Sunday, November 30, 2008

Gingerbread Houses.

Odd that we made gingerbread houses. Odd that we sat as a group and made houses of candy and sweet things and laughed at our children - of course, we did have conversations in between -

Is she skinny? What does she look like? Do you have a picture? Does it hurt not to talk to her? Do you miss what you had?

Well, there was the gingerbread to worry about, and in all reality, what good was it going to do for me to be reminded of those things and to have to answer those questions. None - but truth be known, yes I have a picture, yes it hurts terribly to not talk to her, yes I miss her, yes she is beautiful. I cannot say those things in 100% total honesty - we are where we are - there is no reconciliation, there is just holding onto dignity through the holidays. I know that she is gone, my family is broken, and I need to move on, and I am not going to dig or poke or prod or even pretend.

Gingerbread Houses - they came out beautiful.

There you have it.

Well, considering I am now probably half way on the road to earning a PhD in child psychology, and well on the way to earning the "Worst Husband of the Year" award - the conversation went with the children, and as expected, Gray did not understand, and Gabe understood all too well -

Are you going to buy a house on Linwood Loop so we can see you? Are you going to come to my soccer games? What are we going to do on the weekends where it is just you or it is just Mom? All fair questions, all with tough answers, all coming from a very aware ten-year old who just wants to make sure that things are certain before things get really really uncertain.

Finances - wow - what I mindfuck that whole discussion is. I don't even want to begin with that one, hell, I am going to have a good job (I think - lest my buddy Bob made a few phone calls, sent a few text messages, and I get the honor of sitting in front of Judge Judy again) but I am going to have about $2,200 per month to show for it. That is what it comes down to in the end - how can we still act civil, how can we still be together, and how can we still nurture our children - all the while, how can I eat? I suppose it is not that bad - I travel all of the time, so eating is more of a company supported habit - but somewhere between car payments, loan payments, and the daunting task of finding somewhere to live - hell, that is going to be a nightmare...

This has been a very lonely, very shitty, very hard, very strange weekend. I have turned off my phone, and occasionally turn it on in hopes of hearing how things are going, or not going, or if the conversations are the same or are different, but the sad thing is, that I expect the worst - the worst for me that is, I guess, in some odd twisted way, it may be the best. None the less, tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la.

In a way the lack of contact has been good, it has not tainted my conversation, I think the belief that nothing is left has made it easier for me to be more honest here - I was initially afraid of losing everything, now, I know that I probably will be independent, will still have a job to do, and will be a well-wisher from the sidelines, my feelings have not changed - my voice still wants to scream out to be whole - but the reality has changed - and that has tinged my thoughts with more of a scientific approach than the emotional reality - I am respecting wishes, but wishing for something different.

The conversation sucked. The children understand, and are aware, and we are not hiding it from them. The parents know, the cousins know, the friends know, the guy at the grocery store knows, everyone knows - and frankly, with the exception of a few details, it is good to let everyone know - I am not a liar anymore, I am not a theif anymore, I am George - and George did this and George is going to survive and continue providing what he always has - with the exception that George is going to be okay - and not hurting those folks around him.

Yeah, no phone calls. That has sucked, my mind has created the best scenarios and the worst scenarios, but always seems to get stuck in between the two...not knowing is worse than knowing everything, and there you have it.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

The Hardest Day Before the Hardest Day

Kind of a confusing day. The mind plays evil, insensitive tricks on those of us who actually fill our brains with emotion, and are smart enough to think of the difficulty ahead. The talk was pretty clear, we both agree that there is really no hope - I will not be trusted again, She will not be hurt again, and we both will not be poised to strike at the drop of a hat. That conversation was pretty straightforward - we do enjoy each other's company, we enjoy having our kids together, we even enjoy doing some things together - but we don't enjoy being married - the stress, the decisions, the roles, the lives that we have built apart from one another have created two different people, two different people that have been building into individuals over the past seven years (as far as we can tell).

Tomorrow, I am not looking forward to. Tomorrow we talk to the children about what is going on and the changes that are going to take place - how do you talk to a ten year old son and a seven year old daughter about the end - of their lives as they currently know it - in all reality, I am only home on the weekends, call them everyday, so I guess they see me every other weekend -

It sucks to discuss numbers and living arrangements and behind all of this try to keep some dignity, even though you know you are going to be 37 years old, and living in a dingy apartment or in the basement at your parents house. The funny thing is that it sucks to know that you are going to be an absent father - who has to call and set appointments to see his children. A father who knows he is about to break their hearts, and then is going to do his best to repair them.

Discomfort is probably natural in this situation, I wish I would have been the one to tell my wife what happened, and not have it happen in someone else's time. But I made those choices a long time ago, and that is where it is. You know, I don't wish I could wind back the clock, there are too many things that I have been through in the past seven or eight years that outweigh the things that have happened, I just want to move on. I want to do it with some pride intact, and with some love for my family still out there - without getting thrown to the wind as the dad who never really was a dad. I imagine the infamous letter that comes in the mail may destroy those chances, but I have been on the defensive all day, and can be on the defensive all year - there are no excuses, it is what it is, and it was what it was, and well, that is another hurt that I cannot talk about right now.

It was an awkward day, we agreed to sit through the holidays - to stay put, and work through our differences as adults. We agreed to try our best to separate our love or lack of love from our friendship - we agreed that we do sometimes enjoy spending time together, and that we do want the best for each other - we just ran out of wanting to live together and put more effort for both of us to be rewarded with disappointment, hard feelings, and more repair.

Fear is not one of my strong suits, I am not afraid of much - but I am afraid for my children. I want them to have everything - and for some reason, I feel like I am about to rip a piece of their youthful innocence from them, it hurts, because I know what that is like.

If I could share these feelings I would with someone, anyone - but I am tired of talking to my dad and my sister, we are keepng ourselves together, we are keeping it simple, and we realize that this is where we need to go - do I feel regret, sure, do I feel relief that the truth is out, sure, but do I feel afraid about how it is going to work - of course. Do I feel like I just need to leave now, pack my things, and move - now, and get out of the elongated process, sure - but I stay for the kids until the holidays are over, and we go from there. New Years is going to be tough.

Tomorrow is going to be a very difficult day - I have been told that Dad and Mom are still going to be Dad and Mom - just from different houses - I hurt for my children, but I know that if I keep hurting and Christy keeps hurting, that our children will hurt as well - and neither of us want that, so there we are - done.

Life is never perfect, hell, I may lose my job over all of this, I have lost my family, to some degree by choice, but I just feel like I am entering into a new world that does not necessarily offer the best of times for the next year or so. Time to try and find a party or balloons or something to celebrate. But I will do that after tomorrow, after I crush my son and daughter, and after I hold them and love them and leave them.

The hardest day...

Cotton Bolls and Clean Chefs...

My son is wonderfully imaginative and a good cooking partner. This morning, the healthy distraction for me was to cook a turkey, with his expertise and patience of course. At ten, those are the greatest moments that I remember, playing catch with dad, learning how to clean freshly caught fish, being allowed to use the sharp knives, and learning how to season everything just right. That was with my stepdad, of course, by that time, my parents had found new soulmates, and I was living in Philadelphia - a small southern boy riding the subway to school, not really afraid, but confident that things were going to be okay after they had been so not okay for a long time.

Gabe asks a large number of questions when we cook together - why does the bread for the stuffing have to be so small, melting butter smells really good when you add garlic to it, how should I inject the season medicine into the turkey, are you and mom doing okay this morning...

I distracted him by reminding him "A Happy Chef is a Clean Chef" - and we cleaned up the kitchen, sterilizing every surface lest it be infected by some raw turkey or bad emotion that welled up during our excursion this morning. I was in a dream state for that hour - working with him, possessed with his youth and his questions, and in love with his brown eyes and small hands as they sliced bread, or stirred celery and onions and garlic, or his tousled hair as he told me that he loved cooking with me and also loves it when we have fires in the backyard. A happy chef is a clean chef, and for me, I wonder when it will feel clean again, but that is another story for another time and another place.

Both of the kids are showering away their cooking and cleaning chores right now, Christy has left for the gym, and I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Cotton Boll that I picked up on my drive from Maryland back to Florida. When you drive this time of the year, it is cotton season - that staple crop that they still grow throughout the south, but most gets shipped overseas to be made into towels and q-tips and bandages, and then shipped back here for us to consume.

Raw cotton is pretty - after the fields are cut, the cotton that has escaped the bailers blows all over the roads and highways, like big fluffly snowflakes, or a cotton candy storm - it drifts and piles in little piles that eventually start looking like the remnants of a snow plow pile rolling down the highway...this piece in particular was my piece, so I saved it. I don't know why I save things like flowers and sticks and wrappers - they don't mean anything to anyone except me - but I save them, and I keep them, and when I look at them, I can tie them back to the exact moment and the exact thought and the exact smell and the exact feeling that I was experiencing at that time. A collector of sorts. I have a trunk full of these things - not necessarily cotton bolls, but different wierd things.

Right now, I am collecting cotton - when you hold raw cotton in your hands, it is like holding a piece of dry hair with a stickle burr in the middle - it is soft but dry - it has no particular smell, and usually it is a little dirty from months of rain and dry dust in the cotton fields. Focusing on this piece of cotton helped me then as it is helping me now - the feeling attached to it is one of uncertainty and fear, but also one of hope - that whatever life that cotton is going to be, it is going to be, and serve its purpose, it is going to be processed and changed and shaped, woven, sterilized, molded, cut, combed, but transformed and be better for all of us.

That's about all I can think of right now. Process, Process, Process. There is no heavy conversation, just heavy feeling, there is no emotion, just process. There is no real connection in this house with the exception to children - just process. Maybe it will be transformed into something that is better for all of us, but for now, I kind of like the odorless, tainted, dry, soft cotton boll feeling that is out there - it means that I am not falling back into process and not ignoring things and not confronting and selling out. It means that I am just a raw cotton boll that can be anything - it is just a matter of getting to that point and moving on.

Melancholy is not the drive of this post - I am giggling as I write these words - that there is a future - different, unknown, uncertain and perhaps alone - but happy chefs are clean chefs, and there will be many more years of cooking with Gabe and coloring with Gray and many more seasons and change for those cotton bolls -

A demain...

Sweeping up after the Party

You know, sweeping up the morning after the party sucks. Sure, everyoe had lots of wine and laughter and food and beer and jokes, but getting up the morning after and cleaning up the sticky stale cups and the half eaten plates of food and trying to pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth really really sucks.

My life has been a party for the past year - I had things to celebrate and to hang balloons for and to dance to, but I am afraid, I mean very afraid that the party is over. When you don't hear from the guests, and you wake up, and you just need a cold drink of water, well, I guess you know the party is over.

I don't know if this is a common thing - I have never done this before. I want to respect wishes and give space, I just don't want my heart to feel like it has sunken somewhere into my gut, and my head to swim around with thoughts of what if and why. It was an odd feeling last night, and then this morning, waking up, together, but alone - both sequestered to our respective and assigned sides of the bed, separated by more than pillows, I sat on the patio and thought to myself - and there is only one thing that I could think about - when I should be thinking about a million other things, there was only one thing that I could think about. Ironic, I guess - usually when you sweep up after a party, you just don't think, you go on remote control or auto pilot and force your way through it, and make it work. I don't want to go back on autopilot, but maybe I will - self-preservation or just plain sickness -

I don't think there are going to be any new invitations to any parties anytime soon. I want my invitation back for the last one. I don't regret anything, I don't hate the guests, I don't feel ashamed. I want my party back and want to celebrate it, and want to save the sweeping up for some other morning.

Thursday, November 27, 2008


Shhhhh, we all need to be quiet so we can hear things. Little things, like maybe the phone ringing, or the hum of the television set, or the sound of the housing creaking and warming and cooling in the Autumn Florida sun. I had a great morning, filled with hot showers, more of those frozen chicken quesadillas and I actually motivated myself to unpack, do some laundry, take a shower, and even felt vibrant enough to brush my teeth. Kind of amazing to me, when it feels like I don't have the energy to lift my arms or walk or even turn on the television - sure everyone has called, except my kids, and everyone has said Happy Thanksgiving, and sure I am Thankful if not happy, but the hardest thing to deal with is the quiet.

I am avoiding the other side of the house, I have to walk by and catch glimpses of things in the kids rooms, but they are just things, there are no children laughing - I even started attempting to tell myself that they were just out on the trampoline, and that I would see them soon enough and that I would be there as well.

Everyone keeps asking me if I am depressed - no I am not depressed in a clinical way, I am sad. I will be happy today at times I think, but I am sad right now. I keep thinking about getting out the Christmas tree and the decorations, but that is a family thing, maybe I should hang the lights about the house, but even that requires thinking beyond January 1, 2009, and right now, that is not a good thing for me to try and do.

I did find a grocery that is open in 3:00 today, so I am planning on going over there - maybe a big steak for dinner with a baked potato, or maybe I buy and cook the biggest turkey I can find, or maybe I smoke a brisket, who knows - I just need to be somewhere there are other people who are not drinking, not whining, not complaining about their station in life at this given moment - I don't need to hear all of that - Toilet Paper and Cleaning supplies sounds more like what I need.

Last night, the truth really came out. I think there had been thoughts of it for a few months now, and in a way, I wish it had come out sooner, or never - I told the truth too - I should be somewhere else - and I am not. I wonder what they are doing today. I am jealous, to be there, and to see them, and to be okay. Right now, I am not okay with it, I am not the only loser in the deal, there are several, but right now I am the one who is intently focused on the noises that are happening around me - shhhhhh, it is still so quiet...

Wednesday, November 26, 2008


I really started to go through a pretty angry streak about fifteen minutes ago - I mean one of those where your vision hones in on a point and you just see ten feet in front of you - I was making a grocery list - turkey breast, stove top stuffing, instant mashed potatoes, vodka, red wine, solo cups, ice, Advil...and I thought to myself - THIS IS THE FIRST FUCKING THANKSGIVING I HAVE EVER EVER EVER SPENT BY MYSELF. It may come across as a scream - I hope it does, because right now my body is screaming everywhere - it is yelling that my children, my sister, my family all have plans - and I am not a part of them. My son woke up crying this morning, and of course, I calmed him down with the unique rabbit joke, and asked him if he needed me to fart him to sleep tonight, he giggled like a ten year old would, but I know that he too will be back in his mother's arms tonight begging her to please love dad just a little bit more...

I could go into where all of this is coming from, but anyone who reads from start to finish in this blog has a pretty good idea, and could probably use their imagination to fill in the blanks that I am leaving out of how things ended up where they are - hell, it was my doing, but this weekend, yes this weekend, was created by small minded vindictiveness - pure and unadulterated bad - I honestly don't give a shit about the way I feel - it is not that important, I have felt bad before, and will feel bad again, but children....

So, just so I know that I am not losing my mind, I have come up with ten ways that I would like to thank Bob. I know they are horrible, and stupid and insensitive and immature, but at least I can get some of this angst out on paper....

1. Go to target and buy as many pairs of womens underwear as possible, and mail them to his coworkers with the nifty label "Bob I found these in my suitcase" or "Bob trust me, these look better off than on" or "Bob - she might want these back"

2. Start having my friends leave voicemails on the phone number that was emailed like - "Hey, are you the asshole who ruined two kids Thanksgiving" or "Hey Bob, this is George, Happy Thanksgiving" or "This is Dr. Smith, we could not find your wife's number, but she is pregnant, with Twins!"

3. Post an add in the newpaper "Free Hand Jobs with every Plunge" and list his work number.

4. St..

Hell, I am just not that mean. I just can't think of anymore that I could have done to the poor guy except what I have done already. I guess what my Dad always said is true - There is no such thing as a fair fight, and in this case, he brought the gun to a knife fight and pretty much took care of any fight that I had - the eleven hour drive took care of a good portion of some of it, and well, the rest was pretty much handled by my phone call earlier today...

I have the Patron Saint of Families statue sitting on my desk, I think tomorrow, I have lined up my day, with a little bit of his wisdom and help -

1. Golf. The course is closed, but I can walk it by myself for free.
2. Beer. The liquor store is always open on the holidays.
3. Television. I can't wait to see the Parades.
4. Beer. I may have mentioned this.
5. Turkey Sandwich and Stove Top. That's good eating. I am going to position my daughters American Girl dolls and my sons GI Joe dolls around the table, and talk with them.
6. Sleep. I have done a pretty good job of not changing out of my pajamas today, so I guess leaving them on tomorrow will not be all that bad.
7. Fireworks. Usually after a few beers, I like to blow stuff up, and I have some fireworks, so what the hell.
8. Think. That's the hardest part -

All in all, a pretty full day, I want Cakes and Croix and Christy and Bob and Gabe and Gray to have a wonderful Thanksgiving. I want them to be full of life and laughter and love and everything that everyone deserves - even the worst people in the world deserve their families on that day - I want them to see the sparkling eyes of the people that helped them build their dreams and realize them, and feel the warm hugs, and hear the laughter around the table as someone tells a funny story about something that happened to them this past year. I want their mouths to water as the turkey makes it to the table, and sweet taste of the wine washes down that ceremonial bird. I want them to be thankful for everything that they have and are going to have and I want the children to go to sleep knowing that Christmas is around the corner, and soon trees will fill the living room, and lights will twinkle, and parties and songs and candy and sweet things...I want them to have that. I want it too...

Sorry for the crappy post - just not feeling all that great right now...

Tuesday, November 25, 2008


Getting up at 2:39 am seems to be a common occurrence these days for me. Waking up rested, alive, and aware that something is happening somewhere far away - it is an odd awareness, a sense of harried panic, followed by just quiet. At 2:39 in the morning, everything sounds different - the person sleeping next to you with the monotone inhale and exhale, the air exchange in the air conditioning system, the hum of the television set, the sounds of the house warming and cooling in the Autumn winds outside. Sleeping through 2:39 am would mean that I sleep through those feelings that something is happening far away -

I did a strange thing this morning - I decided to run. My sister's colonial house on a little street in Bethesda sits among diplomats mansions and doctors houses, and conveniently enough (imagine that - a trail run through one of the most prestigious zip codes in the Country - I wonder if they have trail runs through downtown D.C.?) next to a trail run that stretches into the District -Changing into my running clothes at 3:00 am startled Christy, but by now, it seems that anything I do is ordinary - and as long as I don't complain and make sure that the lights stay low and the sounds at 2:39 stay that way, then it is okay...

It was a hard run, the kind you feel everything, the legs burn - not just a little cramp, but as if you had been given a shot in every muscle and the doctor coaxes you by saying "You may be a little sore" as if to say - this really sucks for you. The cold air in my lungs was refreshing, it was damp and rainy, and the leaves stuck to my shoes in muddy clumps, but I ran. My arms got heavy at times, and then at times I could not feel my fingers or toes - the only way I knew they were there was through the dampness in my socks and too thin gloves. My eyes burned with sweat, but I ran. My back was heavy, at one point, it was as if every step was an electric shock, and it hurt and I told myself that it will get better, but I ran. I kept going for hours, I do not know how far I went, nor do I care to know, I know the dawn light starting breaking through naked trees, and bike riders on their way to the Metro started to populate the trail. I know that my nose started to bleed from the cold, and my stomach emptied its contents in a steaming heap onto the ground, but still, I ran. I wanted to keep running to see how far and how long and how much I could take before I could take no more - and physically, my body gave away what it had, but mentally, I ran - the sight of me must have been frightening to the early morning crowd, a blood and vomit covered thirty-seven year old in half light running and laughing and singing and crying - but I felt every bit of it. I wanted that run to last, and it did as far as I could take it - I ran until I was out of everything - energy, emotion, and time.

I walked back into a quiet house, and the sounds were still the same at 6:20 am, the same as they were when I left, no one moving except me, floating on adrenalin and resuming my place in the downstairs bedroom - tasting the bile and blood in my mouth, and the dried sweat around my eyes, but today I ran. I left the shovel in the field, and I ran.

Monday, November 24, 2008


The equities have been reviewed, the books have been closed, and we start over again. We look into what the next month, quarter, six months, year - what they will bring - and what they might mean for us. Equity - a funny term - things are never equitable - things are in balance - which may mean a disparity exists - but the system is in balance. That may mean one side gets more, one side gives more, one side listens, and the other talks, one side smiles, and the other works, one side hides, and the other publishes...

I am at my wits end, and pretty much out of the magic that the muse used to bring to me. I have a new phone number in my treo that I cannot call, and a hell of alot of old memories to stifle. Where do I go from here? Who really cares? It is a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, pushing a broom, digging. I hate digging. I think I mentioned that in an earlier post, but that is what happens in life - I don't think I have been proven wrong on that maxim yet - we dig. We work the soil, we till the field, we bring in a harvest, and we do it again. We dig, therefore we are. Sure, we may take a break every once in a while - we may let things lay low for a while, throw our shovels down and just live - but we go back to digging.

I guess that's the whole point of this note - I am not going to go back to digging. My shovel is down, and it is down for good. I threw it back to the field a year ago, and that is where it is going to stay. The weeds and vines and fallow fields own that shovel. I was given a year away - and I am going to stay away.

There is no more a demain, there is no more beautiful kittenfish or the hope of a perchance visit - just the shovel in the field to go back to - sorry, I prefer to let the shovel handle rot and the steel spade rust - and I am going to keep living and loving and leave the rest to the diggers....

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Day One...

Well, today was the first day of the rest of my life - I hate that saying - maybe today was the last day of the first part of my life - that makes more sense - it has closure and some meaning to it - I keep picking up my Treo in hopes of seeing some random text message or some quote or something...just something to let me know that the past year was not a waste of my time - that it really did keep my hopes alive for a better place - funny, but the past year probably saved my marriage - more than it destroyed it - I did not have to focus on those issues and deal with the boredome and the hesistance and the lack of freedom - I had everything that I needed, and was able to preserve the image of a happily married couple with a traveling husband and a stay at home wife who played a shitpot of alot of tennis.

How did I spend Day One - well, Coors Light and Bowling. That's what I did - in some sort of odd twisted bowling alley, where the Dayglo pins and blacklight lamps made the flouurescent pink and green bowling balls look like a trippy a streak of enamel rolling down the wooden alley. Maybe I am the Big Lebowski - fucking no way dude. I enjoyed watching my son and daughter rolling those balls - and then checked my phone like a heroin addict looking for the last bit of brown tar in the little baggie..,just like the junkie, there was no fix, so I kept up with the Coors Light, and rolled the fourteen pound pink ball at the Dayglo pins...that was Day One.

There were phone calls, I talked to my Dad in great detail - about what happened, about where to go, about what to do, and about what I felt - and what I thought everyone else felt, and what I should feel. He did not have much to say about that - he told me he loved me. That was enough for Day One - I just needed to share. Sure, I talked to my sister, but I learned my lesson about that in today's conversation - I will not make that mistake again - blood is thicker than water - but hell, apparently, not too thick to make sharing and confidential an option.

I thought alot today. I thought about camp outs and parking garages and Volvos and Chef Boyardee and just thinking and laughing. Where is Vanilla Swiss Almond when you need it. Where is courage when you don't have it. Where is peace? Fitting for a Sunday to be looking for that peace, I don't think God is going to spare me from this - I think time is going to be the only band aid. Tomorrow is going to be another Day One. I will deal with these Day Ones piece by piece - when there is silence, I will distract myself. When there are people around, I will throw myself into that activity, and when there is just me - well I will work through that as I can.

Day one.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Break, Breaking, Broken....

Go fuck yourself. That is always the way I want to wake up in the morning - at least it is emotion - a real, solid, tangible emotion that can be felt - as if I don't fuck myself enough already - hell, I beat off so much in the shower now, that everytime it rains, my dick gets just a little hard....

It is easy for me to play it off, that's what I do - I play it off - I just joke and smile and laugh and play it off - no big deal....well, it is a big deal, a big dead elephant laying in the front yard that I have tiptoed around for the better part of a year now, not really knowing how to deal with the real and daunting aspect of the pain that someone - yes, someone - it is yet unamed, pain that we all have to go through at one point in our lives...

It was cold in Maryland tonight. It was fitting to be cold. The phone calls were pointless, the text messages left me in the same spot that I was before - stuck in between being a man, and stealing something away and defending the honor of that treasure that I promised...I did make that promise.

The photos in this blog, somewhat stupid - but the first one - out of a million, hell out of six billion people, why did I or better yet why did we have to fall upon each other like some accidental meteor strike that wiped out all of the dinosaurs - only in this case, it wipes out marriages and all of those preconceived notions of what we thought we could live with - look at those nameless folks just cheering, not a single one of them interested in us - just there - and I ask myself why - was there a bigger message out there that I should have listened to 13 years ago - probably - but then again, I was just another face in this crowd - not expecting the meteor that hit - to ever hit.

The hall at College Station - white, pristine, tall columns, bright scholarly light welcoming you into the library to say come learn with me - those are the eyes that Iron & Wine sing about in Such Great Heights - the eyes that I see now every day. You know, I studied hard, and still don't know the meaning of impetuous or cathartic - even though I suspect they sound good in a sentence, but would probably never be used in calling a football game, or blurted out in excitement as I wash dishes, or as an adjective for describing my coworkers.

Finally, reality. I like Edamame - I like it flash frozen, and stuck in the microwave for five minutes with a piece of cheap Papa Johns pizza, and a cold Coors Light, that is what I like. I like it when people snore, and fart, and burp - and don't have to be ashamed about it. I like it when people know the pictures in magazines are fake, and the wrinkles are going to come one way or another - I like it when I can be told I am an asshole after furious lovemaking - I like being left while she is away working - I know where she wanted to be and where she was - I like pissing people off and making them happy.

But let's get back to the title of this post - Break - I never meant to break anything, not what I had, (as little as it may be), I never meant to go through breaking - and I heard and still hear the cracks of both relationships straining and failing under the reality that something is missing - odd the weight of something that is not there... - and then being broken. I am broken. I am broken for stealing away the emotion of a married woman. I am broken for taking or even asking for time that should be somewhere else. I don't want that man to feel that pain - but life goes to those who choose. Why can't I choose? I am a broken, indecisive, yellow tree dweller - I am afraid. That's why I am broken.. I should choose.

Sunday, November 9, 2008


My children are camped by the television early this Sunday watching Enchanted and giggling - eating their eggs through half broken smiles, not afraid of choking, not worried about how hungry their cats are - just watching McDreamy and that cute redhead princess try and make it in a world that she just does not understand, but makes it work with music and birds and flowers...

My dreams have been all consumed lately by music and birds and flowers, and the occasional wierd ending that changes the way I look at my day - last night was no exception - the usual 3 am wake up, shortness of breath, slight sense of panic, and then the slow count to ten - to drift back to sleep. It is tough being a walking zombie in the morning - I live somehwere in between dreams and reality, and push to get closer to one or the other - Starbucks helps, Paxil helps, Cigarettes help - but still, there is sleep in my eyes - I want to live in those dreams for just a few more minutes.

Have you ever wondered if you are some stage player in your own life - if there is some act that you memorized the lines to - then you carry out your ad lib better than Jonathon Winters during a David Letterman interview? I guess this goes back to the theme that I always tend to write about - especially after a long break from writing - I don't know why I have been so lazy about writing lately - I still feel inspired - I just wonder if the audience really wants to read it. All the world is a stage....but the one thing that I am not acting at still is my muse.

Today - no big plans, maybe I go into town and watch the football game with dad, maybe we sit around and eat boiled peanuts, maybe we find something to do that is fun, or maybe we just do nothing - I pack, she smiles, I do laundry, they color, I work out, the cats lay in the sun. Not that those things are not fun, they just are not exciting and on the edge of the adrenalin pump that I need hooked to brain.

The next three weeks of travel are exciting, Portland, Maine - Sacramento, California, Seattle, Washington, Dallas, Texas, Washington D.C. - I am looking forward to the next three months - the feel of the jet plane pushing my back into the seat, the excitement of going somewhere - anywhere...

I guess my life is Enchanted - I get to live in other worlds every single day of the work week - and it is only during the weekends that I have to worry about not fitting in with things I am developing a greater misunderstanding for - it is sad - but for now, it is what I feel like writing about...

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Be American...

It's been a while since I have been motivated to spew hatred, write a few lines, or even take the time to try and get some thoughts on paper - but today, after leaving the gym, I was definitely inspired by the wonderful Lexus SUV Extended version driving in front of me with the "Be American, Vote McCain" bumper sticker emblazoned across the back of the 13 MPG monstrosity - what was even better, was the jackass that was driving decided to cut me off because the other McCain supporter in front of them was probably having a stroke, or having difficulty adjusting their bifocals to see the speedometer and the street signs at the same time....but I digress.

Be American Vote McCain is a ridiculous thing to say to us middle of the roaders who believe that somewhere between the Joe Biden liberalism and the Sarah Palin "I Love God and Special Children" Conservatism - is the common ground that the majority of the country seem to populate. How can you expect to ever change the minds of us who, through our hard work, our tax paying, our support of the troops, our belief system, and our respect of laws and authority have become disillusioned with the trickle that never seems to make it very far down? I admit, I live a somewhat charmed life, I don't make over $250,000 per year, and I have heat. I believe that you can be an American and choose not to vote and to have an abortion even. I believe that you can be pissed off about CEO paychecks and financial system bailouts and still want to see more money poured into social programs and infrastructure programs - and you know, for the overwhelming number of folks that I talk to and see across this country, they feel the same way.

I found it funny last week as I walked through the KMart to pick up fishing tackle for my daughter and son, when I walked by a couple of rednecks wearing custom airbrushed t-shirts that had a bulldog with "McCain" on the collar, and a bloodied Obama chew toy in the dog's mouth - that, to me, is the heart of the issue. Those folks got into their 1980 Caprice and spewed black smoke as they pulled out of the parking lot. It would honestly surprise me if they understood the issues - outside of God loves Republicans. Do people realize across this nation that 90% of the wealth is controlled by a very small minority of people? Trust me, look at the explosion of the special interest in the past twenty years and the expenditures that they make to enrich their lives - and honestly, every one should look in the mirror and ask themselves - what part of those tax breaks made a difference to them? Unless you are in that 5% - your effective tax percentage probably has not changed all that much - if you are in the 5% - your effective tax remains the lowest in developed nations....

Baby Killer - that's another good one I had to explain to my ten year old son. He came home from school, and said that the reason we should not vote for Obama is because he is a baby killer. Now, I have heard of sordid affairs and blow jobs and the random Iran/Contra scandal and even the occassional breaking and entering (I am not a Crook) - but I find it hard to believe that I have to explain to my ten year old what other parents are teaching their children is a very hateful and hurtful way of saying - sometimes people make decisions - and sometimes those answers are very gray - but to say that he is a baby killer - come on folks - turn off Fox news for ten minutes, and go to the ten commandments, and read the other 60 or so that are out there. My son and I did, and he seems to understand that if you put out your slave's eye, then you have to set him/her free - has little application in today's political arena - I just wish the fundamentalist preachers would go into those other "commandments" and tell me all of them apply as the irrefutable word of God.

I am not what you would call a true Republican, nor am I a Barney Frank democrat - in fact I was a registered Libertarian - but this election has opened my eyes to the apparent polarization that the conservative right has excelled at promoting - to their detriment. I don't want more of the same, nor do I want any less - but what I do want is an intelligent discussion and a little bit of mutual respect - what happened to those rules?

That's just the way I feel right now - and I can see my Republican friends rolling over and cursing my words - but really folks - be American -