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It all fades to black, Pt 1

All the bonuses you didn’t want

 

Friday will be exactly two years since Alison left.  It’s hard for me to comprehend. She’s forever young.

No one wants to be forever young this way.

In those two years, I’ve dreamt of Alison exactly once. It was a late last year and I wanted to keep it to myself and tell you when the time was right. Suppose that’s today.

I dreamt that it was this day. and I was here/here, which is Bethesda Fountain in Central Park.

In the dream – and in real life – we were running late to a wedding. She told me to hurry up and walked down the steps leading to Bethesda Fountain and I ran after her.

She turned to smile at me one last time before disappearing around a bend. Stuck behind a crowd, I ran after her but she was gone.

I ran down the stairs and looked for her, then up again, then back down again. I never saw her again.

Then I woke up and plead to a god I don’t believe in to let me go back.

And I got the same fucking answer I always do.

It’s the same answer everyone gets.

People don’t seem to get it.

It wasn’t just Alison that died that day; my family died that day. All the hopes and dreams she and I talked about for so long, died that day. Everything we thought would be, died that day.

All our big dreams and little dreams died with her.

You know, something she talked about all the time when she was pregnant was how excited she was to push a stroller and hold a goddamn cup of coffee in the Upper West Side. She never got the chance.

How fucked up is that?

Losing alla that’s just bonus you get for free with the death of someone you love. It’s all bonus for shit you didn’t want in the first place.

Almost everything you ever loved dies all-at-fucking once.

Just like that. Poof. It all fades to black.

Location: hell again
Mood: hollowed-out
Music: So many dreams swinging out of the blue. Oh, let it come true
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The Superpower

Taking Mice for Granted

This woman named Jo Cameron was born with two genetic mutations:

      1. A different FAAH gene, which reduces her ability to feel pain, both physical and emotional;
      2. A defective FAAH-OUT gene, whose sole purpose is to activate the FAAH gene.

Essentially, she feels no pain, no anxiety. She cannot suffer. She broke her arm when she was eight years old and only went to the doctor three days later because her arm looked funny. When she gave birth, it tickled her.

She’s a mutant with a superpower.

When I was a kid, outta all the superpowers, the one I wanted the most was the ability to become invisible. I think most bullied kids would welcome the ability to disappear and not be noticed.

But, after these past few years – barring time travel and/or the ability to detect and destroy cancer – I think that the superpower I’d like the most is Jo’s power.

Because, man, do I get people being hooked on painkillers.

This week/month has been a rollercoaster of emotional pain. Both from Alison and the Gymgirl. The kind where I’m sitting down on my shower floor hyperventilating.

I actually do have to take painkillers to manage it. That’s how severe it’s been. The insomnia’s back too, because, of course it’s back…

I’d like to tell you more about the Gymgirl but now’s not really the right time.

I will say that she floored me the other night because we hadn’t spoken for a while. And when we did, she said I took her for granted. That’s the last thing I would do.

Then again, I’ve always said that communication is what the other side hears, not what you say.

It’s my fault if she somehow heard that she wasn’t that important.

Her: (dismissively) I’m just a placeholder in your life.
Me:  (shaking head) That’s precisely the opposite of what you are. You’re not even a front-runner; you’re the only game in town.

That placeholder bit kept me up all night because it’s so far left field. I didn’t really fully appreciate the depth of what she was saying until I was alone in bed.

The worst things creep into my head in the middle of the night because it’s when the world and my thoughts quiet down. And I start to understand things.

I’m trying to wrap my head around everything but, FWIW, I was trying to do the right thing by her but it turned out that I did exactly the opposite of what she wanted me to do.

To top it all off, afterward, I behaved in a way that I’m not proud of and I’m disappointed in myself. It was rough all around.

I should remember that this never happens when I drink rum. But that’s neither here nor there.

There’s more, but that’s all I wanted to say for now.

That, and, should she and I exit each other’s Venn Diagram, you can still keep up with her wit and charm by following her blog: Melee Mouse/Mouse in the City.

Me: Hurry up, we’re gonna be late!
Mouse: We? You’re gonna be late. I’m gonna be a pleasant surprise.

She was my pleasant surprise in all this shit. I thought she knew.

On that note, I’m just going to call her Mouse here from this point forward, for however long that is.

Because the only reason I used Gymgirl instead of Mouse, which is what everyone calls her, was because of our inappropriately possessive ex-coach and his insane jealousy, which is a whole ‘nother story for another time.

Location: home
Mood: uncertain
Music: Oh, I guess I should have told her; I thought she knew

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Hitting the button

©Lauren Herschel

Closure is a myth

Was planning on just going on a bender this past weekend because the kid was supposed to go with ABFF to NJ for a cancer walk. Unfortunately/fortunately, he got sick.

The Gymgirl’s upset with me for reasons I don’t fully understand.

But I will say that, after not speaking for a week or two, I asked her to watch him because there was something I had to do on Saturday morning (which I’ll tell you about some other time).

She came, no questions asked, and left as soon as I was back. She even made coffee and brought me some rum. And wrote a lovely note to me, the kid, and Alison, to boot.

Like I said, a boy could fall for a girl like that.

Some friends came by later on that night, I think they were worried about my being alone.

Him: What do you have to drink?
Me: Rum. And cinnamon whiskey.
Him: (groans) So, what’s going on with you and the Gymgirl?
Me: I’m not sure.
Him: You should try to work it out.
Me: (laughing) You just like her, which makes sense. But she’ll make her decisions and I’ll respect them.

Drinks at The Aviary in NYC

Her: So, how was your Mother’s Day?

People keep asking me how I was this past weekend, so lemme start by telling you that – over the past two years – I’ve met a number of people that make offhanded comments about my needing closure from what happened.

Sociologist Nancy Berns wrote a book on it and said, “It’s not the dominant narrative in research in bereavement, but it is in popular culture. Those who are working with people who are grieving tend to be less likely to use the concept.”

In other words, “closure” is a word used by those that never dealt with true grief.

I met a lot of people the past couple of years that characterized Alison and my father’s death almost like a high school breakup, where one needs closure to be alright.

You’re never alright watching the people you love adore die. There’s no closure, no peace.

Robin Williams said, in Good Will Hunting, You don’t know about real loss, ’cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself.

I remember wanting to grab this person and telling her:

It’s not like when Jimmy broke up with you in eighth grade, Cathy. Why don’t you watch two people you love more than yourself suffer and die slowly – for years – and then talk to me about what I need?

On the flipside, my brother sent me what may be the best explanation of grief I’ve ever read/heard from a blogger named Lauren Herschel, who was, in turn, quoting her psychiatrist.

She said that grief is like having a box with a pain button on the inside and a large ball in that box. In the beginning, every movement causes the ball to hit the button and course pain throughout your body.

I thought I’d share the Ball in the Box analogy my Dr told me pic.twitter.com/YfFT26ffU8

Over time, the ball gets smaller and still bounces around inside the box; it hits the button less, but when it does, the pain is just as crippling as ever.

That’s the truest description of pain/loss/grief I’ve ever read, versus closure, which is teenage angst horseshit.

I’m fine most of the time and most days. But, when I’m alone in my apartment, I’ll just randomly scream. Legit, scream.

My neighbors must think I’m a madman.

But that’s what happens when the grief button is hit. You fall to your knees and you scream.

I’m on my knees less these days. But it’ll never fully goes away.

Anyway, my Sunday was spent drinking, hitting that goddamn button, and screaming.

So, that’s how my Sunday was.

Me: (shrugging) Oh, you know, the usual…

Location: the gym, trying to sober up
Mood: hell
Music: I can never get over the love
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Mother’s Day / Alison’s Birthday: A mother’s love for her child…

…is like nothing else in the world

Me: (to Steel) When did you get married? I’m looking for a picture I took of Alison that day. For some reason it’s stuck in my head.
Him: August 28, 2009
Me: (later) God, I found it. Thanks.

Alison and I went to my buddy’s wedding around the way a decade ago and she wanted to walk in comfort there. She changed her shoes right before we went in because she always liked to be put together in public.

Dunno why I thought of that pic. Just did. Finding it was some form of relief.

Her birthday is this Sunday. It also happens to be Mother’s Day. I expect to be pretty messed up this weekend.

She woulda been 40, which is such a kick in the head. I remember throwing her that surprise birthday party for her 30th birthday.

Man, I cannot express how writing all this affects me. It’s like someone hits my chest with a sledgehammer. It was a lifetime ago.

But I digress.

This isn’t actually a post about Alison; it’s actually about her mom.

You see, her mom stayed with us every single day Alison was sick. Every. Single. Goddamn. Day.

She was at Alison’s side at the very end because I couldn’t be. I couldn’t fucking do it. I was too weak to say goodbye.

I’m too weak even now. My knees shake just thinking about it.

Her mom: I worry about your drinking so much. Does it really make you feel better?
Me: For a bit. Just for a bit.

Yet, her mom endured saying goodbye to her daughter. As a father, I have no idea how she did that. I can’t even bear the thought of it.

She endured everything I endured and more. I am quietly humbled and forever grateful for her and her love for Alison.

Agatha Christie once said, A mother’s love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things, and crushes down, remorselessly, all that stands in its path.

Holy shitballs, that’s her mom in a sentence (or three).

Actually, that’s my mom too – and how she handled herself with my dad. But that’s another entry.

Speaking of my dad, he told me, just before he died, to always be kind to Alison’s mom and to never take the boy from her.

Me: I would never. But why?
Him: (sighing) Because, she’s a mother that lost her child. Whatever you feel you’ve lost, whatever anyone feels they’ve lost, she’s lost more. Whatever pain you think you have – and I know you have a lot – she has more. She gave you Alison, you’ll always have a debt to her for that.
Me: I know. (nodding) You should rest.

It was one of the last things he said to me and it crushed me because the truth is a powerful thing. The power of the truth crushes things, that’s what it does.

I write her at least every other day about the kid. Because Alison woulda talked to her at least as much. I wanted to give her back a tiny sliver of what she lost.

It’s my little way of saying thank you for being so strong when I couldn’t be.

Alison would have been the best mother and I know what I do pales in comparison, as she would have loved this kid in ways I never could.

Cause a mother’s love is like nothing in the world – my dad knew this, Agatha knew this, and I know this.

Especially someone like Alison, who wanted this kid more than anything else in the world. She loved him even before he was born. Everything she suffered to survive the cancer – and you cannot fathom the pain she went through – she did for him.

But she’s not here. So, with her mom’s help, I do what I can to raise the boy as she woulda wanted. It’s not her but it’s the best we’ve got.

Him: I love you, Papa.
Me: That’s good, because I love you!
Him: (thinking) And mommy too.
Me: (sighing, nodding) You should. Because to know her is to love her.
Him: (staring at me) Are you ok, daddy?
Me: (nodding) Of course. I have you. (hugging him) And stop calling me “daddy.”

Location: alone in my apartment, with some cinnamon whiskey
Mood: drinky
Music: I can’t believe she’s gone
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Dear Nate… 004: Understanding is gold

Defending something you didn’t choose

Dear Nate;

It’s May so I spend a lotta time thinking of your mama.

This fella named Nilesh Jain once said, “Five minutes after your birth, they decide your name, nationality, religion, sect, and you spend rest of your life defending something you didn’t choose.”

I’ve always felt that everyone is who they are because of the parents to whom they were born.

For good or bad, you either inherit your parents views or rebel against them. Don’t know which path you’ll choose but I hope you understand why I live my life as I do.

I chase understanding, not knowledge. Friends, not fortune. Meaning, not entertainment.

There’s a saying called, “Tiger Parents,” where Asian parents push their children for success through any means necessary. To a large extent, I’m the result of tiger parents.

But I don’t want that for you. I want something greater for you: Not knowledge but understanding.

I look at my role in your life as your guard and instructor. My job is to protect you so that I have time to show you what I know and hope you find some wisdom in it.

My life is full of instructors: Uncles Chad and Agapito teach me violence but are some of kindest souls I know. Uncle Aki is the single smartest human being I’ve ever met, yet uses that brilliance to help others, including us.

You see, we are all the average of the five people we spend the most time with so I make sure to spend time with those that can instruct me. Because they bring value to me, so that I can bring value to you.

I don’t want you to root for a team because you happen to be born in that team’s city, or – even worse – hate someone else because they were born in a different city. Or to different parents.

That’s beyond worthless in my eyes and, I hope, with time, your eyes as well.

Understanding lets you maximize the valuable and minimize the worthless. And none of us are here very long so the sooner you can separate the wheat from the chaff, the better.

If most people aren’t here very long, your mama was here for just a beautiful moment in time. But she died knowing things. Things she told me that I will tell you because they made my life richer and will do the same for you.

For all this, I also hope you grow up enjoying frivolous things, because there’s joy in the ability to be extravagant.

But knowing that something is frivolous makes it ok; thinking that the unimportant is important is not.

To collect gold, you have to know what is tin. Because, you see, you don’t get gold by making it; you get gold by washing away everything that’s not gold.

The self-made wealthy are wealthy because of what they eschew, not because of what they acquire.

We’re all given 24 hours here; what you do with it plots out your life, minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour, day-by-day.

If you’re lucky, you’ll have 26,280 days here. Use them wisely. Surround yourself with kind and knowledgeable instructors.

Speaking of luck, you’re my son – and Alison McCarthy’s son – by pure luck. For us, it was the best possible kind. For you, only time will tell if it was good or bad.

I hope it’s the former but luck, and life, is what you make of it.

In the end, I don’t want you to be some imitation of me. I want you to be better than me.

Love,

Papa

Him: (randomly) We don’t have a mommy at home.
Me: (pause) No, we don’t.
Him: Is she stuck?
Me: No. Papa misspoke.
Him: Where is she?
Me: She’s…she died.
Him: She died? Why?
Me: She got sick.
Him: She got sick? Will she feel better?
Me: I don’t…no. She won’t. But I’ll tell you all about her because I was her best friend and she was mine. (clears throat) OK?
Him: (laughs) OK!

Dear Nate… 001
Dear Nate… 002: Wait and wish
Dear Nate… 003: Rain happens

Location: Central Park West and W 72nd, crossing the street
Mood: unhappy
Music: Not enough time for all that I want for you
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Logan’s 46: The Guard dies

…it does not surrender


It’s my birthday today.

I remember for years that I used to say, Wish me a Happy Birthday, alla you bastards that read me and never say anything.

The last time I said that was 2014, before everything went to hell.

This year, I pour out my soul to you with a simple admission: After Alison died, three words kept ringing in my addled head over-and-over again: The Guard dies.

The Guard dies.
The Guard dies.
The Guard dies.

I said those three words to myself hundreds thousands of times after she died. I would fall asleep to those words in my head and wake up to them as well.

I plotted for months on how to do it the right way, if there could ever be such a thing.

Because, I promised her parents and you that I would keep her safe. And I failed.

I failed you. I failed her parents. And, most unbearably of all, I failed her.

Failure has a price and I’ve always been driven to pay my debts.

There’s an apocryphal story about the Old French Guard during the Battle of Waterloo when the Middle Guard turned and ran, a solider from the Old Guard asked the general if they should run as well.

The general replied, La Garde meurt, elle ne se rend pas.

The Guard dies, it does not surrender.

In my drug/alcohol/grief/anger-fueled haze, I only remembered the first part.

Alison was my charge and I failed her so it was only fitting that I follow her. Because, wherever she went, I was always close behind.

It’s remarkably selfish and self-centered, I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly then.

But, due to a number of interesting bureaucratic twists and people like my mother-in-law, my father, Daisy, Gradgirl, and – of course – the Gymgirl, the fog slowly lifted.

And I remembered the boy. I am so ashamed to say that I forgot him in my grief.

Well, more appropriately – in my head – he was better off with people that were functioning, and I was clearly not functioning.

Moreover, I was so focused on Alison needing me that I didn’t really consider that he needed me.

Interestingly, the thing that really pulled me out of this mindset was a conversation with my mother-in-law one day. She said that I needed to raise the boy and that she would help but that he was my responsibility. I suspect she had some idea where my mind was.

In any case, that triggered a memory of a conversation that Alison and I once had: She told me that, if we were ever in an accident and I was given the option to save her or the child, she would never forgive me if I saved her.

And that, in turn, caused me to remember the rest of the quote: … it does not surrender. That’s when I realized that leaving would be surrender, not staying.

I lost my charge. But she had a charge too, one that she cared about more than herself: The boy. So, even if he weren’t my son, he would still be my charge because he was Alison’s.

Because she loved him more than anything, including her own life.

The boy’s given me something as well: A chance for me to redeem myself and my failure.

Essentially, the general was saying that the Guard does not run or surrender to overwhelming odds. It either does its job or dies trying. Like Alison did.

I’m 46 today. If ever there was an Old Guard, it’s me.

And the Old Guard does not surrender.

Him: Will you come get me today? From school?
Me: Of course. What am I gonna do, leave you there? That’d be silly.
Him: (laughs) That’d be silly! You’re silly, papa.
Me: (nodding) Yes.

Location: this afternoon, my blue bathroom, thinking of my possible pasts
Mood: heartbroken
Music: I’ve lost my place. I’m close behind
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Speaking toddler

Can you hear me?


We’ve all been sick so I put on Singing in the Rain for the Gymgirl and the kid.

Him: (after opening credits) It’s over…
Me: It just started!

On that note, the Gymgirl and I have been having a competition of sorts as to who understands toddler more.

Him: (unintelligible)
Me: What?
Her: He said he was done and wanted to watch television.
Me: How on earth did you get that?
Her: (shrugs) You’re old. He and I are closer in age. We speak the same language.

Actually, the boy speaks with some interesting turns of phrases:

When the boy was in his room: I’m here if you need me.
When I gave the boy a time out: Let’s talk about this.
When heading to school: Are we running late?

Again, he’s three years old.

Suppose he’s parroting myself, the Gymgirl, or some other adult. Still, it really floors me because there was a time I was worried he wouldn’t speak at all.

Although he did leave me speechless the other day.

Him: (gets a stool and climbs to the top) Mom! Mom! Mommy! Can you hear me?
Me: Wha…what are you doing, kiddo?
Him: I wanted to see what happens.
Me: Oh. OK. (pause) I’m sorry, kid.
Him: (laughing) Why are you sorry?
Me: No reason. I just am. (smiling) Cm’on. I gotta start dinner. Keep me company.

It’s April.

Me: I hate April and May.
The Gymgirl: May, I understand. But why April?
Me: It’s stupid but it’s because I know May is coming right up. Our birthdays were just about a month apart. I dread my birthday because I know we’re that much closer to May.
Her: (nods, puts her hand on my shoulder)

Location: 2:30PM today, Central Park with the boy
Mood: anxious
Music: used to talk with honest conviction
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Another health scare

It’s not a crate!

Mutual Friend: (concerned) You doing okay, buddy?
Me: I’m fine. I’m sure you have a friend that is a complete softie around kids. Well, whoever that person is, s/he’s got nuthin on Blaine, I think that if the kid had the vocabulary, Blaine woulda have given him an ice cream sundae, a beer, his ATM card and PIN, and the password to all his online accounts while we were out.
Him: Man, Uncle Blaine sounds awesome.

The Gymgirl and I decided to catch a film – last minute – and had a friend of ours watch the kid. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve done this.

Me: Now, no matter what he says or how much he cries, just leave him in the room and let him sleep.
Blaine: Sure.

We watched the film without issue and came back to find Blaine sitting alone of the couch in relative darkness.

Blaine: So, I changed his diaper like a champ…
Me: Oh, great.
Blaine:…but he also climbed out of his crate and fell. I think he’s ok.
Gymgirl: You should lead with that!

Blaine said that the kid started crying as soon as we left so he took him out and let him sit with him as they watched some television. For a toddler, that’s pure crack – there’s no going back from that. So after Blaine put him down to sleep, the kid wanted more of the good life…

Blaine: I heard him fall and cry so I ran in. I found him outside his crate…
Me: It’s not a crate! It’s a crib. People will think I keep my son in a cage.
Blaine: Crib, crate, cage, same thing.

Blaine’s one of the nicest people I know; in fact, he just had surgery that day and arrived in a cast to watch the kid just so we could catch the film. So it’s pretty impossible to be mad at him.

I mean, he carried this kid around with a cast on. Plus, we all knew that it was just bad luck that the kid decided to try his hand at climbing outta the crate crib with him and not us.

The boy managed to fall asleep so Blaine just left and we waited to see how the kid was in the morning. He seemed fine so we brought him to school. But the Gymgirl insisted that we get him x-rayed and researched places around the area.

The place that she went to last year had a machine so we went there. Took three hours but the kid didn’t have any broken bones but did dislocate his elbow (nursemaid’s elbow) that the doc tried to get back in but couldn’t.

So I rang up my friend Kris, who’s a pediatrician, and she said he probably got it in if the kid was able to raise his arm over his head, which he kinda was. The Gymgirl and I may also have done some things ourselves to make sure it was in properly.

The boy was not happy about any of this. But alls well that ends well.

Spoke to Blaine afterward:

Me: I think that the doc managed to get his elbow back in place because he’s been moving it a lot more.
Blaine: Man, I’m really relieved to hear this. I still feel horrible.
Me: He should be fine. Yesterday was no fun but that’s done with. Anywho, I’ll give you another update tonight. Just wanted to put your mind to a little rest.

These medical scares always wear me out more than you might imagine.

Or, perhaps, exactly as you might imagine.

Gymgirl: Are you OK?
Me: I will be. (thinking) Hey, thanks for everything.
Her: Of course. I love that kid.

Location: last week, another medical office
Mood: guess
Music: How long until we find our way In the dark and out of harm?
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Disposable relationships

Here we go again

Gymgirl: (puts on music)
Me: (after several minutes) What are the lyrics to this song?
Gymgirl: “____ you, I don’t need you, I can be just fine without you.” (the next song plays, Here I go Again) These two songs sum up our entire relationship!

The Gymgirl and I bicker a lot. Not sure it rises to the level of full argument, most of the time, but there’re definitely disagreements.

The problem with me is that I’ve been spoiled by living in NYC and by my old single life. For me, if there was an issue with a relationship, I’d just get another one.

Used to tell people that you can crash and burn all night at 20 different bars and parties but at the 21st, you might meet the girl of your dreams.

Meeting people has never been an issue for me – even when I didn’t need to meet anyone. Wanting to stick around was my issue.

The Gymgirl’s no slouch herself at meeting people so I think we both looked at whatever we were initially as disposable.

Neither of us thought anything much of what might come of us getting together, just that it would be nice to have some company.

Somewhere along the line, we realized that the other was the best company we could have.

But our relationship’s imperfect because life is imperfect; we’re each broken, in our own ways.

Still, we’ve discovered that we’re both pretty good at fixing broken things. Kindness floats, you see – itself and other things.

That Brave New World fella once said that, Most human beings have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted.

Both the Gymgirl and I catch ourselves forgetting how terrible our lives were before we met each other and, when we bicker, somehow forget that we’re not disposable to each other.

And then we wait until the other remembers.

Ideally…

Me: Man, how does someone as tiny as you get so angry all the time?
Gymgirl: Are you saying I’m short?! Come down here and say that to my face.
Me: (pause, laughter)
Gymgirl: (laughs) You can’t leave me, I’m perfect.
Me: Sheyeah…

Location: Bicker-city
Mood: hopeful
Music: gonna hold on for the rest of my days
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My PG-13 life

At least I get to live it


The Gymgirl gave me an (unintentional) black eye the other day in my gym class.

Gymgirl: Do you need ice?
Me: God, yes.

In a nutshell, her foot went into my eye and nose. It was decidedly unpleasant.

Gym owner: You’re fine. You’re not even bleeding…wait, nevermind, you’re bleeding.
Me: Oh, good, that’s a relief.

I’m literally getting my ass kicked by all the women I know in life.

Which leads me to believe that Life itself is a woman because, I’m definitely getting my ass kicked by her.

The nurse that Alison liked the most during IVF called me the other day.

Nurse: It literally took me a week to get up the nerve to call you.
Me: I’m so glad you did. Alison adored you.
Her: (exhales) Thank you. I wasn’t sure how you’d be speaking to me.
Me: Yeah, I get it.

It was mostly admin stuff. But I was glad to hear her voice.

She left me a voicemail before but my voicemail transcribes messages to me so the last time I actually heard her voice, I was with Alison. And we were happy. Then everything went to shit.

Dunno why I always remind you of that. I should assume you know already.

Anywho, I often wonder if it’s fair to the Gymgirl that she’s with someone like me. I come with so much baggage.

Like my friend Somena once said, the key to a good relationship is to find someone whose baggage matches yours.

But I’m not sure I could bear knowing anyone with baggage that matches mine. And I’m grateful that the Gymgirl doesn’t have matching baggage. Suppose she is too.

Another group of friends were talking about television and movies the other day and I told them that I’m not sure I can handle anything beyond PG-13 these days.

Had to have a talk with another friend that didn’t understand why I was so upset by something he said. Casual things that people say mean different things to people like me.

Cause everything reminds me of something I don’t wanna be reminded of.

Wish everything were easier. But life itself isn’t easy so I’m SOL.

Then again, I get the chance to live it so I shouldn’t complain.

Me: Oh man, I missed you so much!
Son: I want a cookie.
Me: (nodding) You have your priorities.
Him: I missed you. I want a cookie.
Me: (nodding)

Location: bhavachakra
Mood: Groundhog-dayed
Music: I’ll let you in on something big. I am not a white teeth teen
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