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?

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.

Echo? Echo? Someone Pay Attention To Me?

So I got up his morning a little after four. I sat in bed and fiddled with my phone for a bit, was awkwardly terrified by the cat that was suddenly in my lap and realized that I am no longer able to navigate in the dark as I slammed my foot into the wall at what I consider a considerable fraction of the speed of light. I hobbled my way down the stairs to wake the teenage mass of blanket on the couch, coffee was made and I have been sitting here ever since listening to bad techno music and good classical music and, yes, a combination of both of them. How else can you truly listen to Fur Elise and feel both your forgotten teenage angst and sweet, melodic harmony of peace wash over you? I have had more coffee, and am having even more as we speak.

I am trying to find the words for writing things, well things that aren’t this, a little today and from the rumor I hear, it is Friday, and while that is not exciting in and of itself for me, I know I don’t have to wake up early tomorrow morning to wake up the aforementioned teenage mass for schooling things. Which means I might be able to get him to do the dishes the night before and not have to do them myself. I may be the dad and all, but no one enjoys doing dishes. No one. Fight me.

We will most like binge-watch more Supernatural, I mean we have watched seven seasons in like three weeks, and fill the days with idle chatter about things that matter just enough to be brought up in conversation, or at least things we hope anyone else in the room will be interested enough in to comment on. Most likely I will sit on the couch and write things, the two littlest guys will do their thing, the teenage blanket will play video games and Terrysaurus will be the sage man we can all but hope to become when we are allowed to be his age.

In short, I am bored and there is very little I can do to alleviate this particular condition without doing stupid things which I refuse to do because, well, they’re stupid, see. I can read more, which has been a goal of mine for a bit anyway, so that is a doable goal. I can try as hard as I can to believe the world is not about to end in fire and chaos, I mean for the sake of the kids if nothing else. What else? I suppose I could try and count how many somethings are on another something? I mean, that could be fun.

Right?

Right??

Anyone?

A Little Later In The Morning We Find Our Main Character Doing The Same Thing He Had Done Hours Before, Just With More Background Noise To Add Dice To His Sanity Check.

A few hours, a weird nap, a diaper change for the little guy and a lot of 90’s trance music later, I return fresh and caffeinated with a thought of something interesting.

Seeing as my kind apparently goes to a school that defies gubernatorial orders and is off next week, in addition to being able to write more things it has just occurred to my minuscule piece of gray matter than I will be able to at least attempt to sleep threefold as long as I am now. I probably won’t succeed, but that isn’t the point is it? The effort put into the thing counts. If I can even lay there awake and gt my brain focused that cuts down on all kinds of pain later int he day when I am foggy and out of sorts and the like. While not El Dorado, it is a pretty decent boon nonetheless.

I am going to immediately, upon conclusion of this, add to the series I have started, namely The Card and The Leader with at least one one-off story thrown in there because my brain doesn’t feel like a pool of mushy goo right now and I can express the innermost desires of my Id to the world in the form of badly contrived and barely concealed metaphorical stories.

Or something like that at least.

So, I am sitting here listening to some heavy techno music. Why? It is easily available on Spotify and repeat is my friend when I want to do the writing things and, importantly, it drowns out the bad choice of buying my Elder Duck Call Of Duty because he has, truly, been awesome the last few weeks during all of this. I am not worried about the differentiating thing some parents think about or the evil bad bad others do. Nope, it is just fucking loud as hell so I just need to make my music louder which, in case any of you have forgotten, techno will always win at.

I have a little dude neatly curled into a serpentine ball at my feet staring at the Universe and happily doing nothing at all, poised to strike in an instant the moment coffee is needed and he can tail me and “help” me with the said procedure. The variant of help he provides is counting, meticulously, the amount of anything and everything I can possibly do while I am in the kitchen. I must admit when I am in there with him and I don’t hear certain numbers I actually question and see if I have done all the steps I am supposed to have done to make said coffee in the most palatable and delicious ways.

The rest of the house, and in fact most likely a decent chunk of the Eastern Seaboard, lay in sleep still. The traffic flows interrupted by the pandemic and the cycle of noise around the entire globe awkwardly skipping a beat these last few weeks and the next few months to come. I suppose the hippie in me is happy that we are dumping less of this, that and the other thing into the oceans or into the air, but there is also the pragmatic part of me who wonders all sorts of things about economic backlash and the inevitability of depression-like measures.

However, I shall not let that cloud over my day. I have my babies with me, we are all healthy and at this point, nothing is more important than that single fact.

Stay safe, #StayTheFuckAtHome.

I Haven’t Done One Of These Middle Of The Night Things In A Long While

Ironically, as I sit here at a quarter to one on a Saturday morning writing this, I have already been asleep for as long as I will be for the rest of the evening. I had a heavy-duty migraine come and punch me in the face about 5 yesterday afternoon and it knocked me out, nearly literally, until about a half an hour ago. While no one wants to say they are up for the day before it is an hour old, I actually got a decent amount of sleep and while not feeling totally rested, I sure as hell feel a lot better than when I laid down awhile ago.

It is nice and dark down here, two of my three children are sound asleep within ten feet of me and it is so very quiet. The chaos of one day forgotten as the buildup for the next slowly gathers form. Normally, due to the rather…gregarious…nature of the neighborhood I live in there is the beat of the music, the cacophony of voices and cars constantly moving back and forth down our little finger bone of a street here on the west side.

Social distancing has thankfully taken root in at least a large subset of the population here and they are doing precisely what it is they should be doing, absolutely and nothing. We stay inside, we stay safe, we #FlattenTheCurve and all the various hashtags that, while annoying to some now, hopefully, will become a memory of a darker time and not a constant thing that we are always shouting into the barren streets around us.

I never knew precisely how much I would miss outside. Y’all know I am nearly agoraphobic as it is. I suppose it is when I was told that I couldn’t, so at least shouldn’t, go outside that I realized how good I have it in that arena. I may not love to go out and do the things, but I COULD go out and do the things and now I am here and all I want to do is to do stupid things like go grab a drink in a bar with some friends, visit my sweetest people and go to the grocery store without hoping I don’t breathe in at the wrong moment from the wrong person.

I have been waxing poetic and getting philosophical about this for weeks now not because I am some great fucking guru of knowledge, but because if I don’t talk about it in the way my brain needs to talk about it I am going to have hundreds of those airplanes inside my skull crashing seconds after they take off and I am pretty sure that the absolute last thing I need right now is a complete nervous breakdown, strikes me as decidedly inconvenient. So I sit and I write and I keep my mind way from existentialism as much as I can and stay rooted in the world that I have decided to call real, even if that world involves some stories where I make up the laws of reality.

Speaking of which, my clever segue will take us to a story based thing.

I am very happy with what I have produced, at least in the fiction department, in the last few weeks and will continue working on things. My production will either skyrocket in the next week because the Eldest doesn’t even have distance learning, or it will plummet for the exact same reason. I am hoping for the former, but truthfully would not be upset by the latter.

So maybe I will go find a thing to do now.

Rawrz