore. There are too many squirrels in my head and I am not going to last much longer if I don’t do anything about it.

So here is what I am going to do.

First, this will be the last thing in here for a bit. Feeling guilty over not writing things that I like to write is idiotic and I refuse to continue on that particular pathway.

Secondly, I love you.

Thirdly, let’s hope this ends sooner rather than later. I do not do myself or any of my people favors when I fo into hermit mode, and I am feeling a pretty strong itch to lay in a quasi-comatose state for 19-23 hours a day with occasional breaks for the food and the bathroom. We all remember what happened the last time I got stupid like that.

So if you know me, text me. If I don’t answer, I probably still think you are awesome?

The title says it all, let’s just hope we can do the former before the latter, yes?

Rawrz

If You Know, Well, I Love You and I Am Sorry

Jamey, Jamey, Jamey…

You know there is something in the wind, don’t you? You can smell it if you take a second and put down the weight of your crippling self-hatred and self-pity. There is a change coming and you need to make sure that it is the one that is be3st for you, not the one that is best for everyone around you and yet you are stuck in the past while everyone else moves forward…again. You give them the shirt off your back, yay for you, notice how many of your fucking shirts they have now? The best of them wash them, fold them, and hand them back to you with a hug and a smile. The worst of them rip them to shreds and feed the ends through bottles for wicks of the firebombs they attack you with.

The pandemic. Yes, yes the pandemic. Yes, it is a horrible thing being managed by horrible people that has resulted in tens of thousands, soon to be hundreds of thousands, of people dying in this “land of the…” whatever we are now. You’re not the violent overthrow of the government kind of guy. They have a few details about you that prove that remember? Yes, now you do. You’re more of the launch of the subversive website from your living room and encouraging kind of a guy. That is wrong that is not going to get talked about now, however.

Yes love, I know it hurts more than it used to. I know that it is a maddening thing and if I could take it away I swear I would. There is nothing “character building” about any of this and I hope you will keep those appointments that you made when this thing gets to a reasonable level of chaos. They may not be able to fix you the way you want, but they may be able to make you get to a place where you can fix yourself the ways you want.

You are listening to songs that remind you of beautiful women. I applaud you are doing this with none of that “what if” mojo that burns so incredibly strongly inside of you. No, this is just music, and occasionally a face flashes across your heart and you smile and keep listening to the song.

A demon you had been meaning to give a hug to for a very long time has been taken care of and once again you can smile when you think on simple things.

Hai person reading this.

Most people look in the mirror and do the positive self-talk thing, or maybe they don’t need it and for that I am happy.

If I write it down it is a record that at least for these exact moments, I felt good in the ways I have listed here. It doesn’t mean I am “okay” it means that at the moment, for these things here, I am, not not okay. I am clinically depressed, my anxiety is at a near all-time high and I am pretty sure there are some disassociation issues that I desperately need to talk to a psychiatrist about at the soonest possible opportunity.

There are things to be glad for however, not all is sorrow. My Elder Duck is going to end this year with a damn near 100% average in everything across the board, including the arch-nemesis that is the English language. My Connorface smiles brighter every day and my little guy can learn more in an afternoon than I did in my teenage years.

So no, not all darkness, just a lot of patchiness.

What is that is the Persian Sufi poets said?

This to shall pass?

The Ever Rising Tide

You’ve seen this before, I just thought I would throw my take into the fire I suppose, I have nothing else to do, so I thought I would analyze my mental health for the internet. I have worse things, so at least this is something I am vaguely interested in.

There are no trigger warnings needed here, I am not going to talk about the Bad Dark, just what the face of it all looks like.

Any of you who have ever met me know that I love to both laugh and make others laugh. I am not particularly funny, I know a stand-up comedian, that motherfucker is funny. I am self-deprecating and I suppose that is humorous in its way. I digress, however.

Even when I am in the middle of the deepest laugh I can have, tears streaming down my face and various floods being ejected from various orifices of my body, I am still very, strongly, deeply, clinically depressed.

When I am walking around the supermarket with my new bandana face mask necessity and I am breathing in my self-produced humidity and I am smiling at the pharmacist and the cashier, I am still having a panic attack that I will crash into. Not when I get home, not until much later when I am alone and it is dark. Then the panic will wash over me like waves that bring it higher and higher until I choke on it and curl up in a ball and simply submit to it all.

When I am sitting in my best friends living room, a human being I trust more than nearly anyone who has ever lived, I know the exits, I know how to get home with no money, I have an exit strategy because that is what I have always needed and you don’t shut off decades worth of paranoia, if it were rational, it wouldn’t be paranoia.

You’ve seen me finging right? You know, fingers finging? Tapping the tip of each finger against the tip of my thumb. Sometimes I count, other times I multiply, sometimes I do days of the week or some other repetitive so my brain can match the absenteeism of my hand movements, trying to fight back the things I don’t want just then. The migraines, the panic, the agoraphobia, claustrophobia, or a thousand other things.

I can be talking to you, laughing with you, lifting you in a hug I never want to let go of, kissing your forehead, drinking with you, eating my best friends food, holding the woman I love, sitting with my kids on my lap, or I can be alone in my bedroom.

It will never leave. It is dark when the light goes off, the eeriness of quiet in the city neighborhood, the shock and awe of a thunderbolt.

It is there.

It is always there.

Today Is About Her

I think I fell in love with her the first time as I was sitting with her on the phone while at work. She was having a massive panic attack and was literally under the counter at Tim Horton’s where she worked because of course, she worked at a Tim Horton’s. She was so scared, so very alone at some hour far past the time where most people get coffee in the middle of the night. She wasn’t scared of being there alone, or robbers or any of that, she was simply scared and she called me to help her with that. Being me, I made her laugh. I made her laugh until we realized she had used the store phone to call me long distance, back when things like that mattered and she promised to call me when she got home to make sure I know she was okay.

A few hours later, home with who I would later call my Elder Duck, she had just got out of the shower and drank some of the coffee she had been making all night and called me. It was a much more subdued, yet pleasant conversation. I am pretty sure she was embarrassed by calling me earlier, but I never once ribber her for it, up until the day she died I never mentioned it again actually. We talked about how abysmally cold it was where we both were, I was in Kansas at the time, and all we wanted to do was curl up with one another and get some much-needed sleep for both of us.

No sex talk, no flirting, just a scared human being calling another human being who they thought would be able to help them through a tough time.

The entirety of the time we were married it is what we excelled at with one another. Even if we were outrageously pissed at the other, which admittedly happened a lot more than it should have, if there was ever a point where one of us went past a place, we would simply know. Whether it was a look, a hitch in the voice, or suddenly needing to leave the room. Not out of anger, but fear.

We would stop and just be there for one another.

So on Mother’s Day that is what I am choosing to focus on, that is what I am choosing to allow into my mind and my heart, and I am pretty sure it will get me through the day just fine.