The last few people I’ve dated, including the Firecracker, have been on the shorter side, which I find amusing.
Me: Man, you’re tiny. You’re like half a person. Her: No, I’m not! I’m a whole person – I have all the parts.
I have most of my parts, but I’ve been worried about how some of them have been functioning lately – mainly my eyes.
My eyesight has been getting progressively worse since I got kicked in the head the night I covered class.
Rang up the doc that I saw a few weeks back and he told me to stop by his office again this past weekend.
One thing that I really like about him is that he runs a tight ship. Within 30 minutes of my arriving he, was already wrapping up the visit.
Him: Everything looks good, your retina is solid, and you just have a touch of cataracts. Me: So why does everything look blurry? Him: Ah, well, you’re developing monovision. That’s when one eye sees distance and one eye sees up close. Your right eye is now essentially for reading while your left eye is for seeing things far away. Me: Whoa, that’s wild. Because I got kicked in the head? Him: (nodding) But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Most people have to have surgery to get that, but you now have it naturally. I have it naturally myself and it’s why I don’t need glasses.
All-in-all, it was a relief.
It’s still weird to walk around and have things so blurry alla time. But he says that I have to practice looking at things far away with my right eye and reading with my left eye.
How hard can that be?
One thing that I found interesting was that, when I first met the doctor, I barely knew the Firecracker.
Now, I’d spent the last two months seeing/chatting with her on the regular.
Funny how life works.
Location: a small room, watching her eat an apple pie in her bed
Mood: wondering if I should eat an apple pie in my bed
Music: I’ve lost more than a heart could take (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Me: Look, we just have to make this work for… Simultaneously: 40 years Her: Jinx! You owe me a coke. Me: What? That’s not a thing. Her: Yes, it is grandpa…
The Firecracker likes to poke fun at our age difference but I don’t really mind at all.
See, I wear it like a badge of honor.
Cause the ability to get old is a privilege. Not everyone gets that chance so I’m grateful to get to be an old man.
I think our lives go through a series of thematic changes.
Back when I was young and stupid in my early thirties, I thought that my debilitating insomnia and my breakup with the Reporter was the worst thing that coulda happened to me.
Looking back, I’m shocked how naïve I was.
During that time, my life was a dramady – some comedy mixed with some minor drama.
Speaking of Colin Hay, when I met Alison, I think that my life was still a dramady but definitely more drama than comedy, as we felt the weight of life as a young married couple.
We had our ups-and-downs but we were just trying to figure out how to have a life together. With a fatty of our own, somehow.
Always felt that, once we got the kid, our real lives would begin, that any minute now, our ship would come in.
But it never did.
It never occurred to me that I was living my real life until it was too late.
During Alison’s sickness, Lorde was huge because it was the only album I had on my phone and I was so busy trying to save her and our life that I didn’t have time to change it.
Still never listen to Lorde because it brings back such vivid memories.
Think I would throw up if I heard Pure Heroine again.
Jesus, I musta heard that album easily 200 times during the first four months.
I was so busy that I literally didn’t have a moment to download any new songs and it was waaaaay before Spotify.
Anywho, in the song, Buzzcut Season, there’s a line that goes, “It kissed your scalp and caressed your brain.”
Remember hearing that line and thinking that, even with Alison bald and stick thin, I still thought she was beautiful and I was so lucky to have met her.
Some days I’m built of metal, I can’t be broken But not when I’m with you You love me real, we have it all Can’t leave me now I love the way, you are today Run away with me now
Kept hoping it was all a bad dream, I’d wake up, and she I could run away somewhere with the boy and live the life we were supposed to live.
The years afterward were gutting for so many reasons that I’ll just keep my theme song during that time to myself, if you don’t mind.
But right now, at this moment, honestly don’t know if my life’s gonna be a dramady again, another tragedy, or something altogether new.
There’s a song by a fella named Mike Blume, who released his latest song under the name Whatever Mike for some reason, called In-Between.
The chorus goes:
I’m inbetween Right here where I want it Right here where I want it I′m inbetween
Dunno if the rest of the song is really super appropriate to my life right now but those few lines perfectly encapsulate how I look at my life right now.
I’m in-between alla these memories and hopes, life and death, happiness and sadness.
All of it. I’m in between all of it.
Somehow, it’s ok because it’s better to be in-between than toward the end. Nowadays, at least.
Nothing is as I wanted it to be, but I’m happy where I am right now.
Which makes me anxious because happiness is so rare for me. Then again, what is life, if not a tragedy fulla joy?
I think our theme songs changes with the years, so I suppose we’ll revisit this topic again from time-to-time.
What about you?
What’s your theme song?
Me: Why do you hurt me? Her: (laughing) If I don’t have old jokes, I have nothing here, Logan. Nothing!
Location: this afternoon, walking in the sun with Firecracker down Broadway
Mood: introspective
Music: I’m between, right here where I want it (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Had a lotta plans this past weekend but, like mosta my plans, they didn’t turn out – at all – like I expected.
Not all of it was bad, but it certainly started out looking that way.
Suppose the main thing that happened was that I took a knee to my forehead at the gym and tore open a cut above my eye.
It wasn’t super deep but there was a ton of blood, which is pretty typical for facial cuts. People were telling me to head out to get stitches but I’d been here a few times before.
I quickly took a shower, cleaned the wound with alcohol, had my buddy Kevin run out to get some Krazy Glue, and got to work.
I’ve been using Super/Krazy Glue to stitch myself up for years. It works best on cuts that aren’t super deep and aren’t jagged – my particular cut hit these two criteria.
Laid down on a workout bench and had Chad and Katrina wash their hands – Chad’s dealt with things like draining cauliflower ears a buncha times and Katrina works at a dentist office so they seemed like the best choices.
Chad used two hands to squeeze the cut together and Katrina basically just glued my wound shut.
It took three tries but they stopped the bleeding and I avoided a trip to the ER/urgent care.
This is what it looked like immediately after they finished:
The last bits of the glue came off today and this is what I looked like a few hours ago – the cut healed perfectly and better than if I’d had stiches because there’s no additional scarring due to the stitches:
While that part turned out well, it all meant that I couldn’t head to the gym as much as I woulda normally while the kid was away.
So, I did a lotta baking, including making some bar-type cookies that I tried to cut using Alison’s old pizza wheel cutter.
Just like with the wine glass the other day, the handle snapped in my hand as I was using it and THE BLADE WENT RIGHT TOWARDS MY EYE.
Luckily, it turned somehow so I got slapped in the face with the side of the blade.
Seriously, my luck is something else.
Although, there was some good to getting injured as it meant that I could do other fun things instead of heading to the gym.
The boy’s away all week for his mid-winter break so that gives me time to work and work on things that I need to focus on.
Before I dropped him off, though, we had a lotta activities together.
One thing is that he’s been enjoying his BJJ classes more after I essentially forced him to spar. Initially, he didn’t wanna do it.
Him: I’m just gonna lose. They’re better than me. Me: I, honestly, don’t care if you win or lose. I care if you try or not. It goes like this: (1) I need you to try, (2) If you fail, you have to try again, and (3) if you win, that’s great, but 1 and 2 are much more important. Him: So, you don’t care if I lose? Me: (shaking head) I care if you give up before you even start. Winning is great, but trying – that’s what’s important to papa.
So, after his very first roll – which he won – he’s been loving the sparring aspect to it. That’s been wonderful.
Afterward, the Firecracker and her son came by for a pizza playdate; she actually brought stuff for the kids to make pizza and they participated in some culinary arts.
Her: I dated a guy for nine months, and he never met my son. Me: Why not? Her: (shrugging) I guess I didn’t think he was my guy. Me: Works for me.
Let’s be honest, the kids could work on their symmetry and pizza-making skills BUT, I suppose that’s not the point of the whole exercise.
They left late, and both kids wanted to hang out longer but it was waaay past everyone’s bedtimes, including my own.
Me: So, what did you think of them? The boy: They’re nice. More than nice. I like them. Me: Good, maybe we’ll do that again.
In hindsight, pizza was probably not the best idea, because the very next day, we went to a pizza party for one of the kid’s friends around the way.
Do you remember when I told you that the kid was playing with this one girl for a while and that girl told him that she didn’t want to play with him anymore so he just turned around and met another girl named Sandy?
Well, some two years later, Sandy and the kid are still friends and she just turned 8 the other day and invited us to Chelsea Piers to do some ice skating.
Here’s the thing: The kid’s never been ice skating before. So, Sandy and her family essentially invited us to experience the kid’s very first time ice skating.
For some reason, I found that both sweet and fascinating – it’s so interesting to me that I get to experience another human being experiencing something for the first time.
In any case, he was literally falling down for the entire hour. But, goddamn if that kid didn’t smile, struggle to his feet, and try again.
Honestly, I was so proud of this kid. He didn’t cry once.
I do admit I laughed a lot more than I should, but he was so unsinkable, I didn’t feel awful about myself.
Me: So, what did you think of ice skating? Him: I liked it! (thinking) But I wasn’t very good at it. Me: (shaking head) That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you tried, and you kept getting up even though you kept falling. Are you proud of yourself? Him: Yes! Me: I am too.
Afterward, I spoke to Sandy’s dad…
Me: you asked me to drink the wine so you wouldn’t have to take it home. I just wanna say, I did as you asked. Him: (laughing) Did you really? Me: I did. Because I’m a good friend, that’s why. I do as asked.
…as well as her mom…
Her: You know, I’m still reading your blog. Me: That’s great! Her: So…how’s the Firecracker? Me: (laughs)
Her: I guess I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Me: Do you know where that saying came from? It came from packed tenement housing here in NYC back in the day. Mothers would put their kids to sleep and, late at night, a labourer would come home and loudly drop their shoe in the apartment, waking up the kids and making life hell for the family below them. But the worst part was when they took their time taking off the other shoe. These exhausted women would sit in their apartment, rocking their crying kid, and screaming in their heads, “Just drop the other fucking shoe already!” Her: (thinking) You should be on a game show. Me: I was.
The Firecracker came by the other night for dinner and I made some Fish Meunière, with cauliflower rice and a salad, which she seemed to enjoy.
Her: That was really good! (later) Although, I would have done a better job. Me: What the hell? Her: (laughing) I cook, Logan! When you make dinner for women that don’t cook, they’re gonna think that everything you make is great. Me: (grumble)
Like I said, there was something familiar about us to each other but, at least, she figured out part of the reason I was familiar to her.
But I’ll tell you that part in a sec.
She also has a dog, but a very small one. That’s more of an issue than anything else.
First, I gotta say that having someone you’re dating live ten minutes from your pad is a game-changer.
Mainly, because we can do last-minute, unplanned things like lunch at the local diner.
Which is what we did the next day when I went over to her pad and chilled out while she got ready.
Her: I gotta blow-dry. It’s gonna get loud. Me: I’m aware of how blow dryers work. Her: I’m just telling you!
While she was getting ready, we just made some small talk as we were still getting to know each other.
Her: Which one? Me: (laughing) Cash Cab. Her: Cash Cab?! I loved that show! Really? Me: Yeah, Google “Logan and Masa on Cash Cab.”
She did exactly that and, presently, I was in this stranger’s apartment watching myself on her television while she got ready.
It was all very surreal.
Her: I remember that episode! I remember you! Me: Get outta town. Her: No, really, I remember that episode and watching it. I swear I thought you looked familiar. Me: That’s nuts. Her: The first stop after I brush my teeth is your face. Me: Good first stop.
The actual lunch was a bit nuts. We had just sat down and ordered at my local diner when I got word that I had to grab my son earlier than expected.
Me: I’m so sorry, I gotta dine and dash. Her: No problem. Do you want me to drop it off later? Me: Sure!
But after I got the boy, he asked for a playdate with onea his friends.
Me: You just got back! Him: Please?!
So, I rang his friend’s dad, who told me to drop him off for a couplea hours.
Then I dashed back to see the Firecracker, who was still sitting having a cup of coffee.
Her: Hey, you’re back. Me: I’m back. (thinking) Man, I shoulda thrown a scene, tossed a few things around, and then come back sheepishly apologizing. Her: (laughs) Just sit down and eat. Me: Done. I’m starving.
One of the earliest entries I ever wrote in this blog was a philosophical question as to the nature of hope.
Was/Is it the ultimate good or the ultimate evil?
After everything, I think it’s the latter. Hope brings us to such great heights, only to have us fall and almost crush us. The greater the hope, the greater the fall.
Every time I think, This time, it’ll be different, I’m always shown that it’s not.
And so, I try my best to just live and not hope any more. As much as any human can do, anywho.
Suppose I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, cause it always does.
But as much as I try not to hope that my life might possibly be different, I can’t help but do it.
Me: I have to be careful with what I say and do around him. Him: Of course, you’re his father. Me: (shaking head) More than that. He’s a little kid. I’m god to him. I provide him love, a home, food, everything he knows about the world. I’m his god and I have to be careful because of it. All parents are god to little boys and girls.
Before Alison got sick and died, I went to church most Sundays. I believed in God and Christianity, most likely because my mom did. If she was Muslim, I’m sure I woulda believed in Allah. But that’s how it goes.
Then Alison started losing babies and I quietly clung on to the hope that there was a merciful god and he would show her/us some mercy. And then she got sick and died in May of 2017.
Exactly 90 days later, my father died in August of 2017.
This whole time, another relative of mine was sick that I never mentioned because I was asked not to mention it.
There’s so much I tell you about; imagine if you knew alla the things I don’t tell you about. But we all have our three lives: Public, private, and secret.
All three losses were devastating to me. Imagine if your spouse, father, and close cousin all died within a few weeks of each other, how would you fare?
In all of this, I also lost my career that I spent 20 years building. An entire portfolio of clients gone – poof. Because I didn’t give a shit about it anymore.
Me: (to a different woman) What happened to your last fella? Her: (shrugging) His family wanted a nice Catholic girl and I’m … definitely not that. What are you? Me: Oh, I’m a devout atheist. If there is god, he can go fuck himself.
In the New Testament, when Jesus is on the cross, he cries out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” He’s in pain, dying on some wood, and his father is nowhere to be seen or heard. And that’s when the son just gives up.
He says, “I’m thirsty. I’m done. Take it.” And he dies.
Because imagine if you’re dying and your dad knows this and you call him.
He picks up and says, “I know you’re dying, I know you’re in pain, but it doesn’t matter, I’ll never speak to you again, you’ll never see me again.” And then silence. Pure silence.
Now that’s pain. I’d give up too.
But that’s what happened to me. Times four.
Now, this fella named William Makepeace Thackeray once said, Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.
But the kid never knew her. So that leaves me and me alone.
Still, with all due respect to Mr. Thackeray, my dad was my god as a little boy because I think it’s fairer to say that parents are gods to their little children. He and my mom were mine.
As an adult, my god was the god of my church and Alison – there was no sin I would not commit to keep her alive.
My minor god, but something I worshipped nonetheless, was my career. I think most people, if they were honest, would say that the thing that bring them income and security, they worship, to some degree.
But in 2017, I was hollowed out because I lost all my gods – everything I ever fucking believed in – all between the months of May and August. Alison, my dad, my religion, my job.
Poof. Gone.
And I filled those gaping holes with rage, women, and varying forms of pharmaceuticals. Not a single woman from that period speaks to me.
Because I was just rage and sadness and they were all unfortunate enough to be swept up in it all, hoping that I could possibly be normal.
I’m just starting to feel normal now, five years after the fact.
My buddy Jaerik commented in 2007 that I was never angry. Cause I always felt anger was the most useless of all emotions and I was pretty anti-emotion as a whole.
During NYE, one of the sisters remarked that there must be some part of me that believes in the Christian god somewhere and that’s when I realized why I was so fucked up for so long. Because this whole time, I thought I was grieving the loss of my wife and my dad, and – to lesser extent – the death of my old life and career.
That’s when I realized that I lost my religion as well.
Man, I lost all my gods at once. Losing one would be enough to drive anyone starkers. I lost everything that I felt made me…me.
To answer my friend’s question: The god I knew and believed in is as dead and gone as Alison and my dad is. The only thing with any spark of life is my career and even that takes a massive backseat to raising the kid.
Somehow, realizing that that night was the missing piece in my head and I felt my head quiet in ways I’ve not felt in over a dozen years – not since at least November of 2011.
Glad they asked me out for a drink, I gotta say…
And that’s why I decided to upgrade my OS. Or rather, replace it altogether.
It was originally built on ideas, people, and things that no longer exist, save for things about Schopenhauer that I still believe to be true.
But I’m tired of the anger and the rage. I miss being the quiet grey man no one knew could fight or knew experienced the devastating losses I did.
Then again, I wish alotta fucking things and I’m tired of wishing for shit that’ll never happen, people I’ll never see again, gods that never existed.
I just want things quiet again. In my head. In my life. I want it quiet, peaceful, and calm.
I think I’m at like 5% now in the upgrade process.
Him: Papa, I got a golf game. Do you want to play golf with me? Me: I’ve never played…sure, kid. Lemme finish this email while you set it up, ok? Him: OK! There’s a blue ball, a yellow ball, a green ball, and a red ball. Pick two. Me: Red and yellow? (thinking) No, wait. Blue and green, please. Him: OK, I’ll be red and yellow. I’ll get it ready. Hurry up with your email and let’s play! Me: You got it, kid. I’ll be right out.
Like most of you, I spent NYE 2021 alone – completely alone – because of COVID. NYE 2022 wasn’t much better because of COVID, as well.
This year was the first proper NYE I’ve had in quite a while; it was just me and two friends.
Got there first, where I opened the door for a girl with crutches.
My friends showed up not soon afterward.
Sister1: (wearing a gold lamé blouse) Happy New Year, Logan! Me: Thanks, same! You know, I was just thinking that not enough people wear lamé on the regular.
It was totally last minute; we were supposed to just meet up for drinks at 6:45 and I was gonna see RE Mike, but the food was good…
…the drinks were solid, and the crowd and company were great…
…plus, there was live jazz so, before you knew it, we were toasting 2023.
Sister1: It’s 10:50PM! Me: Welp, I guess we’re staying here. I need another drink.
The two of them are in the growing group of people that don’t want to be in this blog, which I get, which is why I’m trying to keep the conversation as non-identifiable as possible.
Still, the first sister had a list of really insightful questions which led to some pretty deep conversations I wish I could share with you.
One of which ended like this:
Me: I’m thinking 2023 might be the year I finally lose my virginity. Sister2: (laughing) Did you go to church summer camp? Is that why? Me: No [to the second question] BUT I did go to summer camp, once actually. Of course, because it was me, it was because of a girl, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. Her: I think that Christian boy in you is still there, somewhere. Me: And that’s where you’re wrong. He died the day my wife died. But we can change the subject…
Because of that, I came to a realization the next morning – and a pretty wild one at that, which deserves its own entry.
It’s part of the reason I decided to upgrade my OS in the first place.
I spoke at length with my therapist about my realization today.
Me: An acquaintance of mine told me a little while back that, in all the years he’s known me, he’d never seen my level of rage that I am these days. He said that, when it comes out, I’m a completely different person. I didn’t realize how long I’ve been angry for. Therapist: And now? Me: I’m still angry, of course. At the unfairness of it all. But, it’s not blinding rage anymore. Her: I hear it in your voice. Me: What? Her: The quiet.
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
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.
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.
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
