There Is So Very Little I Do That I Don’t Open Book About, Welcome To One Of Those Things, I Mean, Kind Of, A Little, I Think


I pray a lot. Well, pray might be the wrong word for it, but I think for this it will do just fine.

I do not pray for things, it always struck me as odd to ask an all-powerful, or even very specifically powerful, entity for…stuff. Don’t get me wrong, you do you boo-boo, but if I am going to ask a Power of the Universe for a thing, it is going to be for more than a touchdown in a game that most of the world doesn’t watch or for a shiny kind of metal statue for music that a computer did most of the work for. Do you know what I mean? It seems a little south of stupid to me personally.

That having been said, it is not that I have always been the holder of this particular belief, I was very Catholic for a very long time and Catholics ask for a LOT of stuff from the Bearded One North Of The Clouds, as he is colloquially known by those who eat and drink his kid on the regular.

Since I found a new path to walk, I kind of saw the selfishness in asking things from a being whose schedule is pretty busy as it is and, since I am fairly certain there are a great many who do not share my belief paradigm, they have the extra burden, if one can burden an omnipotent being, of listening to Wicca Wanda ask if she can totes have eternal magicks to impressive Wicca Will and they can have little Wicca Wayne or something like that.

All I talk to my Goddess about, and I suppose it is talk as opposed to prayer now that you want to split hairs on definitions, are the hopes I have for others and I try to put my power into the Universe to see if I can help and love them any more than I always do. Call it the power of positive thinking with a little extra something.

Now I am not going to sit here and describe my ritualistic practices in detail because I know there are a few people in the world, he said sarcastically and somewhat caustically, that really want me to go ahead and die because I am not best boys with J-Dawg and the Collar Posse anymore. That is your karmic burden and I leave you to it, the only reading this is to try and wash the taste of what I wrote earlier out of my brain.

It is a peaceful place for me you know, talking with my deity of choice. I always find calm in my heart there and that is when I know, well, what I know. I can close my eyes after the fact and feel, for lack of a better word, cleaner than I was than when I started the whole thing.

Someday I will try and put into words things that I only have pictures for in my head, but for now, I think I have said what I am going to say on the subject and I am going to let it go for the day. Well, I won’t really, I just have a hand cramp and I need to stop writing for a little bit so I can get ready to say other meaningless things that are all see-through attempts to explain the rising panic.

So I Need To Make Some Changes, Internally and Externally and What Better Way To Do That Than To Shave My Head and Try Direct Confrontation Therapy?

This is me, JameyBear

I took some time this morning long before the sun came up and I smiled at the world and found ways it smiled back at me. It was an easy enough thing to see the wonderful things around me because be it temporary or permanent, my outlook has changed in that I do not go and hunt the negative things, it is not the first thing I gravitate to any longer, it is not, forgive the reference, the albatross about my neck dragging me down.

Fairly confident I can keep this mental conditioning for a bit, I need to work on another thing that I have a gigantic problem with, and that is getting out of the house. It was agoraphobia, or some milder version of the same malady, at first, but lately, it is this complete feeling of ennui, this weakness, that comes with the thought of leaving the house and I am not quite sure where that comes from. I have some ideas, but I am no closer now than I have been in months. Yes, I know money is a thing I do not have a lot of so I can’t do all the things all of the time, but even I can afford to do some of the things some of the time. There is no reason for me to say no over and over again other than a block inside of me that I am desperately trying to pull away. I miss my people so very much and I have no idea how to get from where I am to them just right now because that bridge in the middle is apparently on fire.

Maybe I can start small and take walks, work my way outward a bit? Maybe I can try and find a therapist who will see me and get it sorted out that way? I will look into all available options because the worst part is that the part of my brain that is in this wonderful mood is also the part of the brain that wants to see my friends and kiss their cheeks and lift them up in the air and spin them around until they squeak and have a beer or fifteen and get on with the night in the best possible ways I can do that thing.

Now, in other news, or news I already said but now I am going to elaborate on.

I’m going to shave my head. It’s not a maybe anymore, it is a thing I am going to do and I have even set a tentative date to do the thing. Terry, one of the smartest men I have ever known, has been telling me for years that sometimes you need to do a thing you can look at in the mirror and see every day. A tangible thing, a thing that you know you did and not something you a spite to do or simply talk about.

This November would have been fifteen years for Naomi and I. The number in and of itself is not particularly significant, the anniversary is though. That ate is the timeline I have in my head to do the thing. I think it will be a point in which I can look back at and say that it was the beginning of a thing, just as it was the beginning of so many years of wonderful happiness for Naomi and me.

Now, I am not stupid, there is a reason I have no given myself a haircut since the Great Scissor Incident of 1987. I plan to have someone very important to me do it and who I trust. I won’t lie, part of me wants to see how bald I am getting without all the extra hair masking everything. Will I look good? I am not concerned about that to tell you the truth. This is about looking like some awesome person, it is about changing me in the ways I need to change me to become more of myself than I have been in a very long time. So just before Thanksgiving, look out for the Bald and Bearded Bear in your neck of the woods.


“The Truth Knocks On The Door And You Say, “Go Away, I’m Looking For The Truth,” and So It Goes Away. Puzzling.”

I Am A Writer, I Write

We will get to the more creative things later, but I just want to blow off some of the multiple anxiety/panic attacks I have been having this morning most likely brought on by me trying to intake an insane amount of caffeine to try and offset the migraine I feel coming on. I am not bitching about the attacks, I just need to make it a productive thing or I will go into that weird shaking and rocking back and forth thing a few of you have had the unfortunate opportunity to see.

I have had the most delightful opportunity to sit and remember stories my gran would tell me when I was a wee little bear. It helps me with our Siobhan, and it gets me int he mood to be a decent and loving person because to this day I have never met a human being that loved as absolutely unconditionally as that woman AND hated certain things with the fire only an eighty-year-old Irish woman can. She was my favorite person growing up, and I regret not having the chance to spend so much more time with her than I did. In both of our defenses, three thousand miles is a little bit of a drive when you are in your later years, and Alzheimer’s took her away from us long before her body decided that it was time to finally rest from the fight she had undergone.

In addition to her near-encyclopedic knowledge of the wee folk I love to write about so much, she taught me that no story isn’t worth telling, especially if it is one that you feel bursting from your heart and readily to your lips every day.

That is why I write.

I write because there are these things in my head that I mumble to myself before I get to my computer. I write them down in notebooks I never look at again because I need to get them out and I need to share them. Not because I want or need the praise, although I can’t lie that I enjoy when people enjoy something that I have to say, but because I need to get it out of me before it breaks me in half.

Rainer Maria Rilke is my quote of quotes for this sensation:

 “If, when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing . . . then you are a writer.”

I lie in bed at night and compose poetry to myself that I can’t share because it is words of my secret heart, and the world cannot see the depths of it. I sit up in the middle of the night and rock myself back and forth as I whisper continuations of stories that I remembered from so long ago that I think I may have had blonde hair still.

I think I am pretty clear on my point here, if I am not, one last thing.

Years ago, my best friend gave me a book, Zen and The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig. On the inside of the cover they wrote words, that I will not share here for they are mine and mine alone, that burned themselves into my mind and I went home after seeing them that day, and I started the blog that I had where I would do this, every single day, a thousand word minimum. I did it for almost two years, 1500 words a day the second year.

I write because it is what I am. Some people doctor, some people science, some people computer or math or bank.

Yeah, that should do for now I think.

With that said,

Until next Time, I Bid You Peace

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The Gorilla In The Room


You want to go. You need to go. You should go. You can go.

That is the mantra I have playing in my head this morning and I am not very pleased with myself because of it.

I should not have to do this just to leave the house on a beautiful day where I will see some of my closest friends in all of the world. I shouldn’t have to play a game in my head where I literally reward for chunks of time without panic attack activity I shouldn’t need to do any of it, and yet here I am, doing precisely that.

I am going to the thing today. I gave my word to people I do not lie to and I will be there in all my hirsute and ursine glory.

I will smile and laugh and be with my people. I will do this and there will be a great calm and wonder as it is happening, but for all of that, and it is a massive thing, I need to tell you what will happen when I get home. I need to tell you this because maybe if I tell you about the monster under the bed it will smell the cops coming and get the fuck out before I get home later. I need to tell you because if I don’t, then I will be lying by omission and that is the worst kind of lying there is.

The door will shut, I will sit with Terry and the Ducks for X amount of time. Maybe watch a movie, watch people beat each other up perhaps, then when all that is done I will walk up the stairs to the bedroom, jack the A/C to super arctic mode, lay down on my bed and remember every single action and word from the time I was outside of the house.

I will analyze all of it to make sure that I didn’t offend anyone, didn’t say anything too stupid, played the role of the Bear to the best of my abilities and made everyone laugh if that is what they wanted to do just then.

Then panic, there’s always panic.

Not because I left the house, not because of what I just said above, but simply because there is always panic. Water is wet, the sky is blue, women have secrets, Bear has nightly panic attacks.

Don’t pity me, I am simply stating a fact. My medication tames them a bit, takes the sharpest of the edges off, but they are always there.

Now, watch this magical segue into me talking about the Fourth of July.

I have never been a firework person. I am not anti-firework and they do not affect me like they do others, I just never saw the point of making concussive and loud noises and then burning different rocks to elicit specific colors. Now my dad, damn that fucker hated them. I mean, a war vet and all that it is a reasonable thing, but he actually started a petition when I was eight to have Disneyland not do them. Ever again. Like, forever. Needless to say, his efforts, while noble in theory, were in epic vain as not only do most people like fireworks, but we lived an hour away from Anaheim and how in the world did they bother him way over in Balboa Village?

See, perfect segue, no awkwardness at all.


No Clever Title Today


It was a bad night. Even for me, it was a bad night. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t really sit still. I sat and rocked back and forth of my ever turned-on air conditioner. I rocked back and forth and tried to not think of things that came at me quicker than I was capable of handling with anything less than a blubbering cry in the dark on an empty room in the cold in the middle of the night. I got told once not to fight the panic and to let it wash over you like a wave, like trying to not tense before a fall. I can tell you that as of 5:52 AM that this is a stupid fucking way of looking at the world and I will not be trying it again.

Yes, a Xanax would have probably taken care of it, but because I was a fucking moron twenty plus years ago I am denied that psychopharmacology route and instead have to scour through old wives tales, deep breathing exercises and trying as hard as I can not to forget promises made to people. I did the counting, the multiplying, the fingers finging, the fire, the drum, music, reading, laughing to make yourself believe you are in a positive environment, cold water, warm shower and then a near scalding one after that. None of it worked.

Except for the damn alarm.

As soon as the alarm went off to tell me it was time to start the process of the day, it simply faded into a background process that, even as it is going on now, is manageable because I have a focus in getting the Ducks ready for school and the starting of the day. On the worst of the worst of these days, I call mental health days and I keep the little guys home with me. Today though, I think the sending is a good thing, the best thing in point of fact. The façade I have up right now only lasts so long and when it cracks it will explosively blow out and they don’t need to be here to see that or feel any of the backlash.

So I am writing to give my hands something to do except count off imaginary sets of infinite numbers that only I know the placement of. I am listening to music to drown out as much of the cacophony of memory and self-hatred as I can. I am smiling and the Babeh Duck as he climbs Mt. Daddy over and over, a silly smile on his face. I am making faces at the Connorface who is laughing and smiling that only people who have seen it understand the power of. Elder Duck is playing video games and gearing up for a relatively short day at school. he’ll leave first, then an hour later the Babeh, then about an hour later the Connorface. Then, well, then it is a different tune to whistle I think.

I think I will write a bunch today? Or I will just curl up in a ball and watch creepy relaxing YouTube videos on restoring tools from the 17th Century to their perfect state. Maybe I will pretend to be interested in a video game, or even a book. The world is a big place with far more than a single thing to try to hide before.

Terry helps a lot as he will let me babble on and on and on, kind of like all of you do, and it helps to push the bad out, even though I always keep the heart of it to myself because no one ever needs to get the filth that is what the Darkness is made of all over themselves.

Then, well, let’s hope it isn’t a repeat of last night.