A Strange & Complicated Evening Pt 2: Putting on the Mask

Afraid of Yesterday

Me: Technically, any woman I meet is your competition and any man you meet is mine.
Her: (laughing) Oh, Logan…they’re not my competition.
Me: Fair.

It turns out the Counselor was in the same hospital, the same building, the same floor – the same wing – that Alison was during the early part of her illness.

Of course.

Felt that same feeling of “this can’t possibly be real,” that I felt for most/all of her sickness that I hadn’t felt in a really long time. It was an unwelcome but familiar feeling.

Dunno why but, I decided to go see the Counselor and – as if by auto-pilot – made my way from the gym to the Upper East Side.

That’s not true. I do know why I went to see her. There were two reasons, in fact, but more on that later.

Visiting hours were long closed but I managed to convince the guard to let me in after a solid 15 minutes of chatting with her. The truth is a powerful thing and I think the guard knew it would be good for the Counselor (and me) if I made it upstairs.

When I walked into the hospital, I was greeted with the same view that I first saw the day I first went there with Alison in that goddamn ambulance.

It was just missing the Christmas tree.

I walked past the same everything that I did all those years ago and tried to keep it together as I maneuvered my way past several security guards, nurses, and various support staff, alla whom noted that I didn’t have a Visitors Pass a solid hour after visiting hours ended.

I was clearly not supposed to be there. I suppose a bright red leather jacket doesn’t help matters.

But, after all that, I finally made it to her room and walked in.

As always, during times like this, I put on my mask: I pushed all that doubt to the side of my mouth, straightened my back, took a deep breath, put on a big smile, and walked in to see a set of pretty eyes.

Me: This is a terrible date venue you picked, I gotta say.

I settled onto the windowsill and looked out across the river to see the exact same view I saw all those years ago.

Me: (staring out) These windows don’t open all the way, you know?
Her: I didn’t.
Me: (nodding) Yeah. I tried to jump out of them years ago and I found that out.

It got a little darker than that but I was there to try to cheer her up, not bring her down.

As comedy relief, her roommate would let out a hacking cough (non-COVID related) every so often while we were in a deep conversation, which doesn’t sound funny but it was such an odd situation that it was.

There’s more, quite a bit more, but most of that’s her story and not mine to tell, as always.

I’ll just tell you that she’s probably going to be fine.

I was glad I went. Can’t remember the last time someone was that happy to see me. Forgot what it was like to have some kindness. That was probably the most attractive thing about her.

Her: It was sweet of you to come.
Me: (shaking head) No, not at all. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You should get some rest.

So, that’s the first reason I went. Honestly couldn’t tell you if she was more grateful that I went or if I was more grateful that she let me see her.

The second reason, though, was that I’ve been forcing myself to not think of Alison for…years now. Think I knew that, if I went to that hospital, I’d be forced to think of her and remember her.

And I wanted that.

As I made my way downstairs, everything came rushing back at me at once. The smell of the place, the feeling of dread, it hit me as I felt as if it was December of 2015 all over again. Like it was yesterday.

By the time I got to the ground floor, I went straight to the same bathroom that I threw up in twice before over Alison and did it once again.

Honestly, though, after I cleaned myself off and left, I felt better.

I remembered Alison. I remembered that version of me; the one that was a new father, trying desperately to save his wife he loved more than anything.

Not knowing that they were all already fucked.

My gift, if you will, is to forget. It’s a survival mechanism and part of why I have this blog; because I know I’ll forget things. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now.

After all, fear is forward, no one is afraid of yesterday.

I walked outside, hopped a cab home, and was neck-deep in my thoughts when the Acrobat called.

Her: How was your night?
Me: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

It was a short convo. I was worried about the Counselor, which sounds silly as she’s a stranger to me. But she didn’t deserve anything that had happened to her.

After a while, I shot a text to my mother-in-law asking if she was awake and she replied yes.

So, I rang her and told her what happened.

Me: I try so hard to forget Alison. And I feel guilty about that. But I just wanted you to know that…I loved her so much, mom. (deep breath) I loved her so much.
Her: (gently) I know, Logan. Try to get some rest.

Location: just north of Solas, being tossed out like garbage
Mood: don’t even know how to begin to tell you
Music: I’m gonna need somebody (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

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)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

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)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Had an accident

She keeps trying, though

Her: Do you want to do this again?
Me: I’m not sure.
Her: YOU’RE NOT SURE?!
Me: Strike and withdraw. Allow me to rephrase…
Her: It’s fine. I was just trying to be nice.
Me: But, of course, darling.

Last week, I was heading back from yet another date-to-nowhere on my scooter when I went flying at 25 miles an hour head-first into a concrete divider.

Somehow, made it to another medemerge but as soon as they saw me…

Nurse: Sir, you need to get to the ER, now. We can call you an ambulance.
Me: Can I be seen here?
Her: No, you have head trauma, we can’t see you here.
Me: I’m not going back to the ER.
Her: You could have brain swelling.
Me: I’m very familiar with brain swelling, but I’m not going back to the ER, lady. If you won’t see me here, I’m going home.
Her: Let me get the doctor. (gets him)
Him: Dude, we can an ambulance here in five minutes.
Me: No.

I have never had that much blood on me, ever. And we all know I’m clumsy as heck.

This is me AFTER I cleaned myself off. The shirt I was wearing was soaked in blood, so I get that I musta looked like a freakshow beforehand.

Spoke to my brother. Turns out that I lied to him and Chad when I told them that I didn’t hit my head. I completely forgot. Not a good sign.

But my helmet reminded me the next day that I did and that’s when I remembered that I snapped my head back.

Like way back.

Later on, my buddy Thor and I spoke.

Him: You know, if you hadn’t been doing jits all these year, you probably would be paralyzed right now.
Me: Jesus Christ, I didn’t even think of that.
Him: (cheerfully) But you didn’t!
Me: Blargh.

It was a pretty sleepless night until I gave in and starting taking Alison’s old painkillers. Two cracked teeth, whiplash, and cuts all over my face and body.

Then I slept like death. Luckily, it wasn’t actually death and I woke up.

The next day, a friend of mine was supposed to pick up my son from Queens but she never called, so I pulled myself together and went out there to get him myself.

Before I left, Chad called me to check and see how I was doing.

Him: Wait, you can’t go out there yourself.
Me: Got no choice. He has school tomorrow.
Him: I’m heading to you.
Me: I gotta go.
Him: I’m leaving now. Do not leave without me.

Ended up passing out on my couch when he came over. The two of us headed out to Queens to get him.

In hindsight, I was super grateful to have Chad come because I was clearly messed up. Plus, Tosh was pretty freaked out to see me the way I was but Chad’s always been great with him.

Chad: Hey, Papi!
Him: Papa, what happened to your face?!
Chad: You daddy had a little accident but he’s fine.
Him: He doesn’t look fine.

Lemme just say that painkillers are magical. I can see why people get addicted to them. I took them both out to eat I felt so good.

But the withdrawal, dude…is no joke.

Ran out a week later and I was in agony. But that’s a different story.

It’s been about a week and my neck and knee are still doing pretty poorly but I felt good enough to head to the gym and just drill for a bit. One fella there and I had an interesting exchange.

Him: You have seven left.
Me: Seven what?
Him: (laughing) Lives. Life can’t seem to kill you.
Me: She keeps trying, though.

It was pretty eye-opening to see who checked in on me and who didn’t. Deleted a handful of new people from my phonebook and blocked one altogether.

Although the Heiress did give me a buzz for wholly unrelated matters.

Her: Hi!
Me: Hi! I’m glad you called. Please, go fuck yourself.
Her: What?!
Me: I’m pretty sure you heard me. I’m sorry you have cancer, but, honestly, it doesn’t matter how much money you have if you act like you were raised by pigs. Do us both a favour, lose my number, and fuck off. (hanging up)

My body feels like shit but, man, mentally, I’m better than I’ve been in years.

May not be a billionaire – I’m barely a thousandaire –  but I have people in my life that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

Location: Painkillerville
Mood: fuzzy
Music: yesterday, you lied. Promises of what I seemed to be (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

That’s really unnecessary

Coinbase finally got back to me

My MIL called me today to tell me that my son rang her while at the park today – he’s got this Dick Tracy watch thingy that we just got repaired.

You can kinda see in the pic above.

She said this was the conversation she overheard.

Him: That’s my grandma! Hi grandma!
Her: Are you with your friends?
Him: Yes. They’re a bit annoying.
Girl: (in the distance) I just wanted to give you a hug.
Him: (turning to her) That’s really unnecessary.

The kid is five. I’m literally raising a 65 year-old Italian man..

One that’s taken to lying on top of the couch cushions a la Snoopy. It’s so funny to see his particular personality develop.

Him: Do you know what street Sandy lives on?
Me: 125th?
Him: Close. But incorrect. She lives on 119th. (gently) It’s ok, papa. Now you know.

I mentioned to my MIL all the peculiar things he says.

Me: I wonder where he picks it up?
Her: (laughing) A lot of it from you!
Me: Really?

For example…

Me: It’s a pen…and a whistle!
Him: (nodding slowly) Well…that was unexpected.

…I didn’t realize that I said, “That was unexpected,” all that much, but there you go.

Was planning on writing more but Coinbase finally got back to me – 49 days after the fact – and pulled me outta this entry.

Evidently, the thieves didn’t get everything.

I can finally get that Metrocard I’ve been saving up for.

Location: just now, telling someone that I didn’t mind the cigarette
Mood: eh
Music: thinking ’bout something you said (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Aladdin Sane

Calling it a win

Remember that I told you that I’ve been seeing a therapist? Every single one of our weekly sessions’ve been starting off the same way…

Me: So, you’re not gonna be believe what happened to me this week.
Her: This is different than what happened last week?!
Me: Yeah. (afterward) Listen, I’m not crazy, this actually happened. Don’t 2PC me.**

Wonder if she thinks I’m just making stuff up. Heck, I wonder if you think I’m making stuff up.

FWIW, I wish I was just making all this up. Imagine if I were just an insane lad?

Maybe I am mad. Reality’s worse, though. My reality, anywho.

She did ask if I had anything happen that was good recently and I told her, honestly, that I had two weekday wins.

The first was getting my fridge fixed so quickly. The second was me as a lawyer.

As a lawyer, I concentrate in a very narrow, relatively arcane, area of the law. One of my buddies got a threatening letter from an attorney that just happened to be in my exact wheelhouse. So, I dashed off a quick little letter and shot it off to him.

Less than three hours later, the threat was withdrawn.

Him: They totally just folded.
Me: I wouldn’t call myself an expert in anything. But in *that* particular area of the law, I wouldn’t fuck with me.
Him: I believe it.

Still, the weekend was a stressful mess with me thinking that my pad’d flood again.

I got a plumber and workmen in to do what they could to ameliorate the issue and there was no new flooding.

But the aftermath of it all was still palpable, and I’m still reeling from it all.

Did manage to have some entertainment but that’s a story for another time.

The Heiress, and several of Chad’s other friends, wanted to invest in the gym. Chad’s in a weirdly lucky spot where he has more people wanting to help him than he has place to put them.

Him: Should I take their take their investment?
Me: Everything comes at a cost. At the end of the day, this is your slice of the world. You get to pick who you share it with. For me, the less people involved in my slice of the world, the better.

The Heiress is an interesting character for sure; the fact she’s ridonk wealthy is cool, but doesn’t really affect me in any meaningful way.

The fact that she understands tragedy and brain cancer is much more impactful.

Perhaps a little too impactful.

Her: Yes, I was thinking that I might not be the right one for you, and vice versa.
Me: I get it. In the end, we’re all just looking for our tribe, one way or another.

Who knows, perhaps she’s the mad one and I’m the sane one? Who else would want to get involved with me in any capacity, given my track record?

Me: You still have time to cut me out, you know.
Chad: It’s too late, Logan. We’re in it. Let’s go.

Speaking of Chad, with all the craziness of last week, I forgot to tell you that we had a new Scenic Fights video.

I think that we’ve really hit our stride with Scenic Fights these days.

It’s onea the few things I’m really jazzed about these days.

OK, I’ll call that a win too.


** There’s no good definition I can find for 2PC so I’ll just explain it here. In NYS and other states, if two doctors think that you’re nuts, they can lock you up in a mental ward, essentially indefinitely, and you have few-to-no legal means to get let out. It’s short for “two-physician commitment.”

When Alison and my dad were both in the ER, a relative of mine was 2PCed and I couldn’t help for obvious reasons.

It’s the last third I never told you about during that fucking year.

Yeah, my life is nuts, man. I don’t believe half the shit I tell you about myself.

And yet, here we are.

Location: Queens, having a killer keto pizza
Mood: mad
Music: Who’ll love Aladdin Sane? (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

It’s 2021, dontchaknow?

Ever True

Been talking to the Heiress quite a bit. She offered to send me the full amount of the theft.

Me: What? That’s insane! No.
Her: I already cut you a check, Logan. It’s fine. It’s just money.

I didn’t take it, though. Although, that was before the flood.

After the flood, she was concerned about our staying in the apartment and kindly offered to fly the boy and me down to Miami in her jet to stay at her home there for a bit.

If I wasn’t trying to keep an eye on things here, I woulda said yes.

Unfortunately, we had another misunderstanding that I’m still trying to wrap my head around. Communication is the hardest thing between any two people.

The thing is, both parties have to at least want to try and understand each other. I suppose it’s just easier to think that the other is a selfish narcissist, though.

Shame, though. Don’t meet too many smoking hot billionaires in my regular day-to-day.

Meeting the Heiress reminded me of two, very lovely, women I met way before I started this blog.

One was the daughter of a film director.

She had crashed her Lambo right before we met so she was a little banged up. Evidently, I was super nice to her, so she developed a crush on me. She told me that if I moved with her to Singapore, I would never have to work another day in my life.

Gotta say, as a 20-something, was kinda intrigued. But, I ended up saying, no. I did crash at her pad for a while before I locked down my current (flooding) pad.

Before that, I met a designer that had a good amount of success on her own, coupled with money from her father.

She also told me something along the lines of, “If you stay with me, you can just do what you want all day…as long as you love me.”

The problem was that I didn’t love her, despite all her great qualities. I didn’t love either of them.

Love’s a weird thing. There’s no rhyme or reason for why you fall in love with one person but not another.

But man, when you find love, it’s something else. I wouldn’t have given up the two women I actually loved for anything or anyone.

On that note, I spoke to the Doctor – whom I also dated in my 20s – briefly on the phone this week because I still manage one of her properties for her. Purely business but it was the first time I’d heard her voice in years. It was a head trip.

It was something a lot like love with her, but not love.

As I write this, I remember a night where Buckley and I drank with one of her uncles and he said that he would buy me a yellow Porche when we got married. I remember wondering why it had to be yellow. In hindsight, he probably had one he had to get rid of.

Lost touch with the FDD and the Designer but I last heard they were happy, as is the Doctor. That’s good.

Maybe I don’t fuck everything up.

Or maybe they’re not fucked up because they didn’t end up with me?

Don’t answer that.

Things like Porches, Lamborginis, and private jets are nice.

But I’d trade it all in a heartbeat for family and a quiet middle-class life with the boy and my person.

I came back to find that my fridge was busted.

My luck rings ever true.

Him: Well, that’s your problem right there, your motherboard burned out.
Me: The fridge has a motherboard?
Him: Yeah, man, it’s 2021, dontchaknow?

Location: a cafe, waiting for someone that was waiting for me at another cafe
Mood: suboptimal
Music: Ask me how I am, I’m getting by (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Life wants to break me

The streets flood

Here’s what’s happened with me since the theft:

      • A rat swam up my toilet. Evidently, it’s a thing.
      • I killed said rat. That was an interesting flashback.
      • A switch in my apartment arced and almost set it on fire.
      • My apartment flooded.

I only have the luck of the stripe people don’t want.

Sometimes I think that Life wants to break me before it ends me. I honestly wonder why it doesn’t just end me.

Then again, if I was Life, what would be the fun in that?

Speaking of life, I’ve never stood anyone up, ever. Well, until recently, that is. Of course.

The Heiress and I have both had hectic schedules lately – me for obvious reasons, her because she’s working from her beach house. She agreed to travel 2.5 hours to meet me in my hood the other day.

But I felt we never firmed up and, when I didn’t hear from her after ringing her, I figured it was a flake. I reached out a little while later just to make sure it wasn’t something like an accident.

I wasn’t prepared for what I got in response.

I’ve called numerous times. Honestly I’m not into games. You totally wasted my day.

It turns out that we both flaked on each other. I think it’s related to my phone number being stolen.

Of course.

Me: I’m so sorry about that. I’ll head to your beach house.
Her: It’s a five-hour round trip.
Me: You did it for me.
Her: Then I’ll send you a car.

She’s one of nicer and more interesting people I’ve met in life.

But I don’t even have time to process her, or anything, because so much is coming at me at once. Just need a second to take it all in.

I think I could deal with most anything one at a time.

I could deal with most anything if they were spaced the fuck out.

When the dams break
And the streets flood
I’m stuck trying to fight my way out
When the earth shakes
And the floor drops
Free falling, I hit it all on my way down
Good or bad nothing lasts
I tell myself
Ooh I know
I will see the sun
Even when it feels like
The day will never come
When everything is broken seems like the light is gone
Ooh I know ooh I know
I will see the sun
When nothing feels real
But a heartbeat
When you’re so numb, that it seems just like a movie
Then you’re crying like a little kid
Guess no one said that this life would be easy
Good or bad nothing lasts

Location: home, waiting the rain
Mood: suboptimal
Music: the streets flood. I’m stuck trying to fight my way out (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Fun Logan

We have hot dogs here

The last two weeks have been a struggle for reasons that we don’t need to get into but you can probably figure out.

One thing I think about a lot is whether it’s worth it or not to keep this blog up. Because I’m 100% certain that it’s this blog that triggered the events that lead to everything going down.

On the flip side, I’ve gotten so many friends and amazing relationships as a direct result of this blog.

And it’s almost like my second brain in that it reminds me of memories I had in my possible pasts.

So, I wonder if I just start heavily censoring myself and edit out anything too personal OR I take it down and just switch over to something like Twitter where I write less and perhaps reveal less.

I dunno.

There’s actually a lot I want to tell you but it’s all a jumble of events and dates in my head that I suppose I’ll have to sort out before I post about it, if at all.

Because of everything, ended up flaking on everyone that I was seeing the past several weeks including the CEO…

Me: Man, I am really digging your positivity.
Her: Likewise!

…and the blond banker…

Her: I don’t like guys I can walk all over.
Me: (laughing) OK, be mean to you. Got it.
Her: (continuing) I like brilliant ivy league hedge fund guys. The problem is that everyone has so many options out there.
Me: My brother said something funny once: “People weren’t meant to have this many food or life partner options.

…among others. But it’s probably for the best because my mind is wrapped up in everything that’s been going on.

Did manage to out for the weekend and meet some new people but that’s another story for another time as well.

Her: You’re leaving? Don’t leave, you’re fun.
Me: That’s me. Fun Logan.

Barrel o’laughs, me. Yeah.

That’s me.

Two people I know only spend the 4th of July with family and I think that’s a sweet sentiment.

My boy’s away so it gave me an excuse to stay home with my thoughts.

Him: Calling in to check up on you. You sure you don’t wanna come out? Everyone would love to see you.
Me: Nah, I’m good.
Him: Sitting at home thinking of everything you’ve lost isn’t going to help anything, Logan.
Me: It’s a distinction without a difference: Doesn’t matter where I am, I think about everything and everyone I’ve lost.
Him: True. But we have hot dogs here.
Me: (laughing) Compelling…

Speaking of family, this was a nice three-minute video about my uncle’s ice cream shop.

Been thinking about moving to NJ more and more these days.

Then again, I think I just really need to get out of the basement of my brain.

Location: just told you
Mood: heartbroken
Music: I know there’s a chance I still get burned but I’ll take it all (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Trapped in a Spider’s Web

Sometimes, you gotta say…

Him: This is what you do, Logan. You survive things.
Me: I’m tired of surviving things, man. I wanna live. I’ve been a shell of myself for the past seven years. I wanna live.
Him: You will. You’re the strongest guy I know.
Me: But I don’t want to be. I’m tired of being the strongest guy people know. I just wanna be a normal dude with a family and a boring fucking life. Why is that so much to ask?

In my life, I’ve had a number of horrors. Some turned out to be fine, like when I thought I had testicular cancer but I didn’t.

The first real horror was when a family friend stole my life’s savings at 34. Six-figures. At that moment, I thought I had hit rock bottom. Was too young to realize that there’s always more room for down.

My father dying was a horror as well. But, we all understood that he lived a good long life.

Of course, we all wished he lived longer and died more peacefully. But wishes are for children. And I stopped being a child decades ago.

Alison dying was the most horrific thing that has ever happened to me up to this point. It still gives me nightmares. It always will.

But two weeks ago, someone stole my phone number – not my phone, my phone number – and that was the start of a horror that was nowhere as near as bad as Alison and my dad dying but far worse than losing my life’s savings at 34.

So much worse. You have no fucking idea.

I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to fix everything but it felt like being trapped in a spider’s web. I could move, but I knew it was just a matter of time before the inevitable.

Just like when I was 34, it’ll be years before I return to the level I lost and I feel, some new horror is waiting for me.

The thing that kept me up the most was that I had no one to help.

While friends like Chad and Miller were constantly checking on me…

Him: I’m at the beach, homie. Just checking in.
Me: I’ve got ok moments and awful moments. I still can’t wrap my head around how much I lost. It’s mind boggling.

…it’s not the same as a partner in life.

Don’t think I’ve ever felt as alone as I have in the last two weeks. It made me realize exactly where I am in life with many things.

I guess I’ve been sleepwalking longer than I care to admit. But, if nothing else, I’m awake now.

The thing that hurt the most was that the boy had his “graduation” the week everything went down and, even though I was physically there, mentally, I missed the whole thing.

He’s been away so I’ve the time to clean up my life and this here blog. If you click a link and find it broken, it’s probably due to this thing.

(c) Associated Press

But then I read the news this morning that they’ve been finding children’s bodies in the rubble in Florida and I realized that this was nothing compared to the grief these families were dealing with.

There’s always more room for down, so I’m grateful for what I have; the friends and family I have, among other things.

Years ago, when I thought I hit rock bottom – which seems laughable in hindsight – Bryson put both of his hands on my shoulders and said, as gently and as seriously as possible, “Logan, sometimes, you just gotta say, ‘Fuck it.’ Fuck this shit, man.”

Some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten. Still is.

Fuck it. It is what it is. I survive shit. Even when I don’t wanna survive shit, I do. I eat grief every fucking day and have for the past decade. A little more won’t change shit.

That’s all I’ll say on the matter.

Back to the usual nuthin soon.

Location: home, looking for some papers and a goddamn mosquito because, of course, there’s a goddamn mosquito here
Mood: fuck it
Music: Sorry, I’m not home right now (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.