Sine qua non

Villan it is

Me: Goddammit. The RTX 3090 needs three pcie power connectors and you only have two.
Him: Goddammit.

My buddy Panda just left. Was trying to upgrade his computer but no luck. Still, we did manage to sit down and have some rum together.

Him: You’ve accomplished a lotta stuff with your life.
Me: (taking a sip) What have I accomplished besides being a high-functioning alcoholic?
Him: (shrugging) Well, you’re high-functioning at least.

Spoke to someone I dated after everything went down with Alison and my dad. I literally had to dig up my old phone – and old phone number – to figure out how to get in touch with her. My brain’s like swiss cheese lately.

That’s an interesting story that I’m still trying to sort out. Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday.

Me: FWIW, I think I loved you. Everything was just…crazy then.
Her: (laughs) You think?! You did. You still do.
Me: Sure. And I think you still love me. But in the end, it doesn’t make a difference does it?
Her: No, it doesn’t. (shaking head) I’ve never met anyone so out of touch with what they’re thinking and feeling.
Me: It was too much. It’s still too much to take. In the end, we were both right: We’re incompatible.

On that note, I thought of my ex before Alison recently.

This woman named Alana Davis sang a cover of Ani DiFranco 32 Flavors that I prefer to Ani’s verison. Alison always thought that was blashphomy.

In any case, both versions start off with a line that goes, “Squint your eyes and look closer; I’m not between you and your ambition.”

When my ex and I broke up, she essentially said I was holding her back: From making new friends, from getting promoted at work, from blogging, from public speaking, from everything.

In law, there’s a latin phrase, sine qua non, which translates to “but for…”

eg: She would be happy and successful – but for Logan holding her back.

I thought of that phrase and the Ani song as she was telling me how awful I was.

Don’t think I was angry so much as I was sad that she blamed me for so much. I like to think that she was just lashing out because everything was such a mess.

Have zero idea what’s going on with her now but I always wondered if her life became everything she dreamed it would be if only I wasn’t in it.

Sine qua non Logan…

Honestly, as I write this, I hope she was right. That it was me, all along, keeping her from being the best version of her self.

I wrote once that I was always secretly on her side and I still am.

In fact, I’m secretly on the side of a lotta people who probably don’t know that I am. Because, for some moments in time, they meant the world to me.

In the end, that’s fine.

Everyone needs a good enemy and if that’s my role in someone’s life, so be it – sometimes, we don’t get to choose if we’re the hero or the villian, life chooses for us.

Villan it is…

In other news, I finished making the duck confit for the kid recently.

Him: I don’t want to try it.
Me: Try it, you might like it.
Him: (reluctantly) Oh, it’s good!
Me: See?!
Him: I’m just going to eat the (plain) rice, OK? Yummy. This rice is so good.
Me: (sighing)

Location: stepping out of the car on W 76th and Amsterdam
Mood: villanous
Music: God help you if you are a phoenix and you dare to rise (Spotify)
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My reason for being here

Ready

My son and I went to NJ to my in-laws for Christmas where I had an endless stream of delicious food.

Mostly carbs, though.

My son’s gift to my MIL was that he played a song for her on the ukulele. I’m ridiculously proud of him, for the below and so much more.

Her: That kid is a genius!
Me: He takes after his mom.

Essentially spent my time playing with the kid, eating, and sleeping the whole time I was there. It was glorious.

The boy was sad when I left but I told him I’d see him soon. I took the train home; on the platform on the ride back was a fella easily six foot four or more.

Her: Is a giant next to you?
Me: Yes.

The rest of the weekend/week was spent meeting up with people that stopped by, with gifts like the Pastor

Him: I have a gift for you!
Me: Dude! I didn’t get you anything.
Him: (later) There’s a huge rat behind you.
Me: You’ll tell me if it comes near me, right?
Him: If you see my eyes widen in horror, run.

…and Pac…

Him: Man, I never thought of it that way. (thinking) You see things that other people don’t see.
Me: It was my gift, seeing all the angles. Except with Alison. I didn’t see what I needed to see and she paid for it.
Him: You can’t blame yourself for that.
Me: (shrugging and taking a sip of rum) But, I do.

…and my buddy Miller that, unexpectedly bought me a handcrafted knife from Raven Knives.

Him: Merry Christmas, brother! I got something for you.
Me: Ooooooh, is it a busty 32-36 year old? Because I’ve always wanted one of those. And, you shouldn’t have!

I carry so much guilt, you wouldn’t believe it. But, somehow, I feel better than I have in a long while, I have to say.

Think it’s because I survied another holiday season. Well, almost.

Just a few days more.

All these years, I keep wondering if Hope is a good or bad thing.

I suppose there’s no way to ever tell until our race is run.

Me: I only have 5,000 days left here.
Him: That’s it?
Me: (nodding) It means I can’t waste time. I gotta make sure the boy’s ready.
Him: If anyone will get him ready, it’ll be you.
Me: (shaking head) So many people put their faith in me and I feel like I’ve let them all down. Alison, Mouse, Gradgirl, Daisy. So many people. But I can’t let him down. He’s my reason for being here.

Location: having coffee on W 18th Street, telling him that I finally understand
Mood: hopeful(ish)
Music: Problems I created, yeah, I wasn’t perfect (Spotify)
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Success models

We can’t stay here

The dinner itself was fun and the food was killer. It was also good to see the fellas outside of the gym and in our regular selves.

Him: I’m starting up a new venture with some big Hollywood stars.
Me: Do you need a lazy, high-functioning alcoholic lawyer?
Him: Oh, we have one of those already.
Me: Dammit.

It was so much, in fact, that we ended up staying out until they turned on the lights in the restaurant.

Him: I think they’re trying to tell us something.
Me: Yeah, we don’t have to go home, but we can’t stay here.

Most of what we discussed is unprintable, either because it was about the business or because it was about our personal lives.

Him: …and then the kid and his friends came out with guns and started firing.
Me: Well, I’m not visiting you there, then.

Told you once that you’re the average of the five people that you spend the most time with. These people should be your success models: The people we wanna be.

But there are probably just as many failure models in your life as there as success models. These are the people that are people like the consistently poor decision-makers, the immature, the selfish, the willfully ignorant, etc. Unfortunately, it’s a lot easier to end up with failure models than success models.

Him: I remember some of the advice he gave me.
Me: Man, taking business advice from him is like taking relationship advice from someone that’s never been in a good one.

Chad and I know a fella that’s super-focused on building, essentially, a martial arts cult for some mythical yesteryear versus a commercially successful business for 2022 NYC.

It’s mental masturbation full of nonsense versus concerted, dispassionate grind. And a life focused on mental masturbation produces precisely the same result as a life focused on actual masturbation. After all, if you keep doing what you do, you keep getting what you get.

He’s our walking, talking, cautionary tale.

In the end, we picked the investors because they’re all very successful in their respective fields and all had a skill or attribute that would be a tangible benefit to the gym and each other.

A plus is that they’re all extremely good fighters in their respective arts, which helps if you’re running a martial arts gym.

It stopped raining when we finally left.

Me: We should do this again, soon.
Investor 1: I’m away for the next three months at [a resort I own]. You guys should visit.
Investor 2: I’m away for the next two months in [the Caribbean with my family].
Investor 3: I’m in Europe for a day for work this week but back for the holidays and then traveling again.
Me: Clearly, I’ve made some poor life choices. If I didn’t have the kid in school…

Speaking of the kid, he and I put up a Christmas tree together. I bought a slightly larger tree than the one that was damaged, and I had to toss.

It was the first time we decorated a tree together. Man, he was so happy. I told him the story – as best I could – of each ornament, alla which had a story with them.

Him: The bell really works!
Me: (laughing) Yes, yes it does.
Him: It’s so cool! (thinking) I miss mommy.
Me: (sighing)

When he went to bed, I sat there and just stared at the tree for a while before I poured myself a glass of fine aged rum and thought about all of my possible pasts.

God, I fucking hate the holidays.

Location: earlier yesterday evening, looking at diamond rings
Mood: hopeful
Music: He’s been living in a pure illusion (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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Ziggy and the kid

Diddling around Chinatown

Me: Man, that is one small laptop, can I see it?
Her: Sure, you can diddle around on it.
Me: I haven’t diddled around with anything in a while, lady.

RE Mike shot me two top-tier tix to Midsummer: A Shakespearience the other day but I’ve been so cloudy lately that I declined.

Him: Bring a date!
Me: (laughing) No one’s made the cut to meet you yet, man.

He sent me the below to show me what I missed out on. Alla my days and nights are blending together again so it woulda been a waste anywho.

I’m always dreaming again.

Or at least, sleepwalking.

Friends and almost friends have been asking me to head out with them and I’ve said yes as often as I’ve said no.

That’s a lie. If I’m turning down RE Mike, I’m turning down most people. But some people make the cut. Some.

Gotta say, though, that my most memorable night recently has been with the kid.

See, he’s been taking Chinese class and this week’s lesson was about Chinese food so I decided to take him downtown to eat dinner with me.

So, right after his class, whisked him to Chinatown to try out the dishes he learned.

On the way down, we ran into zombie Ziggy Stardust…

Son: Did you know him?
Me: No, I just met him now.
Him: Then how did you know his name was Ziggy?
Me: (laughing) That’s a long story. But he was nice, wasn’t he?

..before we got to Chinatown…

Him: There’s so much Chinese [writing everywhere]!
Me: Hence the name, kid.

…and worked our way to the restaurant to try out some steamed veggie dumplings, pan-fried dumplings, scallion pancakes, and soup dumplings.

Waiter: Are you expecting anyone else?
Me: Nope. It’s just the two of us. We’ll eat it all.

I was pleasantly surprised how much he enjoyed the steamed vegetable dumplings. Not everything was a surprise, though.

Him: (making a face) What is that?
Me: Tea.
Him: I don’t like it.
Me: It’s only the second most popular beverage in the world. (leaning over and whispering) It’s ok, I prefer coffee myself. Shhhh…

We killed everything and he was still hungry afterward. He’s definitely my kid.

A group of women lawyers were in the the table next to us, talking shop, and I locked eyes with a pretty brunette.

But, like I said, I’ve been so fuzzy lately, I figured it’d just end up as another date to nowhere.

So, I tossed her a wink, the waiter two Jacksons, and walked the kid around the place.

Him: Can we do this again?
Me: Anytime, kid, anytime.
Him: Tomorrow!
Me: (laughing) Strike and withdraw. Lemme rephrase that…

He’s getting the shot tomorrow.

I may be muddled-headed these days but the only thing that’s crystal clear is that I gotta keep him safe, any way I can.

You see, he’s my only treasure…

Location: earlier today, being told he was special
Mood: grey
Music: I had to phone someone so I picked on you (Spotify)
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Typically what one does

Hey, kid

Him: Great, now *I’m* paranoid.

This was probably one of the busiest Halloweens I’ve ever had, mainly because of the kid and some other things that I don’t want to discuss, publicly.

Speaking of discussing things publicly, I mentioned to some people in my gym the the other day that I almost never say the kid’s name out in public.

Because I have zero desire for the world at a whole to know my son’s name. It’s the same reason that I don’t put up pics of him and his face.

Look, this kid’s gonna grow up with the least amount of privacy the world’s seen to date – and it’s only gonna get worse.

There are almost no pictures of me between the age of 14 and 25 years of age, beyond what my family has. Because, my dream job throughout college was to be an analyst (not a field agent) at the CIA. I actually made it through two rounds of interviews before I got a rejection.

Never did find out why. But that’s neither here nor there.

Find it so odd when parents emblazon their kid’s name on their backpacks and put up endless social media photos of them. That strikes me as a bad time waiting to happen.

I’d say I was paranoid but my luck is of the stripe no one wants so, really, I’m just acting on the information I have.

Me: Honestly, this kid is only thing that really matters to me. So, fuck everyone and everything else.
Him: Seriously though, I agree with everything you just said.

Still, I can’t keep him at home alla time – especially since he didn’t get a real Halloween last year – so we did make it to one house party where he was Chewbacca…

…one street party where he was a Ninja Turtle…

…while stopping by stores to get even more candy…

…and the usual group next door.

Me: Thanks for inviting us, as always!
Him: (laughing) I heard a bunch of people invited you.
Me: It’s the kid, not me. Everyone loves the kid.

On another matter entirely, our producer for Scenic Fights just told me that we have more subscribers (148,000)  on our channel than Esquire does on their channel (147,000).

And Marie Claire for that matter…

Plus, I got the funniest call the other day.

Him: Hi, I’m calling about the kali class for Paxibellum.
Me: Sure. (explains to him the procedures) When you get there, my business partner, Chad, can set you up.
Him: Wait, Chad from Scenic Fights? Is Logan going to be there as well?
Me: Logan will not be there. Because Logan’s with his kid that day. I know this because, I’m Logan.
Him: WHOA! I’m a huge fan. You answer your phone?
Me: (laughing) Yes, that’s typically what one does with one’s phone.

Fans. Chad and I have fans. Don’t even need huge fans, tiny fans will do.

What a kick in the head.

It’s the first good kick in the head I’ve had in a while.

Location: earlier tonight, the gym for the my first Monday
Mood: curious
Music: think it’s finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe (Spotify)
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I believe in you

For the want of a hairdryer

I had a hairdryer installed in the gym the other day. One of the female students mentioned that it would be a good idea so I ordered the parts and had one of our buddies install it.

And because I’m fucking psychopath these days, that started my brain on a two-week downward spin.

In onea my favourite books, On Writing, Stephen King talks about writing a story about a teenage girl undergoing puberty and some horror (of course) that came along with it.

He didn’t think that he – as a middle-aged man – could or should write about such a thing, so he crumpled up his nascent story and tossed it into the trash.

His wife found the papers, pulled them outta the dustbin, smoothed them out, read it, walked over to him, and said something like, “You have something here. You should finish this.”

It ended up being Carrie, which is the first story he sold for anything substantial.

King and his wife were living in a trailer park at the time and he was washing blood and shit – and the accompanying maggots thereof –  out of hospital laundry when he got the call that he sold it.

King said, he was so broke, he didn’t know how to celebrate so he walked into some drugstore, asked what was the most expensive thing they had for his wife, and walked out with a hairdryer.

He goes home and gives it to wife, breaks down, and tell her that they finally made it.

They made it, because he’d still be some dude living in a trailer park washing shit, blood, and maggots outta bedsheets for hospitals if his wife never pulled those pages outta the wastepaper basket.

Team effort. Yay, team.

Years ago, Alison and I sat down to have an honest talk about what we wanted to do and be to have the best environment to have a family.

Her: I’d like to work for myself, like you do. Go into non-profits, and help them be as efficient and productive as possible. Help people. What about you? If you could anything?
Me: I don’t know.
Her: My mom and I always felt you’d be a great law professor.
Me: (laughing) I’d love that. But who’s gonna hire me? I’m a nobody when it comes to that.
Her: You lectured in Paris! You won awards. You beat [a fortune 100 company]. If you want to be a professor, you’d be a great one. (smiling) But no pretty TAs, ok?
Me: That would never matter to me.
Her: I know. Do it. I believe in you.

Got a call from a buddy of mine. A small law school here in the city is looking for a starting professor in my field of the law. Honestly, I’m a perfect fit.

But, I’m not that guy anymore. 10-12 years ago? I woulda killed to even be considered for that position.

Now, I have zero desire to be a professor. It would just remind me that that part of my life is over.

The only teaching I do these days involves the stabby-stabby, slashy-slashy.

Me: Thanks, I don’t think I’m going to apply for it.
Him: Why not? I’ll put in a good word for you. Just try.
Me: No. But thank you for thinking of me.

Years ago, told you about a fella named Arnold Glasow that once said, The respect of those you respect is worth more than the applause of the multitude.

In my fevered mind, late at night, when I can’t sleep, I wonder if Alison would be proud of me and alla these crazy things that I’ve done after she was taken – like Scenic Fights and Paxibellum.

She thought I was the greatest things ever – she never saw all my faults.

In my entire life, I’ve only cared about my family being proud of me and two, maybe three, women.

My dad’s gone and my remaining family is always proud of me, no matter what I do. Alison’s gone from the universe, while the other(s) are just gone from my life.

It’s nice that Scenic Fights is doing so well – 28,000+ views on our latest video in just two days.

And I’ve got a great group of guys from Paxibellum including, not just Chad, but a world-famous actor, an almost billionaire, a brilliant lawyer (not me), and a respected director.

But, to me, they’re just “the guys.” Ditto for my law firm. Ditto for the other professions I never talk about.

In the end, I have the respect of those I respect and I’m grateful for that. Truly.

But, I have no one that I want to be proud of me, that is proud of me. It’s been so fucking long since someone believed in me. That I was someone to be proud of.

Well, that’s not completely true.

Him: That’s you!!!! Papa, that’s you and Uncle Chad!
Me: (laughing) Thanks, kid. I needed that.

All this, because of a hairdryer. And the job prospect.

I’m clearly starkers. The insomnia’s back.

Everything’s turning grey and soupy again.

Location: nowhere
Mood: lost
Music: Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake with me
/a> (
Spotify)
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The Imposter

Hold my girl

Him: Dude, get an MRI.
Me: I can’t do it, man. I can’t go back to another fucking hospital.
Him: You gotta get checked out.

Chad’s worried about me. Diving headfirst into a concrete divider – even with a helmet – can’t possibly be good. My insomnia is back with a vengeance and I feel cloudy in my head again.

Plus my neck and wrist aren’t getting any better. Everything about me feels…off.

Was walking to the gym the other day when this song came on and it gutted me.

Dunno if it’s the season, the lack of sleep, or the accident but I don’t feel exactly like myself anymore.

I walked into my first kali class, with my then girlfriend, 17 years ago. Even know the exact date: Tuesday, February 17, 2004.

A major reason why I never really told anyone about my doing kali was such a strong sense of imposter syndrome. For example, the Scenic Fights guys asked me to do their series but I turned them down for over a year before we shot our first episode.

Turned them down mainly because I was taking care of Alison. And then I was busy drinking and womanizing. But also because I didn’t feel I was the right man for the job.

Yet for some reason, they kept asking me so I finally gave in. I tell them all that I’m touched that they thought I was worth waiting for.

Yet, even now, I still feel like an imposter. Like, What am I doing teaching this stuff?

So much of my life – being a lawyer, being a teacher, being a network analyst, being a writer, working the clubs – I felt like an imposter.

Still feel that but that’s taken a back seat to my newest imposter neurosis:

I’m a father? I’m it? He’s got no mother, no brothers, no sisters. I’m it?

This has all gottta be some cosmic joke.

Shit, I can barely take care of Harold. And yet, I’m all this kid has. We can’t even go to Alison’s family’s this coming holiday because COVID’s still not under control.

And, again, this whole time was supposed to be bonus. Instead, it’s just shit.

When I thought I was dying of COVID,  when I went sailing through the air, headfirst into a concrete divider, all I thought was:

I’m all he’s got.

Like I said, I was walking to the gym and this song came on. And it gutted me.

I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry, I’m all you got. You deserve a real family.

But, FWIW, I love you like a fat kid loves cake. I love you more than all the gold in the world.

Hopefully, that’s enough. I suppose it’s gotta be.

Location: earlier at the gym, telling him that I’ll be ok
Mood: cloudy
Music: I’ve been dreaming ’bout us (Spotify)
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He would have been 83

More than all the gold in the world

Saw a buncha kids around my son the other day cause he was telling them a story.

Laughed to myself as I approached them because I find him so amusingly social.

But then I heard him what he was saying.

Him: She died when I was a baby. I was only a few days old.
Boy: Were you sad?
Him: (nods)
Girl: How did she die?

That’s when I had to turn back. This is not how it’s supposed to fucking be. Shit. Piss. Fuck.

He’s in fucking first grade. This is not what a first grader should be talking about.

Speaking of painful, my dad woulda been 83 this week.

It hurts that my son will never know him. That he’ll never know Alison.

My dad took us back to Taiwan when his dad, my grandfather, died. I was the same age as the kid in the photo above, about two?

So, I have no recollection. Suppose I turned out fine but I realize how much this must have hurt my dad because I feel the loss myself now.

Whenever we would talk, he would want to cook me something. I suppose that was his love language: Food.

When I was doing keto/Atkins, he made it a point to keep steaks in the freezer so he could make me a steak with broccoli on the side. I eventually got tired of steak – a wild thing to say, I realize – but I never said anything because I knew he bought an army’s worth of steak for me to have.

If you have both parents and all grandparents, consider yourself very lucky in that regard. I never knew my dad’s dad, just like my son won’t know his dad’s dad.

Him: You miss your daddy? Because he died?
Me: (slowly) Yes. I miss my daddy.
Him: I’m sorry, papa.
Me: Thanks, kiddo. You’re my favourite, you know?
Him: Even mommy?
Me: (thinking) We both loved you more than anything else in the world.
Him: More than anything?
Me: (nodding) More than anything. More than all the gold in the world.

Location: this fucking place
Mood: heartbroken
Music: the beautiful thing You’re doing is making new things out of ruins (Spotify)
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Trying to be better

The kid is in first grade

It’s weird having the kid back in school again. I feel as if no time has passed this summer but so much has.

And yet, here we are, in a new grade, with new classmates and teachers. Picking him up the first day, I met his teacher for the first time.

Me: So how did he do?
Her: Well, you obviously know how social he is. He made a lot of new friends pretty quickly.
Me: Yup, that sounds like him.

He does have some social anxiety when we first show up to anything, but I encourage him to feel whatever he feels.

Him: I’m sorry I’m scared, Papa.
Me: (shaking head) No. Don’t ever apologize for your honest feelings. You’re always entitled to your true feelings, kid, and no one – not even me – is allowed to tell you that you can or cannot feel something that you honestly feel.

This actress named Charlotte Cushman once said, To try to be better is to be better.

Suppose I tell the kid these kinda things in the hopes that he’ll try to be ok and, maybe, that will be enough to make him ok.

I just want him to be ok.


Alla that sounds very sensible but the truth is that I question my own feelings about any number of things.

And yet, I try my best to not get down on myself for feeling what I feel.

And what I don’t feel.

Her: Why?
Me: I don’t know. I just know I’m not your guy.
Her: Well, thanks for telling me, I guess. (later) I didn’t even want dessert.

It’s still a work in progress. I’m trying.

Looking back at women I’ve dated, there are at least three women that I know that married the very next guy they dated after me.

That’s just off the top of my head.

Suppose, after me, it became very clear what they did and didn’t want in their life, for better or worse.

Writing that made me laugh. Perhaps I’m just so awful that some people needed to marry the very next person to get me outta their systems.

Maybe trying to be better isn’t enough after all.

Someone just rang my doorbell from my building. He found a crowbar on the floor in the hallway and it’s pretty clear, someone was trying to break into one of the units here.

I should really move to the burbs.

Location: in my apartment building
Mood: exhausted
Music: been feeling lazy, I’ve been going crazy (Spotify)
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