A lawyer, by trade

Waiting for the holidays to be over

Her: I read your blog, the one about your wife and the five dollars. Are you a writer?
Me: No, I’m a lawyer, by trade. You?
Her: I’m a journalist. You write beautifully. You should do it again.

Met a woman, recently, that came across my blog, somehow. It’s a different world now.

When I first started this blog, there wasn’t Facebook, Instagram, or any social media to speak of.

Now it’s too easy to find and know everything about me so I have to be much more careful.

I dated a journalist once. That was an unmitigated disaster.

Seven months before Alison got sick, told you that I was stopping this blog. Didn’t tell you that it was because Alison was pregnant – after all, we lost so many babies, why jinx this one too?

Besides, we were planning on making major changes.

I was going to work remotely but pare down my workload, as was she. The two of us were going to sell the apartment and move out to NJ to raise the kid with green grass and shade.

I was gonna write more fiction. The thing with writing is that your mind can only crank out so much quality stuff before you’re just churning.

That’s part of why I don’t post every day; I’d rather have one or two good posts than a series of crappy ones. So, I stopped the blog to focus on writing.

In the end, that was the one pregnancy that stuck and we thought we’d finally be ok.

But it all turned to shit anyway.

Now, I just have zero – absolutely zero – desire to write do anything beyond this blog, hang with the kid, and run the gym.

And even then, it’s always the same thing, a blur of people and things that I barely remember.

Voltaire once said that, Madness is to think of too many things in succession too fast, or of one thing too exclusively.

If that’s the criteria, then I’m clearly starkers. Clearly.

I’m dreaming all the time again – some good, some less so.

Saw my family recently. My brother’s back in town; his girl’s coming in later on this week. She’s sweet. My dad woulda liked her. I hope they end up together.

Met a stylish young woman on the ride home. She wore bell bottoms and shoes with sapphires on them. She thought the kid was adorbs.

But I’m not me right now so I just thanked for the company and carried my sleepy son home. She laughed and waved goodbye to us. The kid waved back, sleepily.

Him: I’m so tired.
Me: Good. Then maybe you’ll have some nice dreams.
Him: She was pretty. Is she your friend?
Me: Maybe in a different life.

It’s Thanksgiving soon.

I just want the holidays to be over.

Location: with my mom, telling her that I loved her
Mood: dreaming
Music: damn that’s stylish. Smiling, don’t pay attention to the mileage (Spotify)
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Who are you?

Not as long as you need me

Pac: You already told me this.
Me: I did? Sorry, I’m forgetting a ton of things.
Him: What is wrong with you?
Me: Well, insomnia, a possible concussion, lots of pharmaceuticals and general feelings of pain and loss. I’m actively trying to forget things and people and sometimes other things get caught up.
Him: Great, now I feel bad for saying anything.

Recently made a channel on YouTube for Paxibellum and got a call from one of the producers of Scenic Fights. Evidently, I did a number of things he wasn’t happy about but mainly…I did it twice.

Him: …AND you uploaded the videos twice to each channel!
Me: I did it in my insomnia phase so I’ll take them down. Sorry.

Evidently, Sleepy Logan’s back. It also appears that he’s on a health food kick because there are half-a-dozen avocados, and two large containers of salads in my fridge that I have zero recollection of getting.

MIL: I bought toys for him. You told me you got them and put them away.
Me: Mom, I hid them so well, that I forget everything about them.

Chad’s been telling me to get an MRI and I really struggled with whether or not to do it but I ultimately decided that there’s nothing to be done.

Let’s say, arguendo, that I do have a concussion, what is there to do but wait and see how everything shakes out?

Plus, I’ve been to every fucking brain MRI joint in this goddamn city. I know what they all smell and sound like. I will literally walk in the door and projectile vomit.

Chad also thinks I should get one on my wrist, shoulder, and neck since all three are pretty messed up. Those I’m still considering.

The wrist one bothers me the most because, who/what am I if I can’t hold a sword again? Because, in my head, I’m a swordsman.

That’s how I define myself to myself.

I’m living in waking dreams again; remembering things from possible pasts again.

Him: You know the difference between the devil and a demon?
Me: No, tell me.
Him: The devil is a creation of god himself. He exists because god allows him to exist. But a demon is a god. It’s what the Judeo-Christians called any old god that existed prior to their god. So that’s why the devil looks like Pan, an old Roman god.
Me: So you believe in god?
Him: I believe God is an asshole. He has nothing to do with me, and I have nothing to do with him.

Always found it somewhat poetic that demons are our old gods. The things we used to worship in the past, torment us in the present.

Speaking of torment, both the kid and I getting nightmares for some reason.

Him: Sorry to wake you. I’m worried there are snakes in my room.
Me: Dude, there are no snakes in Manhattan. If you’re gonna worry about something, worry about flooding, which is an actual issue.
Him: (eyes widening in horror) We might flood again!?
Me: (fuuuuuuuuuccckkk…)

In any case, before Alison, my old gods were various pharmaceuticals and late night excursions. But she became my new god and my old gods faded away.

But I lost her and found other new gods. Then I lost those new gods as well

I honestly wonder if I made one up completely or if she was real. Told you once that my insomnia means that I can even remember things that never happened, people that never existed.

Coupled with a possible concussion, I’m lucky I remember my own name these days. And my old gods/demons are back as if they never left, even though the devil has.

Then again, I have one shiny new god I adore in the form of a tiny human.

Him: Halloween was last week! You mean, “See them for Thanksgiving!?”
Me: I said, “Halloween?”
Him: Yes! You’re being silly, papa!
Me: So, I am. It’s time for bed.
Him: (quietly) Don’t go. Please. I’m scared.
Me: What are you afraid of?
Him: I don’t know. (thinking) What if you’re not here when I wake up?
Me: Why would you think that?
Him: [People leave].
Me: Not me. I won’t leave you. Not as long as you need me.

Location: home with the kid and Sleepy Logan
Mood: fuzzy
Music: I really wanna know, who the fuck are you? (Spotify)
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We got an award!

YouTube Creators Silver Award

Chad: What facts about the world did you learn?
J: Facts?
Chad: You were hanging out with Logan Lo for three hours; you definitely learned a fact.
J: (laughs) Well, we did discuss a lot about depression.
Chad: (to me) Are you doing ok?

Don’t get many visitors just because I like my privacy – this is in contrast to the kid, who has visitors come by alla time.

Having said that, Chad told me he was going to be in the area on Friday on a date so I told him to stop by afterward to meet up with our Scenic Fights producer, J.

Before J, showed up, though, I got a call from my friends Kathy and Ricky. They were in the area with their son so they popped by first.

Kathy: Can I sit down on the stoop?
Me: Sure – I spent many a years sitting on this stoop watching the world go by.

We caught up for a spell, along with my son, before they left.

Afterward, J stopped by. We were supposed to go over notes for a SF shoot later on this week but Chad was out of pocket until late. We didn’t want to disturb him so J and I just chatted a bit.

Him: This is actually the first time I’ve been social in a while.
Me: Besides Chad and randos, I don’t get many visits from people I actually wanna see.

J brought over a YouTube Silver Creator Plaque, which Scenic Fights got because we hit 100,000 subscribers – the crazy thing is that we’re actually at 144,000 subscribers now.

Chad showed up late and starving so I cooked everyone some food before we cracked open the package.

This is us when we finally opened it – I was so tempted to open it myself but I’m glad we waited for him to stop by.

Oddly, Chad was in my neighborhood the very next day for another social thingy.

But I’ll tell you all about that tomorrow.

I’m not sleeping again.

Location: earlier today, on 78th, watching the Meetles
Mood: confused
Music: I really want to know: Who are you? (Spotify)
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One car ride, five trains…

…and one short walk

After we finished dinner and cleaned up, I gave the boy a bath and helped him get to bed. He wanted me to stay but I told him I couldn’t.

I understand how hard it is for a parent to tell a child no for something they both want.

Well, now I do, I mean. It’s something I don’t think I ever fully appreciated before.

Her mom drove me to the train station to head home. We talked in the car.

Earlier that night, I imitated Alison’s voice and some of her mannerisms and her mom laughed because I got it right. That’s a nice memory for me to have. Alison woulda laughed too.

We all miss her terribly.

At the train station, there were three girls trying to figure out how to get to the other side of the tracks because the train was arriving in five minutes. I suddenly realized that I didn’t know where my phone was.

After four minutes of frantic searching, I had my mother-in-law call it and found I had dropped it when I stepped out of the car. We could hear the train approaching.

Her: Grab it and go, I’ll stay in case you miss it.
Me: OK, thanks!

I ran breathlessly to the other side of the train tracks where the three girls from earlier looked at me quizzically.

They must’ve wondered why I waited until the very last minute to get there.

The first leg of the trip was quiet, as my trips go. A guy was trying to pick up a girlie but otherwise, the train was empty.  It’s always empty when I travel these days.

But Mouse kept me company via messages, though.

I was still thinking of Alison and everything when I got out at Newark Penn Station to transfer to the other train when I noticed two signs.

The first said that the train to Penn Station was cancelled; the next one was in 22 minutes.

The second sign said that there was a PATH train leaving in two minutes. Made a snap  judgement, took out my Metrocard, and caught the PATH train just as the doors were closing.

Unfortunately, it was headed to the World Trade Center, way south of my pad. So, when I got to Jersey City, I transferred to a second PATH train to Hoboken, Alison’s old town.

I took that to 33rd Street and transferred to the N train.

Got off that and transferred to the red line. Then I walked to my pad.

One car ride, five trains, and one short walk later I was home.

Harold. I’m back,” I said.

He didn’t answer me. He never does.

Just need to make it past New Year’s and I’m good for five months.

Easy.

Location: my empty home
Mood: bad again
Music: got a ticket to ride but she don’t care (Spotify)
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Travelogue: COVID-NYC

The Sweet Caress

Had a completely sleepless night. This always worries me because I dunno if it’s a one-off thing or it’s the start of the madness.

A buddy of mine stopped by a couple of times; we kept social distancing.

Some time this week, either I injured myself rolling with Chad recently or I have insect/spider bite on my foot. This is part of why I had a sleepless night.

Regardless, I can’t walk because my foot looks like a sausage.

Doesn’t matter much, I suppose. I lent Chad my scooter for the week so I’m stuck at home regardless.

But I did manage to head downtown for a bit before that to be a tourist in my own city again so here are some pics.

And now I try and figure out if I should lie in bed all day to heal my foot, or get up in the hopes that I’ll sleep tonight.

Her: What are your plans for the day?
Me: (shrugging)The usual, emotional and physical pain, soothed by the sweet caress of rum. You?

It’s fine.

I got likes from strangers and love on the internet

Location: my empty apartment, surrounded by painkillers
Mood: less sober
Music: I can’t get out my head. It’s all because, all because (Spotify)
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Finding a good therapist is like dating

Ironic

Me: I met someone who knew us when, in a manner of speaking…
Him: (laughing) I read your blog, you know. You really make a big deal out of everything.
Me: I’m dull, what can I say?

Been having Had another stretch of insomnia; the past weekend’s late night outing, plus subsequent cold, really threw me for a loop.

But I recently had some really, really, amazeballs sleep, for no real rhyme or reason.

Her: I’ve never seen you this awake – who are you!?
Me: (laughing) I got sleep! This is what I’m like when I actually get some rest.

Prior to this, as always, whenever I’m super rough, I start looking into everything: Meds, gadgets, holistic remedies, etc.

And therapists.

The last major girlfriend before Alison asked me to go to a couple’s therapist with her. I flatly said, no. Dunno know why I did. I suppose, in my heart, I knew that I was wrong about a lotta things and didn’t want confirmation of that.

Also, guess I knew she wasn’t my person and vice versa.

The ironic thing was that, after we broke up, I started seeing several therapists, alla which were helpful, to varying degrees.

Had a good therapist years ago – the one that used to give me those PHQ-9 tests – but she no longer works in the area nor takes my insurance any longer.

Man, I had no idea what real heartache was back then. Wish I didn’t know now, actually.

Anywho, finding a good therapist is a lot like dating: You’ve gotta go through a bunch to find one you like, isn’t hella far away, is smart and nice, listens to you, and doesn’t think everything you do is terrible.

Suppose the main difference is that, unlike dating, you’re not looking for your biggest fan, just someone that takes your insurance.

I actually remember only dating women in my area due to sheer laziness, then constantly running into them and then never dating anyone again north of W 42nd Street and west of 5th Avenue. I think GES was the last one of that bunch.

In any case, my insomnia’s back under control and I have clarity in my life again, as it were, so the urge to find a good therapist is gone again.

Ironic, yeah?

Felt good enough to get back to the gym with regularity.

Curt: You got nuthin, you can’t hurt me.
Me: (trapping him in a guard) Yeah? Well, now I’m gonna talk to you about my relationship problems.
Him: (thrashing) God, no! Get off of me.
Me: Nope! (holding him down) So, this is what’s going on with me right now…

Maybe I should talk to a professional after all.

Location: yesterday, the gym, getting passed
Mood: sleepless once again
Music: I can’t get enough. You’re the medicine and the pain

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Computers and peanut butter

Things could be so much better

Me: I want to have some dessert but I need peanut butter to eat with it.
Pac: !#$#, I don’t have peanut butter. !@#$!#$, !@#$!#$!#! $!@#$!!
Friend: Hey, I think I have some peanut butter in my purse.
Me: Wait, whanow…?

I hack most things in my life, cause lots of things can be improved upon.

Case-in-point: Whenever I eat something sweet, I eat (a crapton of) peanut butter with it because peanut butter (a) has a low glycemic index of 14, which modulates the overall impact of other, more unhealthy foods because of its density of protein, fat, and fiber, and (b) it does so more inexpensively and conveniently than other options.

At the Friendsgiving, we had our choice of ice cream, Magnolia cupcakes, and pumpkin pie for dessert.

I had all three and was hoping for some peanut butter to go along with it but Pac didn’t have any. However, my friend had some in her purse, which I was both appreciative of and pleasantly surprised by.

Clearly, I need to keep these friends or get a purse.

As suddenly as it came again, the insomnia went away again. Well, the worst of it, anywho. There are reasons why but that’s a post for another time.

This woman wrote this amazing comic where she perfectly described her anxiety and depression; when they went away, she felt an incredible need to be productive.

Replace anxiety with depression with insomnia, and that’s how I feel.

Still sad and pensive but clearer-headed than I’ve been in a while. I feel my teeth again, you see.

Put on a suit, my fave cufflinks, went to the office, met with some clients, made a crapton of phone calls, negotiated a few deals, and then hit the gym.

Giving another lecture in January to boot.

Unfortunately, there are some downsides to this as well; I keep a tiny computer in my living room to record television and stream videos and the fan noise on it – which has always been a dull hum in my head all these years – is now driving me nuts.

Under load, it sounds like a hair dryer. No joke.

Imagine that: A hairdryer just running constantly in your living room.

So – even though I knew it’d throw off my sleep – after the kid went down, I googled how to fix it and found a guy that put in a replacement fan.

Once I got a replacement fan, I cracked open the computer, ripped out the old fan, spliced the wires from the old interface to my new fan, zip-tied it all back together, and shoehorned the whole thing into a universal junction box.

When I have some more time, I’m planning on either 3D printing a proper case for it, or using a Dremel to cut open the old case like the OP did and make that work.

Anywho, I then drilled a large access hole into the back of my media console and strung it all through. It went from sounding like a hair-dryer to not sounding like anything at all. Nothing. Dead quiet.

Unfortunately, I may have kick-started my insomnia again. Spent the other night editing a buncha videos for my coach.

Eh, worth it. It feels good, getting stuff done.

Location: in the living room, enjoying the silence
Mood: accomplished
Music: Vows are spoken to be broken
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Everything has a place

Most things, anyway

Her: I don’t think that there’s a way to keep those monitors on the desk safely, Logan.
Me: (looking at them) Dammit. You’re right.

I’ve not been sleeping again.

My last entry, wrote about how well I’d been sleeping. I took this new med and it was, like all the other times, a miracle drug. Was able to sleep like a brick for six or seven hours a night for almost three weeks.

And then it just stopped. Like all the other times.

Of course, there are other things involved. Last week was three years after Alison first collapsed.

That went even worse than I imagined it would for a number of reasons that we don’t need to get into now.

And then a comment from a dear friend from the mother’s group made me re-analyze the pad.

See, Alison and I set up one room as a nursery/home office. To this end, there were two huge 27″ monitors in the front room that wasn’t a danger to the kid when he wasn’t walking around.

But he is now. And grabbing everything.

So, with the Gymgirl’s help, I moved Alison’s old desk from our bedroom to the office and vice-versa. I kept it together as best I could but I think the Gymgirl noticed all the sighing.

Gymgirl: You ok?
Me: Yeah.

It’s hard. And to top it all off, the Gymgirl and I are also not really communicating.

It’s like she speaks Russian and I speak Chinese and we can’t make ourselves understood to the other. Ironically, I’m actually one of her few boyfriends that speaks English well.

Well-ish.

But we can’t seem to get through to each other. Which also makes me sad because when we do actually communicate, it’s amazing.

Gymgirl: Tell me about her.
Me: You don’t mind?
Her: Never. What was the most special thing about her?
Me: She organized my home by giving everything a place. She had a place for everything: pillows, tape, forks, everything had a place in the world. And now, I wonder where things are. Where I am in it all?
Her: Maybe I can help.

I suppose that will work out however it’s supposed to.

In any case, remember when I told you that this used to be my favourite time of year?

How long ago that seems.

Everything’s different and I wish it wasn’t.

Location: A white desk in a pastel bedroom.
Mood: tired. so tired.
Music: I don’t like walking around this old and empty house

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Sometimes the quiet darkness is your friend

Day 1 of the insomnia again


I shattered glass all over my kitchen and dropped two plates today because I got less than two hours sleep last night.

My insomnia stretches have no rhyme or reason.

I could be happy or sad and they happen. Successful or failing and they happen. Have a late night or early night and they happen.

But I did notice that a few weeks ago, when I stopped drinking coffee altogether, I slept for two days in a row without any of the hard meds I usually need.

Less than a  week ago, started drinking regular coffee again and last night, I slept for about two hours.

I also realized that No 6 and I started getting into our insane insomnia-fueled fights after we got an espresso machine.

Wrote someplace else a dozen years ago about our coffee ritual of my making us two cups of coffee before she went to work. That’s neither here nor there.

Now, I usually stop all caffeine by 4PM; the average person takes up to six hours to process caffeine.

Recall stopping coffee several times in my past with no effect on my sleep, or lack thereof. But my brother once said something like this:

The thing is, I only have, at most, two cups of coffee. But perhaps it’s related now. Maybe that and all those possible pasts that I’ve gathered in my head alla these years means that the insomnia is stronger than it’s ever been.

I used to have a ritual to help me sleep but that’s gone now for reasons I’m sure you can figure out.

Wonder sometimes if Sleepy Logan is the real me or am I just the fake him? I don’t remember so much of my pasts but he does. Dunno which one of us is the lucky one.

But we both love the boy. So I suppose it doesn’t really matter which one of us is here.

Him: Papa!
Me: What?
Him: Open the door, just a little bit.
Me: No – sometimes the quiet darkness is your friend. For example, it helps you sleep.
Him: Go to sleep, too.
Me: I would love to. If only I could.

Location: the edge of insomniaville again
Mood: clear-headed and addled at the same time
Music: Wonder how I ever made it through. And there are children to think of
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Logan with a lotta baggage

Bye-bye. Broke.

Friday, went to the cemetery for the first time since that awful day. I did not handle it well at all. McCain‘s passing and some other rough stories about friends meant that my August continued to be less-than-ideal.

In any case, afterward, my sis, her husband, and I went to eat some Korean food; I had the goat, which was pretty terrible.

It’s fine. It was a terrible day.

The boy’s been talking about Gymgirl a lot.

Mom: So what happened?
Me: What do you mean?
Her: He said, “Gymgirl, bye-bye. Broke. No more.” So what happened?
Me: (shrugging) The same thing that always happens to everyone, mom. Life. Life happened.

As for my talking, dating seems to come up with all my friends, quite often.  We all agree on this about it: It’s the constant disappointment that wears you down.

JF1: Dating is definitely – reliably – disappointing.
Me: That’s the worst, isn’t it? You put all this excitement and emotion into someone and then it all turns to crap. It’s designed to always turn into crap every time…except once. And even then, at least with me…

Then again, she’s 29, tall, beautiful, and blond. I’m 45, and neither tall nor blond.

Still, in my head, I think I’m 12 years better than I was before.

Thought about about Gradgirl and my ex, No 6, recently. Not a lot, enough. Not in a romantic sense. In a, it’d be nice to chat, sense. Couldn’t sleep the other night – of course – and was close to calling one of them.

But I got up and made a batch of chocolates instead. Sugar-free in case you’re wondering.

On the plus side, not one but two different people sent me this article to boost my ego: For Online Daters, Women Peak at 18 While Men Peak at 50, Study Finds. Oy.

Yes, that’s crazy unfair, I agree.

But, you gotta admit: Life’s been plenty unfair enough to me already.

ABFF: Dating sucks. Don’t get your hopes up, Logan.
Me: Cm’on, lady! Hope’s all I got.

Although I do manage to find entertainment where I can:

Her: Sandi – with an “i.”
Me: Nice to meet you, Sandi-with-an-i. Logan (thinking) with a lotta baggage.
Her: (laughs) Nice to meet you, Logan-with-a-lotta-baggage.
Me:  (grinning) Yeah, you laugh now, you haven’t seen my baggage yet, darling…


Ended up calling Gradgirl again, after all.

That deserves an entry on it’s own but it’s a story for later.

The insomnia is…better? It’s rotten, versus @#$@#$#@ horrible. That’s better by my reckoning.

Location: a train with passenger that wanted to be home
Mood: thoughtful
Music: I regret every single thing I ever said, I said those things too softly
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