Mixed Messages

Heat

Proper hot today from what I understand. The warm where even skinny motherfuckers say it is hot and not just me, a fat Bear, wiping tit sweat off on the shirt kind of a hot day. I can imagine how lame and suck today is going to be. Instead, I can tell you other things; I have decided to do the latter because that seems more productive than whining about meteorological phenomena. I can do absolutely nothing about how much I desire to do that thing.

I have been giving serious thought to keeping this, the blog, and then moving all the other things, like the stories, to another platform to keep the messages distinct. I think it gets a little blurry when I start talking about the downfall of the government and then follow it up with a story about a magic alley. I don’t need to do this, of course not; it just seems like a more streamlined way of getting the things I want to get out, out. So that’s one thing that has been on my mind.

Another thing that has been on my mind is a real tech thing that I want to write down even if it only makes sense. See, I have ten terabytes of storage on external, USB, hard drives, and I want to find a convenient way to have them all connected to the laptop I am using without filing every USB hole like an actress at an AVN award show. I know what I should do, but money being a thing that doesn’t magically appear when I want it to, I have decided to have fun filling up the new five terabyte drive I am getting today and worrying about the rest of it another day.

I am the only person on the ground floor of my house right now, which is an oddity for the record. The Elder Duck got his marching orders for school, so he is trying to get himself back into a routine, and the Babeh Duck must have been a pain in the ass, or he would still be down here, being a pain in my ass. I will revel in this as I can, my coffee all poured and nineties metal pouring into my earholes in the best possible way, loudly.

All of that having been said, I am going to play some Skyrim before that is taken away from me by the arrival of the Horde and the monstrosities they bring with them on screeching voices and hooked claws.

Loves

Then, There Are Dark Days

Dark Days

Dark Days. Least fun of all the days there are, but they need to be spoken of regardless of our desire. These are not the anniversaries, those you can prepare for over time. These are not the birthdays, those you can steel yourself for those. Now, these are the days that were special for such hyper-specific reasons that no one but you both knew them.

What today is, for the point of this, doesn’t matter. Plus, even I like to keep certain things behind doors that only I and perhaps a very small few get to go into and discreetly look around before reverentially closing the door again.

I tend to be very snappish on dark days, a shorter fuse than even I have. I couldn’t tell you why. I suppose it has to do with trying to hold all of the other things back against, trying to not flood the mind with the negative bound up in the wonderful.

The problem with the dark is that no matter how hard you try, the light seeps into it. Usually, I am fully in support of this. Still, some things need to stay the same in our memory and not be purged away like a forgotten phone number replaced with some very Disney version of the facts.

It is better for the soul. I think that we remember it the way it was and not how we would have had it been. Sometimes there were fights when you want there you want to be kissed. You want there to be laughter, and all there was in actuality was tears. Disguising the dark with a rainbow is a disservice to the memory of the things that genuinely occurred. A false way of making yourself feel more like a real little boy instead of the puppet we all must infrequently be.

On dark days like this, I tend to hermit even more than I usually do and write or read a great deal. As much as I would love to tell you I am going to write copious amounts, I am most likely going to read comic books on my computer and try not to yell at my children. They have no idea why I am upset and why explaining it would only upset me more.

The weather is definitely not helping, although the clouds will most likely aid the temperature and not allow my brain to get to unparalleled pain levels. I don’t think we need to go anywhere today, so it will be a quiet day if nothing else. Even if I do have to go out, it is most likely for a quick little errand that will most likely do me some good to look at the sky instead of walls and ceiling.

I know I am the height of Bear Emo by saying things like dark days, but the words are in there, and all I am is the court stenographer. You don’t think I actually come up with all of this by myself, do you? No, the little gnome people in my head are awfully busy, and I have to say I don’t particularly mind.

So I will drink my first, and then my subsequent cups of coffee, look at my kind shoot other people on Xbox for a bit, snuggle the little guy, and then see if Stephen King’s kid is as good at comic books as I have heard that he is.

Take a second today, and just take a deep breath and realize that every second you think you can shrug off is retained in some way. You genuinely need to make sure that you enjoy every second of the good.

What Precisely Is The Story, Morning Glory?

The Light Of My Morning

Ever since the pandemic started, the set morning routine has been thrown away entirely and replaced with the slipshod one we have now. A fun (said sarcastically) little thing has been happening every single morning that had not ever occurred in the nigh on twenty years I have been a parent.

Sometimes it is a little before dawn, other times it is just after midnight, but without fail, for the last three or four weeks, my little guy will make his way upstairs and sleep in bed with me for the final few hours I am upstairs. Now, all things being equal, I don’t care that he does this, though, there is a downside I had not thought of until this morning.

See, when my brain decides I am awake for the day, I cannot lie in bed anymore. My back starts to hurt, and my mind finds things I need to go and do. Writing is a big one, of course, calls of nature, the ever-popular search for the magic bean water, you know, morning things.

This morning, this is before six, my wired brain had made its pronouncements. I was getting ready to rise from my opulent and frozen bed-throne and descend to mingle with the wee folk downstairs when a hand reached out like that scene at the end of the original Carrie and yanked my beard with such ferocity I thought that the end was nigh for a moment.

No, no, the end was not nigh.

What was occurring was that my sweet and wonderful Babeh Duck, the apple of my eye, was looking at me with determination one sees in professional athletes. Willing me, willing me, I say, to lay my fat ass back down so he could get a few more minutes of shut-eye before we went down and fought the battles of the day.

Yes, my enfant terrible made me lie back down and forced me to stare at the ceiling for a good twenty minutes while he finished the fight he was obviously in the middle of as he lay there. Unless he always kicks and punches like that when he is dead to the world that is. When he finally did crack open his eyes, his brilliant baby blues flashing up at me with that innocence and wonder he seems to have. He smiled for a few seconds and then proceeded to bounce, literally and 90’s slang word, out of my bed and make his way downstairs, knowing I would follow like the good little lap-dad that I am.

So while I was going to sit and talk about the positive psychological stimulations writing multiple times a day gets me. I decided that I needed to write what I believe in high school was called a Current Events piece for your perusal and see if you are laughing as much by the end of it as I am sitting here with my coffee in my left hand, my fingers absently stabbing at the keys with my right hand.

Today I will indeed write about psychological benefits and maybe go back to The Alley. I am in a mood, so I really can’t promise what won’t come out of my had, I can only hope you will be mildly informed and decently amused by it should it fall within your comfort zone.

I love all of you, even if we have never met or have met just a few times. I love you because you deserve to be loved, and you deserve to be held high and admired for your wonder, splendor, and the joy you have to bring to the world.

Two Of A Few, Definitely

This is me, JameyBear

A funny story, I think it is needed after the vitriol of the last, yes?

There I was, my newborn son in my arms, my face exploding with pride beyond anything I had felt, well at least since the last one was born, and in the waiting room were my mother-in-law and my dearest Bethany. I was full of sweet endorphins and, to be fair, utterly emotionally and physically exhausted from the last few hours with the baby and the last few days of having Preach-It-Jesus-Freak as close to my life and I as was humanly possible without being a motherfucking suppository.

Ahem

As I was saying, I was standing with my glorious son in my arms, well my hand really, and I completely bypassed the She-Harpy (Yes I know all harpies are biologically female, it rolls off the tongue, okay?) and I gave my precious creation to Bethany first instead of my mother-in-law. As much as I love telling the story in the “Bethany was closest to me” tradition, the truth was I bloody well did it on purpose because Bethany had been there for Naomi and I a thousandfold more than her parents had been, one of whom couldn’t be bothered in making the trip down to see the birth of his newest grandson.

Whereas there was such hardship that came both later that hour and in the days, weeks and yes, years to come, that innocent moment of a human being touching another human being for the very first time. Looking down onto that face with it’s closed eyes and seeing nothing but love and joy, that is what a birth is, that is what Creation is.

One Of A Few Probably

This is me, JameyBear

Today is a sense of tremendous joy and tremendous anger for me.

Nine years ago I was blessed by the Goddess and the strength of my wife to welcome my third son into this crazy world we live in. There was, as both of my other sons, issues with his birth and the wonderful people in the Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit at Strong Memorial Hospital made sure we had not only the best care we could receive for him but the compassion that is so desperately needed in times when your heart is torn from your chest and you are looking down at your hours’ old son not knowing what would happen next.

For those of you blessed to know my little hyper-mimic, you know that he is active and wonderful and remembers every bad word I shouldn’t say around him and a million other things that make him sweet and lovable and kind and gentle and, most importantly, so very much like his mother. His mother would smile and her golden eyes would light up a room and a laugh that would make the angels themselves weep with joy.

His mother who doesn’t get to see him today.

No, no I am not going to spiral into that hole, but she is indeed gone and every single person in the world who ever knew her is missing her.

What makes me angry isn’t the tragedy of early death, no what makes me mad is that there are so many that are alive that shouldn’t be when she is gone.

Yep, I said that.

Karma, yeah I know.

I still want the bad people dead.