Tag: human condition

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personal

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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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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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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Still ever the skillest and killest, Pt 3

An awful gift

It’s funny, when I first met Mouse, she was arm-wrestling a girl in yet another bar. At least, that’s one of the earliest entries where I introduced her to you for the first time.

In any case, she ended up arm-wrestling another girl at Pac’s bday at Solas as well. She won.

After I had my little outdoor escapade with the woman from the bar, I went back to Solas but when I returned, mosta my friends had left.

Since I knew the bouncers, they just waved me and I quickly – well, as quickly as I could considering how snockered I was – went up to where we were all sitting because I remembered I left my camera at the table in our room.

Shockingly, it was still there.

New York’ll still surprise you from time-to-time, I think.

I’d just left and wanted to eat so I wandered around looking for food. This worked out because I ran into Mouse outside on the street.

She was stone cold sober because she was driving the old whip.

Asked her if she’d be willing to give me a lift to the station cause it was super late and she – hesitatingly – obliged.

Figure she could tell I was two sheets to the wind. She’s one of the few that can since I don’t turn red and I don’t act much different to most people.

It was nice being in the whip again; I thought of her and my dad and tried to remember if they met. They didn’t.

It was a short drive – just from 9th and 2nd to 14th and 7th. But along the way, she asked me something that sobered me up right fast.

Her: When we were together, you wanted to die. You were suicidal. But then…you said that you would stay for the boy. (pause) I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t live for me.

Our past conversations were always arguments, always. Lots of yelling and finger-pointing. And anger.

So much anger, from both of us.

This time, though, the way she said it – simply and plainly, no anger, no bitterness, just…simply and resigned – cut through my intoxicated brain.

If I had a space to crawl into to hide, man, I woulda.

Me: (struggling) I don’t know. I was really messed up then. (sighing) I’m so sorry for everything.

She countered – calmly again – that she was often in physical and  emotional pain when we were together. Yet she still helped me – and the kid – despite her own pain. Instead of doing the same and helping her, I was trying to think of ways to kill myself.

The bad thing about being able to forget things is that when you remember them, it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time. I saw exactly the moment she brought up, as if I was watching it unfold for the first time.

Like Athena in Zeus’s head, that memory grew and, like Zeus, if I coulda, I woulda grabbed a hammer to bash it out.

Honestly, I woulda much preferred she screamed at me. Much.

She pulled up to the station, I stepped out, and she drove away.

Wish I could tell you I said something terribly charming or clever before I left. But I didn’t. For someone never at a loss for words, there I was.

It’s been four years since we were together. I was sleepwalking through life when I met her. Wish I found a way to wake up before she left.

Then again, I wish a lotta things.

I’m still ever the skillest and killest with my deadly weapons and I’m always armed and dangerous.

It’s a truly awful gift.

Him: (out of the blue) I wish I had a sibling.
Me: What?! (deep breath) I’m sorry, kid. I…
Him: It’s ok, papa. I just wish…
Me: (interrupting) I know. We wish a lotta things. I wish that too.

Location: on 79th Street, trying to explain why to him
Mood:
Music: you want nothing in return, I feel guilty (Spotify)
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Still ever the skillest and killest, Pt 2

It’s my life that’s funny

It was Pac’s birthday the other night and he wanted to have something at Solas, as our usual tradition, so I set it up.

Coincidentally, the following picture showed up on my feed on FB the same day.

Again, there’s been a ton of weird coincidences around me lately, although, really, it was for his birthday four years ago, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Mouse was going to be there this year as well. We’ve not communicated in a while. It’s funny because she and I were two totally different people when that picture was taken.

The moment I arrived, shots were being passed around. The joint was packed – even Tom from Scenic Fights and Katrina showed up.

Pac was having a grand time from the moment he arrived to the moment he stumbled out the door home.

Early on, was able to take some clear pics…

…but, as the night went on, my pics got worse and worse because there was alcohol everywhere…

…so my pics started ending up like this.

Seriously, everywhere.

Met a woman named Jenna at the bar who wanted to come into Pac’s (private) party but I felt that would be rude to Mouse so I told her she couldn’t.

Besides…

Her: …26. You?
Me: (laughing)
Her: (laughing as well) What’s so funny?
Me: My life, darling. Lovely meeting you, reallly.

But there was also a dude that was pestering me all night – I tried to hint that I wasn’t gay – but he kept randomly showing up until Mouse brought him over to sit with us, so I had to leave.

This is Katrina, who is NOT the girl I’m talking about below – and whoever took this shot was way drunker than I.

A lotta of the night was blur. At one point I was outside with another drunk woman who had to pee. Like, right then and there.

Me: We can go back to Solas, you know.
Her: I’m going right here, between the cars.
Me: Wait, what?! (she does so) Welp, this is a new level I’ve unlocked. (later) I’ll join you. Stand in front of me…

In my defense, she had lovely eyes, I had a lot to drink, and she was very convincing.

There’s more but this is getting long and I’m writing it on a train pulling into Penn Station, so I’ll continue it later on this week.

Location: on a train just outside Plainfield, NJ, writing this and tomorrow’s entry
Mood: guilty
Music: should have fallen out of love with you by now (Spotify)
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Categories
personal

Still ever the skillest and killest, Pt 1

Burying dead things

It’s been an odd week.

Some relatively recent friends (formally) exited my Venn Diagram while others came back for a visit.

Years ago, the Devil told me, “We’re not friends. We’re friendly, but we’re not friends. There’s a difference. Don’t get it twisted, kid.”

Found myself saying similar those exact words to someone else at a Japanese restaurant this past week and – for a moment, at least – I was my old self again.

Me: For what it’s worth, it was mature of you to reach out to me to talk. I never woulda myself because it’s not in my nature.
Him: (slowly nodding) I only know you after Alison…died. I’m still getting used to who you really are.
Me: Gotta be honest, I don’t care. But, our interests are aligned: What you want and what I want are the same. Let’s just get the job done. Whatever personal feelings we have towards the other are irrelevant. (later) To be clear, I felt I owed you a debt. I consider the debt paid – in full. I don’t owe you shit. But, it cut both ways, you don’t owe me shit either. I just wanna come in, do my shit, and leave. We’re both professionals, let’s act as such.
Him: As skilled as you are with a knife, you cut better with words than anyone I know.

It was perfectly eloquent and cruel, but I suppose it was true and I deserved it.

After all, he’s right. I’m ever the skillest with my sharp objects, the killest with my blunt instruments.

Fuck it. I’m getting tired of apologizing for and hiding who and what I am.

A woman I dated briefly dropped me a line earlier this month and then again this week.

She made me laugh.

And then Rain hit me up to chat about stuff. Oddly, someone just asked me earlier today if he and I were still in contact.

There’s definitely something weird in the air. In any case, it was good catching up with him.

Me: Jesus Christ – you have hair! And it’s grey!
Him: Man, you look exactly the same. I can’t believe you still have all your hair and it’s black.
Me: I’m as surprised as you are.

We got onto the topic of buying some grass-fed beef together because…of course we did.

Weirder still, a girl I met on the train three years ago randomly dropped me a line recently as well.

What on earth is going on?

It’s was Pac’s birthday this past weekend.

Had a hangover for the first time in over a decade but I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow.

Location: earlier today, my kitchen, baking two dozen cookies and a pan of lasagna for my favourite tiny human
Mood: Same as the song
Music: Well, fuck ’em, fuck ’em, fuck ’em all (Spotify)
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Categories
personal

Old lions

Parenting’s hard

Before I went out with RE Mike, I picked up the kid from school and he wasn’t his usual indefatigably happy self because of his black eye.

Him: Some of the kids were making fun of me. (sadly) They called me hamburger face. I didn’t like that. I asked them to stop but they didn’t. (sighs)
Me: You can’t control what other kids do or say, but you can control how you react to these things. Do you know their names?
Him: No.
Me: People that you don’t know that are mean shouldn’t matter to you. Don’t care so much about people and things that don’t matter. Now, go play.
Her: (woman overhearing my conversation after he ran off) That was really good advice.
Me: Thanks. Parenting’s hard, isn’t it?
Her (nodding) So hard.

If you don’t have a kid, it’s difficult to explain how much it wears on a parent to have a sad kid; and this kid is rarely sad.

But when he is, I’m bummed all day.

While I was out with RE Mike, I mentioned the fact that I studied weapons fighting for just about as long as we’ve known each other.

He was totally shocked because I never once mentioned it.

It’s funny, people think that because I have a blog, my life’s an open book. In many ways, it is. But I also keep a lotta secrets.

There’s so much of my life I’ve not told you and I don’t think you’d believe if I told you anywho.

After all, some secrets are (quite) good and some are (quite) bad, but all are special things.

The next morning, he texted me the following – the link is to Scenic Fights:

Anywho, after I picked the boy up late from RE Mike’s pad, we took the long walk to the west side to grab the train home.

Him: I’m scared.
Me: Why?
Him: It’s so dark and people are so loud.
Me: It’s fine, you’re with me and I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you.
Him: You’re not scared?
Me: Everyone’s scared sometimes. But I’m not right now. Because these people are all like sheep, or – at most – like wolves, and papa’s neither.
Him: What are you then?
Me: (laughing) Uncle Pac thinks papa’s an old lion. That sounds about right. And lions – even old ones – aren’t afraid of sheep or wolves.

Although, to be fair, I’m like a weird old lion…

Location: West 77th and Columbus on a conference call trying to sound cavalier
Mood: parental
Music: devil’s on my shoulder stirring up trouble (Spotify)
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