Tag: human condition

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personal

Kintsugi: The tenacity of the broken

Daderot, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Nothing gold seems to stay

Read yesterday that scientists discovered that a humpback whale named Moon that they’ve been tracking for a decade had broken her spine.

For 10 years, they followed her from Canada to Hawaii – 3,000 miles – something she had to do for food and to teach her calf how to do the same.

Sometime recently, a ship hit her and broke her spine, dooming her.

There’s no question she’ll die, it’s just how long she’ll survive in excruciating pain.

But she longs to live. So, she swam the same path she always swam – except upside down and in pain and a broken tail.

She swam 3,000 miles doing the breaststroke.

Look how broken she is, yet I find her beautiful, nonetheless. I’ve always found people and things that struggle and scuffle against their fate, beautiful.

She’s going to die and I wonder if she knows.

I’ve long said that females seem stronger than males in many regards.

The stories I’ve read about Moon aren’t clear if she made this last trip with her calf or not but I wouldn’t be surprised.

As I said before – and quoting Agatha Christie – 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.

It dares all things.

Including swimming upside-down for 3,000 miles with a broken back and tail.

Have you ever heard of kintsugi?

It the Japanese art of repairing broken things with melted gold.

Essentially things like pottery bowls are put back together with melted gold and the result is something beautiful despite its scars.

I always thought Alison was so beautiful, despite all she’d gone through.

There’s something beautiful about tenacity, especially when it’s driven by love.

Me: They thought I was 35.
Him: Were they white? It doesn’t count unless they were Asian.
Me: (laughing) All three were Asian.

I feel myself retreating into my head again. But, I’m remembering things, so I’m not alone.

For better or worse.

My therapist thinks I’ve been making great strides in putting this mess that is my head back together again but I’m not sure.

The rage is better – all the hours at the gym seem to help with that – but I look at my face and don’t recognize myself a lot. And I’m tired.

Three different people from my gym thought I was 35 when I’m really pushing 50. Actually, one guy thought a woman there was the oldest person in the room when I was actually 17 years older than her.

But I wonder what I’d look like without all the trauma from 2014 to, well, today.

I feel those years aged me more than pretty much anything.

This is one of the few good pics I have of me from 2014, with PerfectCircles, at my fave dive bar.

I’m 41 in it but I usually got that I was in my 20s.

And this one is when I actually turned 41.

Me with Abe

This is me with my buddy a few weeks later:
Logan Lo and a buddy on the Staten Island ferry

I’m flattered that people think I look so young but that vain, shallow part of me – which, granted, is pretty sizable – wonders how much younger I woulda looked like without all that fucking shit we went through.

Which, of course, is hopelessly stupid and banal considering all that I’ve lost.

But it’s just bonus pain to my grief.

I feel that if Alison were still alive, she’d think that I look great, despite the grey and the scars, both visible and invisible.

Love is blind, after all.

I wonder if I’ll ever meet anyone that thinks I’m great the way she did.

Or am I just so obviously and irreparably broken inside and out, without her or anything else gold to mend me?

It’s an old saying but it weighs at me, that nothing gold seems to stay.

And we’re all on our doomed journeys, some shorter and more tragic than others.

I suppose that, like Moon, there’s not much to do but keep going until the end.

Her: What’s going on?
Me: Well, pour me a drink, darling, and I’ll tell you. But you won’t enjoy the story.
Her: How does it end?
Me: (shrugging) Like most true stories, love: In tears.

Location: earlier today, watching the boy sing Jingle Bells and wishing everything was different
Mood: complex
Music: I’m broken but, I’m ready to feel better. Glue me back together? (Spotify)
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As popular as I was not

Whose kid?

Been baking a ton lately.

The major reason is that the kid – like all kids – loves things like cake, cookies, and pies.

But I don’t want him to have alla the junk and empty carbs that that stuff entails.

So, the only soultion is for me to bake everything. So far, in the last couple of months, I’ve baked:

        • Four pumpkin pies
        • Two chocolate cheesecakes
        • A batch of 60 double-chocolate oatmeal chip cookies
        • A batch of 60 oatmeal chocolate chip cookies
        • Four chocolate cakes
        • Two banana breads (which are just cakes)

Alison was always the baker while I was always the cook but she’s not here so I gotta do this.

It’s a different skillset than cooking but it’s still enjoyable.

It’s always been the cleanup that I hated; that’s what made Alison and me such a great couple – she loved to clean, I loved to cook. It was a good yin-yang.

Now, I do it all, for better or worse. But he’s happy and eating well, and that’s all that matters.

Everything’s made with high-fiber, high-protein flours like carbquick or almond flour, monk-fruit sweetened chocolate chips, oatmeal or nuts, and erythritol or coconut sugar for sweeteners so everything’s actually not-bad for him and some are actually good for him.

But he doesn’t know that, he just knows he likes them.

And I try to play the role I need to play to make sure he keeps wanting more.

Me: How is it?
Him: Sooooo, good. Can I have another?
Me: Well…
Him: Please?!
Me: (mock sighing) Fiiiine, I suppose you can have ONE more.
Him: YAY!

The kid’s ability to be innately social is something I find endlessly fascinating – only because it’s such a foreign thing to me. I’m very social but by design.

He’s just naturally social in a way that Alison and I were not. Not sure where it comes from but, like I said, it’s so interesting to me.

For example, the kid went to a birthday party last week where he met another boy that invited him to another birthday party, which was this past Sunday.

And then he had another birthday party on Friday – in a building that I sued once that went all the way to trial and decision, which is a whole ‘nother story – where yet another boy invited him to a birthday party on Saturday.

One party was at Medieval Times, someplace that Alison always wanted him to go to so I’m grateful for the experience.

Him: I’m hungry.
Me: How is that possible? You just came back from a birthday party at Medieval Times.
Him: (shrugging) I didn’t like the food. I just had the cake.
Me: (stopping everything I was doing) You didn’t like the food?! Whose kid are you?!
Him: YOURS!


Honestly, this kid is as popular and social as I was not at his age.

Not sure how I feel about this but I’m hopeful we can manage it so that he doesn’t make it into a burden nor burn out with it early.

Me: You had THREE birthday parties this weekend. I think that’s as many I’ve gone to my entire childhood.
Him: I know, I’m tired.
Me: (laughing) Awww, poor popular you.

Put up the tree. Finally.

I remembered where every single ornament came from.

I’d forgotten so much and it’s too much to remember all at once. Way too much.

Him: Why are you looking…? (makes a face and stares off into the distance)
Me: I’m just…papa’s in his head again.
Him: Oh. It’s ok, papa.
Me: Thanks, kid.

Location: tonight, covered in flour but happy to see the kid happy
Mood: so. full. of. cake.
Music: got too many friends (Spotify)
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PSA: The Typical Colonoscopy Procedure

My colonoscopy procedure

After I taught the class, rushed back home where my sitter was watching the kid.

Me: Papa’s gonna be in the back doing…stuff.
Him: Can I watch?
Her: (laughing) I don’t think your dad wants you to see.
Him: To be fair, I don’t want *anyone* to see – or hear – what’s about to happen.

What I had to do was drink TWO liters of a pretty gross laxative – I opted for the “lemon flavoring,” I can only imagine how gross it is without it – which I had to consume a cup at a time every ten minutes starting at 9:30.

Now, I was supposed to have done this at 6:30PM, because my procedure was scheduled for 10:30AM the following day.

But, like I said, I already agreed to teach the class, so 9:30 was the earliest I could get things going.

Having said that, after the third cup, things happened pretty quickly, and it took a solid two hours for things to slow down.

That’s not the worst of it, though. You’re supposed to get up five hours before your procedure to do it yet again.

Yup, FOUR liters of laxative for this bright-eyed boy in eight hours.

Had to start at 5AM so I wouldn’t have an accident dropping off the kid in the AM. So, from 5AM to 7AM, it was yet more grossness.

Now, I probably coulda skipped the second round because of my intermittent fasting. See, the last time I had solid food was Sunday night at 6:30PM while my procedure was set for 10:30AM on Tuesday.

Got the kid to school ok, then went home to basically chill for an hour before I made my way to the place, which was on the Upper East Side, near the where the Counselor and the Blue Jean Eyed girl lived.

From the time I walked in the door to the time I left, was almost exactly 50 minutes. Legit.

        • I walked in at 10:28.
        • I was on the table at 10:42.
        • They started doing stuff at 10:46.
        • They finished at 10:53.
        • I was conscious at 10:58.
        • I was up by 11:05.
        • I was out the door by 11:18.

Honestly, the smoothest procedure I’d ever been part of.

Although you probably couldn’t tell with this shot the nurse took of me after I came to.

Not my most flattering shot. But it pretty accurately represents how I felt at that moment.

And, because of alla Alison’s hell, my dad’s, and my own clumsiness, I’ve been part of more procedures than anyone in their right mind would wanna be part of.

Walking out the door, I felt ok enough to just take the train back.

My brother just happened to be in town that day and offered to pick me up, but I declined.

Gotta tell you, there was something oddly and sadly fitting about going home alone after this procedure and thinking of how Alison went to get me the first time around.

Been in my head a lot lately causea the holidays but it’s not been all bad.

Before Alison and my dad got sick, I just happened to be doing a lotta reading into stoicism and the idea of amor fati, or loving fate.

It’s essentially accepting one’s fate.

I’ve been fighting everyone’s fate – including my own – for so long now that I’m tired and am ready to just slow-drown in my life.

Emphasis on slow…

Him: Are you ok, papa?
Me: OK’s a relative term, kid.
Him: Thank you for coming home and not dying.
Me: (fuck) I’ll always come home to you, kid. Dontcha ever worry about that. I’ll drag myself home to you if I have to, always.
Him: Promise?
Me: Pinky-swear. Always.

Location: home, with a tumbler of rum
Mood: def not sober
Music: boy, I believe in us (Spotify)
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My second colonoscopy

So much different from my first

Got a message from Chad the other night.

Him: [I’ve got the flu.] Would it be possible for you to teach class tomorrow night?
Me: Sorry to hear that. OK.

I’ve actually covered class a couple of times in the past, so that part was fine – kinda fun, I gotta say, because I got to focus on some things that I both really like and need to work on.

What I messed up in, though, was that I scheduled my second colonoscopy for the very next day and had to be up at 5AM doing god-awful stuff to myself.

So, I went in, taught the class, rolled around, and bolted as soon as I could get off the mats and shower.

Her: You did a good job.
Me: You think?
Her: (nodding) That’s one of my favourite moves and you explained it well.
Me: Thanks! That means a lot to me. I appreciate the vote of confidence.

If you’re a long-time reader, you know that I got a colonoscopy almost exactly eight years ago.

Alison made me orange jello.

Don’t remember much about the first time except that she came to pick me up. See, when you have a procedure under anesthesia, you’re required to have someone pick you up.

I remember that Alison took a half-day off from work and came to get me. Didn’t tell you any of that part because it was a such small thing about our day-to-day life.

Had no idea that day that she would be dying less than a year later.

Who the fuck would ever think such a thing?

I didn’t tell you that when she opened the door, she had the widest smile when she saw me.

With the exception of my son, don’t think anyone was ever that happy to see me ever in life.

She thought I was greatest thing and I thought she must have self-esteem issues to think that she couldn’t do better than a fella like me.

Don’t remember what she said when she saw me. I’m sure it was something like, Are you ok, honey?

But I remember that smile. I loved it so.

I remember I was still dazed from the anesthesia and when she came in –  despite our being together for years by that point – thought I was the luckiest guy on the planet that such an important, smart, and pretty girl would take time outta her busy day to pick a nobody like me and make sure I got home ok.

Ah, fuck.

I’ll finish this tomorrow.

I hate the goddamn holidays…

 

Location: home, putting up a Christmas tree and trying to forget things
Mood: sober for now
Music: don’t wanna see what I’ve seen (Spotify)
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Books that made me, me

Some more fiction

Rarely read fiction anymore. I used to read fiction voraciously but I’ve so little time these days that it’s been years since I read something with a plot and characters.

Read the entirety of John Grisham’s novels from 1990-1999. That’s the last time I remember reading fiction, although I’m sure I did in the 2000s – I just don’t remember.

It’s a shame because this fella named Charlie “Tremendous” Jones once said, You will be the same person in five years as you are today except for the people you meet and the books you read.

There’s a lotta truth to that.

Think that I’m the person I am today because of the books I read when I was a kid. After all, my summers were spent in the library.

A handful of books spring to mind immediately when I think of books that profoundly affected me.

Some, I already wrote about at length including:

  • The Godfather (sophmore year, college)
  • The Count of Monte Cristo (high school)
  • Les Miserables (high school)
  • The Little House series (grammar school)
    • Honestly, I read these books because I was always hungry and they had the most vivid descriptions of food. I still remember the description of the kids cooking pig’s tail and making maple candy. This is probably at least part of the reason I’m a fatty-fat-fat.
  • The Great Brain series (grammar school)
    • This one taught me the value of hustle, something that I took to heart immediately after reading the book and literally never stopped.
  • A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (high school)
    • I keep thinking about the saloon owner and his relationship with his wife for reasons that are mine alone, but I digress.

Lately, I find myself remembering books I read in late grammar school and junior high school, just because I want the kid to read them, someday.

On that note, I recently spoke at his school. But that’s an entry for another time.

Two books that really fucked with my head growing up were:

Tuck Everlasting
This is about a little girl that met a boy about her age, but he’s really 104 years old. He’s immortal and she wants to be immortal like him, but he tells her it’s a curse. The ending really messed me up but it made me realize for the first time that I would die someday.

And it was the first book where the boy and girl didn’t have a happy ending.

I think it was the start of me wanting to do something important because I knew my time here was limited.

It also meant that I never wanted to live forever.

In light of all that’s happened in my life, I think that all the more lately. I feel I’m just waiting around to die, already.

Bridge to Terabithia
Now, this messed me up because I’d never read about a main character dying before. The heroes always lived and won. This was the first book where that wasn’t the case and it made me realize that the good guys lose as much as win.

If these two books didn’t help, in some small way, prepare me for the last few fucked up years of my life, I dunno what did.

Speaking of bridges, since I have you, maybe you can help me find two books from grammar school that I just cannot remember the author nor title of because I was a little kid.

The first book was about a young boy in Manhattan that would sneak out and climb one of the bridges (the Manhattan Bridge?) in the middle of the night and just sit and think.

I used to sneak out of my house and just on random corners to think, because of this book.

When I first moved to Manhattan (Times Square) as a young adult, people would always wanna go out to parties or bars and meet people.

Me? I’d sit at the corner of W 46th Street and 6th Avenue and chat up whoever was there around midnight.

When I moved here, I used to sit on my stoop and make small talk with whomever.

Did I ever tell you that I met the doctor at a phone booth in Columbia and the German Girl at my local dive bar?

So much of my life has been chance encounters. Including Alison.

Don’t think I ever told that the girl in this entry was her.

She was my ship in the night.

Ah, fuck me.

Sorry.

Anywho, the second book was about a group of kids that found a key which turned out to fit into a hole in a stone wall. Inside the wall (the key was really a hook that hooked onto a box) was essentially a time capsule.

That book is probably part of why I write this blog.

Because I think that, maybe long after I’m gone, someone will find this and it’ll be a time capsule of some rando’s life in the early 2000s.

Gotta make sure someone pays the internet hosting bills, I guess.

Location: 5PM tonight, chatting with a buddy about the people we love, dying, on W 77th
Mood: thoughtful
Music: we should go get lost in the big wide world (Spotify)
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Thanks for the Joy, Cammie!

Hot damn, that’s damn hot

Can’t tell you the number of times people question why I even have this blog.

Heck, *I* question why I even have this blog and wonder on the regular if I should just pack it up.

In fact, the Counselor stopped talking to me for a bit after she found out about it. She could have been the only one that told me; who knows how many women stopped talking to me because of this blog and not because of my dreadful personality?

Now, I honestly tried once before, but then Alison got sick and I felt that if I didn’t write, I’d go starkers.

Some would argue that I did anyway, but that’s neither here nor there.

Suppose, this is as much my own therapy as it is my keeping track of the comings and goings of my life.

Every once in a while, though, I’m reminded that I connect with people that I might never have connected with ever, through this thing.

One person I met years ago when this was on LiveJournal was a girl that called herself WebCammie.

She was a young law student when we first (virtually) met, while I’d been practicing for a decade or so.

Now, the world hit eight billion people just five days ago.

Meaning, there are eight billion randos in the world – and I’m one of them. Yet, this one rando (Cammie) felt that this here rando (me) was special enough to keep track of. Even after all this time.

If that’s not flattering and kind, man, I dunno what is.

Here’s the kicker, though – she wrote me a pithy line the other day:

I work for FB so if you need help getting your account back, let me know. My email is…

Turns out, she’s an associate General Counsel at Facebook.

That’s…a pretty big deal.

So, I hit her up and FOUR HOURS LATER, my permanently deleted Facebook/Instagram/Whatsapp accounts all came back.

Goddamn, it’s nice knowing people in the world with this much juice.

Is it hot in here or is it just me?

Because, hot damn, that’s damn hot.

Me: Hey, if FB needs an extremely lazy, semi-alcoholic, somewhat maudlin, but very charming IP lawyer, let me know?
WebCammie: (laughing) We just laid off 11,000 users but are you seriously looking?
Me: (laughing as well) No, I’m just a full-time dad now.

So, when people ask me who I write my blog for, I always tell them that it’s a roundabout way for me to find people in my tribe.

Those that see the world (kinda) how I see it. As a complex tragedy fulla joy.

On the one hand, I spend my life bearing the endless fucking tragedies for the promise of some goddamn joy.

On the other hand, I try to give a little joy to others if I can, knowing that they’re living in a tragedy too.

And I think I’m not the only one.

Mr. Rogers famously said, Look for the helpers. I take that very much to heart.

The people that helped me when Alison was sick, the people that picked me up when I was on my knees after she and my dad died? These are all the kinda people I wanna know and I want my kid to know.

Because Alison lived her life trying to help people find joy in the tragedy that is our lives and I try to do the same, if only to just to meet people like her and Cammie.

And be grateful for the rando acts of kindness towards other randos.

Cause, honestly, what greater joy is there than to bring joy to others? I couldn’t tell you because I don’t think there is one.

So, thanks, Cammie, for the help and the joy.

The world’s a shitty place but people like you make it just a little less so. I’m grateful that you took time outta your insanely busy day to help this rando.

Thanks for existing.

Your fan,

Logan

PS – Surely, you can use an assistant. I make great ok passable coffee.

Him: Look at all the fog! It’s so cool!
Me: It is.
Him: What’s fog, papa?
Me: Well, essentially, water molecules condense – that means gathers – around little bits of fine parti…you know what? It doesn’t matter. Let’s stand for a bit and look at it together, ok?
Him: OK, papa! Look at the lights!
Me: (laughing) It’s pretty. Our little city’s pretty sometimes, yeah?
Him: (nodding) Yeah…

Location: earlier today, my gym at a private party
Mood: tired, but joyous
Music: How’d you always know when I’m down? I feel joy, when you call me (Spotify)
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Jealous all the time, Pt 2

Found my wedding ring

Him: I came across some of your blog entries. It was unexpected.
Me: (nodding) I get that a lot. But we are what we constantly do and I always wrote. You surprised me as well. And I’m not often surprised. Hence, my being here. It seems that we all have our secret lives…and skills.

The Frenchman and his wife are also highly successful in their professional lives, like my friends around the way or the NFL Player.

Him: [My wife] runs the entire division.
Me: God, I wanna marry rich. Send me your rich, hot friends.
Him: (laughs) I might have someone for you.
Me: You should know, [I’m very shallow.]
Him: (laughs again)

There’s something about fighting that makes people struggle and scuffle in all areas of their lives. He’s not the first highly successful, highly dangerous person I’ve met in my life.

He reminded me of an old friend of mine. Quiet, highly educated, well-spoken, and well-dressed, but completely inured to violence.

Completely.

Him: (pointing over to someone at the bar) I know, what it will feel like if that man and I fought. I know how it would end, without knowing anything about him.
Me: If I had to fight you – or any grappler – I’d have to slit your wrists as soon as I could. I can’t allow you to grab me.
Him: (smiles) [You thought this through].
Me: I’ve survived this long by thinking things through.

In any ways, this craziness was a nice respite from the other craziness in my life.

He caught a cab home past midnight. We’d chatted for over four hours. It’s strange talking to my peers again.

Spent so much time talking to people so much younger than me for so long that it was like I was wearing old clothes that – surprisingly – still fit.

Him: I know you have close friends and a support network but if you ever feel down, don’t hesitate to ping me.
Me: I appreciate that, and the company and conversation tonight. These are the questions people of our age ask: Why are we here? And are we leaving the world better off than when we arrived? I don’t know the answer to either but am hopeful, for some reason.

I’m stupid like that.

And I don’t have many close friends on purpose. People are…difficult.

Walked home to my empty apartment, which was sparkling clean because the housekeeper was there earlier.

She found my wedding ring. I’d lost it ages ago but Alison never cared. She knew I was her fella; we were happy with just the other as company.

Friday nights were always our favourite.

It’s funny, the wedding ring never mattered to either of us, just the marriage itself.

Was actually holding it in my hand, thinking about my possible pasts again, when The Frenchman reached out to me earlier that night.

In any case, after I got back, I sat down and poured myself a drink and wished I asked him for his friend’s name that died from the brain cancer to give him a toast.

Instead, I just cheered Alison and my dad and downed it and half the bottle by myself in my empty apartment – the boy was away.

This is after four drinks with The Frenchman.

Woke up the next morning on my couch, still in my clothes. The ring was on the table.

Someone once asked if I was jealous of her bestie that recently had a baby with his wife.

She said it to break my heart but the joke was on her because you can’t break what’s already broken.

It was the strangest question because I thought the answer was obvious.

Of course I am, I said. I’m jealous all the fucking time.

Location: that night, with an empty bottle of rum on the table and an empty me on the couch
Mood: muddle-headed again
Music: I’m your walking disaster, keep on dragging me from self-pity, poor me (Spotify)
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What belongs

What doesn’t, and where to put it all.

It’s been a surreal few days. The hives are gone but I’ve been in my head a lot and not sleeping, which started because I found a mouse in my apartment for the first time in three years.

And, in my bedroom, no less.

So, I tore the place apart trying to find out where it came from to plug up the hole. But this meant coming across a lotta old things – physically and metaphysically – that I wasn’t really prepared to deal with.

Mainly, I was looking to figure out what still belongs in my house, what doesn’t, and where to put it all.

In the middle of it all, I got hacked…again.

Lost my FB account that I had ever since Nadi set it up for me years ago.

The most painful thing there is that I used it to manage Alison’s old FB page. I also lost all the messages I had with her and other people that mattered to me.

Been struggling to get on top of all that and my accounts keep getting broken into.

The oddest thing is that there’s a level of malice that wasn’t present the last time around.

This time, they didn’t even try to access my friends account for any type of con, instead, within 10 minutes of them controlling my FB account, they put up stuff so egregious that I was permanently blacklisted.

In 10 mins.

There’s (a lot) more, but I’m still trying to salvage my accounts. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Him: It sounds like someone’s trying to hurt you.
Me: It does. I can only think of two people that have that level of hatred for me.

On another topic entirely, I worked for years with a woman named Tess – so long that I was there when she divorced her first husband and married her second.

We used to speak a few times a week for years but stopped after Alison got sick, and I stopped working.

She rang me out of the blue because she’s going through another divorce and wanted a friendly ear to listen.

Her: How have you been?
Me: Some good days, some bad days. You?
Her: Same.

We spoke for a while, and she told me what was going on with her. A friend of hers had come across Alison’s story on FB back in the day and asked her about me and Alison.

Her: I told her that you used to date a lot but that you spoke differently about Alison. I could tell you loved her right away.
Me: Yeah. I set her apart.
Her: I’m so sorry about what happened to her.
Me: So am I.

Tess said that she was talking to a therapist, and I told her that I thought it was an excellent idea and told her about my own.

Honestly think that everyone should talk to a professional to deal with all the things bouncing around our heads.

Didn’t originally like my therapist all that much, but the past few sessions have been really insightful and really made me think about where I am in my life.

I suppose, just like the stuff in my room, I’m just looking to figure out what belongs in my head, what doesn’t, and where to put it all.

Don’t even know where I belong.

Except with the boy. He’s the only thing keeping me from going starkers right now.

Location: my phone, for days, trying to clear my name and accounts
Mood: rough and close to crazy
Music: mouse inside my brain (Spotify)
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personal

Normal / Not Normal

Doing the best I can

There’s a joke I love that goes:

A genie appears before a man and says, I’ll give you half-a-million dollars, but only on the condition that the person you hate most in the world gets a million dollars.

And the fella goes, That doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t I want one-and-a-half million dollars?

For the past three weeks or so, I’ve been breaking out into these insane hives every night, to the point I was literally ripping my skin off, cancelling dates, and not leaving my house.

The above pic is me on a good night. My sheets were bloody in the mornings.

It sometimes happened in the daytime as well, but for sure happened at night, for some reason. Without fail.

It, finally, started spreading on my face last week, which was terrifying.

Blamed it on a million things, including a rando date I went on right before things started going south.

[Note to self: Send flowers to said rando.]

But I had a wild talk with my therapist that honestly blew my mind.

Her: You don’t find this interesting? How you’re – right now – dealing with the two things that hurt the last two major women in your life?
Me: What do you mean?
Her: Well, you had a talk with Mouse in your car where you finally – after years of poor communication – understand why she’s so upset with you and you suddenly develop these hives that you’ve never had. And they’re debilitating. Then, that following weekend, you probably suffered a brain injury (concussion). The first one is Mouse’s painful life situation, and the second one is Alison’s – obviously, both to a much lesser degree than each. You’ve been struggling with both ever since.
Me: Wait, do you think I wanted to get tossed onto my head or develop hives?
Her: (shaking head) No, of course not, but it happened. I don’t think you wanted any of this, for them or for you. But, again, it happened. I just find it interesting. Don’t you? (later, gently) You have a relatively recent pattern of trying to save people you care about and failing, and then blaming yourself for that failure.
Me: (laughing) I have a friend that calls me “Captain Save A-Ho.” He means it as a joke but he says he does think I try to help people long after I should stop.
Her: (nodding) You need to be ok with the fact you tried your best. With Alison, with your Dad, with Mouse, you did the best you could with [what life gave all of you].
Me: Life is a non-linear system.
Her: You didn’t give any of their suffering to them. Life gave it to them. And you. Even though none of you deserved any of it.
Me: Oh…I’m sorry…we went over our time.
Her: (shaking head) That’s ok, Logan. (picking up her papers) Be nicer to yourself. You didn’t want any of this, any more than any of them wanted what happened to them. Thank you for today. I’ll see you next week.
Me: (nodding) Thanks, doc. See you next week.

I shit you not, the hives stopped that day. 

Not sure if it was coincidence or what. Slept like a brick for 10 hours and woke up with my skin totally normal and feeling…normal.

Well, as normal as a fella like me gets.

Location: my pad, writing this, sans hives
Mood: normal?
Music: Why do you want me? (Spotify)
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Categories
personal

I wanna live

Life-changing

We had a Scenic Fights shoot a month ago on 9/11 and Pac had to do a throw. But, like I said, that throw went bad and he essentially dropped me straight down on my head.

Even though I landed directly on to the top of my head, because of the speed he was going at, and the height (maybe three feet off the ground), while it hurt like hell, I was ok enough to get up and finish my scenes.

This past Sunday, because Pez was able to watch the kid, I was able to do another shoot but, in hindsight, maybe it woulda been better if I’d not been able to make it.

First of all, I started getting an outbreak of hives. Think it mighta been a friend’s perfume because I remember my throat tightening when I met up with her.

Her: Are you ok?
Me: (coughing) I’ve not been ok for years now.

It’s been a solid week since then and things are about the same if not worse.

Now have a newfound level of respect and empathy for Mouse, who’s been dealing with this kinda stuff her whole life.

Still, I decided to just suck it up and go. The director had me go buy a mock-turtleneck to hide everything.

But that’s not even why the shoot was awful.

Before everything went to hell. I should wear more purple.

See, Pac was supposed to do this joke throw and, during a practice throw, he fully picked me up, at least five feet off the floor.

He misjudged the angle – and the there was some communication issues between him and the director – and he ended up dropping me on my neck onto the crash pad.

Despite there being three inches of normal padding and six inches of the crash pad, because of the force and angle, I legit thought I was gonna be paralyzed.

Haven’t been that terrified about anything since the kid went to the hospital and, of course, Alison before that.

Screamed out in pain and Pac later told me that the entire room went quiet with mouths agape.

Chad: (later) I remember watching that and thinking, We all just watched a man lose his body right now.

Went completely into my head and, for a terrifying 5-10 seconds, could not feel my feet.

Pac later told me that I was babbling that I couldn’t feel my feet but that I was wiggling them the whole time. In hindsight, he thought that was funny.

Him: Of course, at the time, I was horrified.

It took a solid five minutes or so for me to come to my senses. Pac said he immediately came over and put his hands on my chest and neck to make sure I was alive.

Don’t remember that at all.

The entire shoot paused for a solid 45 minutes – which we never do, as we’re usually racing for 10-14 hours straight with a 30 min break for food – so I could get my bearings.

Was pretty cloudy-headed and in intense pain for the rest of the shoot, although I did burst out laughing once I realized that I wasn’t paralyzed.

Only managed to finish two scenes before I had to head home. The rest of the night was ice packs and ibuprofen.

Don’t recall what I said to Pez at all when I saw her later on that night.

Pac felt awful about it, and everyone checked in on me that night and the next day, which was nice.

It was honestly life-changing. In light of what Mouse said to me earlier the previous week, I gave Pac a ring.

Him: Dude, I felt awful for you but I was also feeling sick that I might have crippled you.
Me: Yeah. (thinking) If anything good came out of this, I remember thinking, “I hope I die instead of being crippled for the rest of my life and be a burden to the kid.” But then I realized also that I really, really didn’t want to die.

Reached out to Gradgirl, in a manner of speaking. She’s not contacted me back, dunno if she ever will.

I’m not even sure it’s her getting my messages because we always communicated via this specialized app. It could be someone else entirely getting them or maybe she’s just deleting them as they come in.

But I hope maybe she’ll read one or two and maybe hate me just a little less.

She was a friend when I needed one and I hope I can be one to her, somehow, someday.

It’s funny, I thought a buncha things lying there – mainly the kid, of course.

Shit, he’s gonna be so fucked up.

In my haze, I also remember thinking, Alison’s gonna be so mad at me if I died and left the kid alone.

But I also thought of Mouse and Gradgirl too. Mainly, that I hoped I wouldn’t die with them hating me.

Him: (laughing) So, all thoughts of suicide are gone?
Me: (nodding) So gone, man. I don’t want to die at all. Was thinking that there’s so much I still want to do. With the kid, with a lotta things.
Him: So, you should be thanking me then.
Me: (laughing) I wouldn’t go that far, Pac…

Location: my gym, hoping I’m ok
Mood: itchy, achy, and annoyed
Music: I’m waking up again and I feel half alive (Spotify)
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