Another accident

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.

Her: You free on Friday?
Me: I am now.

I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow or something.

Location: NJ, getting my treasure
Mood: full, for once
Music: I try, I try, I really do (Spotify)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

More bonus I didn’t want

Having a home cooked meal at home

Me: With every tragedy, you get bonus tragedies.
Her: What are bonus tragedies?
Me: (shaking head) All the other shit that comes with your initial tragedy. Like, I assume after a divorce, there’s all this stupid paperwork you have to do. And you have to move. And you have to explain what happened to people. It’s all bullshit bonus. I’m sorry.

Getting the kid a passport is different for me than most parents. I know this because my sister just got passports for her kids.

Both parents have to sign off on getting a kid a passport so that one parent can’t secretly do it, receive the passport, and abscond with the child.

But when you’re a widower, you have to bring in proof that you’re a widower. Which means that I have to dig up both my marriage license and Alison’s fucking death certificate.

Lemme tell you – because I hope it’s a lifetime before you have to do such a thing – looking for, finding, and then touching something like a death certificate for someone you loved deeply is about emotionally equivalent to touching a hot pan repeatedly.

It’s not gonna kill you but fuck all if it doesn’t hurt like hell.

Like I said, it’s all bullshit bonus for shit you didn’t want in the first place.

Clerk: Here’s his picture! I do this a lot but, wow, your son’s super cute.
Me: Thanks. He…he takes after his mom.

The Firecracker wanted to cook dinner for me the other day, so she stopped by and took over the kitchen.

The last time someone cooked dinner for me in my own apartment was years ago.

Gotta say, it was nice. More than nice.

Me: I was gonna say that I was worried it would be dry since you didn’t brine it, but these came out great. Did you use a thermometer?
Her: (shaking head) No, just practice.

She found this bobby pin in my room and I could tell it bothered her.

Me: It’s definitely old. I have no idea who left it here.
Her: But why is it out?
Me: The kid probably put it there.
Her: But why do you even have it?
Me: (shrugging) I hate throwing things away. It seems wasteful. Just a poor kid’s mentality. (joking) I should really have a lost and found for all the rando jewelry and stuff that people leave here.
Her: (glares)
Me: This is probably a good time for me to stop talking. I should probably shut up. I’ll shut up now. (pause) I don’t know why I’m still talking.
Her: (nodding) Yeah…

If anyone’s looking for my foot, I found it in my mouth.

Her: It’s fine. We’ve only known each other four weeks.
Me: In my defense, you said, “Let’s not give this a name.”
Her: I know what I said, Lo. I’m allowed to change my mind.
Me: (nodding) Yes, yes you are.

Location: running into friends around Staples, asking how they were doing
Mood: pensive
Music: All of my demons keep me wide awake (Spotify)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

New Year’s Eve 2022/23

The Quiet

Had a very interesting and chill New Year’s Eve.

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.

My buddy who lost his mom was 100% right, the anger never goes away. But I’m hoping the rage is gone.

Suppose only time will tell.

Y’know when you upgrade your computer’s OS, it goes like “73% completed,” or whatnot? I think I’m like 4% in.

It’s a start.

Location: earlier today, on 18th, wondering if I should roll
Mood: quiet
Music: my trust in God and man, no confession, no religion, don’t believe in modern love (Spotify)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

PSA: The Typical Colonoscopy Procedure

My colonoscopy procedure

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

Clearing my mind with pie

About par for course

My life’s been pretty crazy for just over a month now.

To recap, it all started going downhill when I got slammed onto my neck (twice), then immediately broke out in hives, which went away, but then a mouse appeared in my bedroom.

Because of the mouse, I tore my room apart, which meant it looked like hell, which was further discomforting.

While this was happening, my harddrive failed, which meant I started scrambling to fix it.

Once that was fixed, I ended up slicing open my finger, so I rang my brother to bitch.

And in the middle of my conversation with my brother bitching about my life, hackers came in, took all my passwords, and then reposted it for the world to see.

So, yeah, about par for course.

After two more weeks of madness, I think I’m finally on top of the latest hack. Or at least good enough to meet a friend for lunch.

Her: I’m gonna get the tuna melt. Although they always put in like three cans of tuna.
Me: (puzzled) On what planet is that a bad thing? Y’know, I never think to order a tuna melt but I always want one after I see it. Next time…

Also, because things were calming down, but not yet calm, I stopped and did what I always do when I need to clear my mind: Cook.

Or, in this case, bake.

See, the boy – like all kids – loves carbs. But I refuse to buy him prepacked, highly processed things like cookies and other sweets. Because of this, I usually have to bake. Often.

Oatmeal cookies, almond flour chocolate cakes, etc.

This time around, I found a buncha premade nut crusts so I made some organic, high-fiber, high-(good)fat pumpkin pies.

Four, to be exact.

They were so good that we – mainly I – ended up eating three of them and I finally remembered to take a picture of one of the finished pies when there was just over a half of it left.

While I love cooking for the boy, I gotta admit that I miss cooking for someone that’s not in second grade.

It’s funny what you miss.

Now, these are the kinda problems I wanna go back to.

Then again, there’s always tomorrow.

Location: home, after another all day shoot, wondering if I should have some pie
Mood: sick
Music: had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go (Spotify)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

There will be blood

My psychopath

Me: Dude, you wouldn’t believe the week I’ve been having.
Him: Well, what’s going on?
Me: First of all, I’m covered in blood. Second of al…what the hell?! I GOTTA GO!

Been insanely busy trying to re-secure my digital life and letting almost everything else fall by the wayside.

After the first massive hack attack, I definitely made things a lot safer – this time, I didn’t lose any money (yet), certainly not six-figures like last time.

But I did lose things that I didn’t realize mattered to me as much as they did, particularly my FB account, for reasons I already told you about.

Oddly enough, I was having the most rotten day just before everything went down.

Was literally on the phone with my brother at that moment because I found out some troubling things about…stuff.

So, to take my mind offa things, I started cooking…and massively sliced open my finger while cutting up some chix.

There was blood everywhere. Legit, everywhere.

Once I finally got things under control, I called my brother and was in the middle of telling him the awful luck I’ve been having lately when my phone started exploding with emails.

You see, it seems that when hackers get ahold of your information and want to start draining your financial accounts and also buy stuff from online stores like Amazon and eBay, they first sign you up to thousands – *thousands* of email lists so that you get an avalanche of emails and can’t see warning and order confirmation emails.

Like I always say, I only have the kinda luck no one wants.

Him: For type of access, it had to be someone that knew at least one login credential from your computers.
Me: Yeah. (nodding) I know.

On a slightly less stressful note, prior to alla this, the kid’s been having this one loose tooth that just wouldn’t come out.

For months. I told him for weeks that he had to wiggle it or we’d have to go to the dentist.

Again. For another $800.

Out of frustration, I told him that, if he pulled it out, then I would get him 16 Handles, an ice cream joint south of me.

Dammed if this kid didn’t immediately shove his whole hand into his mouth and furiously start twisting and pulling it like a psychopath.

He managed to yank it out that night.

He pulled it out and proudly showed me as blood came outta his mouth, onto his shirt, and he smiled proudly.

Him: 16 Handles?!
Me: (laughing) A deal’s a deal, kid. Let’s go.

Six weeks I’ve been waiting for this tooth to come out and he gets it out in a day. He asked to buy the doorman next door an ice cream too. Who was I to say no?

He just saved me $790.

Well, he just saved the hackers $790.

Man, I got a lotta things to do…

Location: my dining room table, surrounded by computer parts, equipment, and weapons
Mood: pissed
Music: They all hate me, because of my crime (Spotify)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

What belongs

What doesn’t, and where to put it all.

It’s been a surreal few days. The hives are gone but I’ve been in my head a lot and not sleeping, which started because I found a mouse in my apartment for the first time in three years.

And, in my bedroom, no less.

So, I tore the place apart trying to find out where it came from to plug up the hole. But this meant coming across a lotta old things – physically and metaphysically – that I wasn’t really prepared to deal with.

Mainly, I was looking to figure out what still belongs in my house, what doesn’t, and where to put it all.

In the middle of it all, I got hacked…again.

Lost my FB account that I had ever since Nadi set it up for me years ago.

The most painful thing there is that I used it to manage Alison’s old FB page. I also lost all the messages I had with her and other people that mattered to me.

Been struggling to get on top of all that and my accounts keep getting broken into.

The oddest thing is that there’s a level of malice that wasn’t present the last time around.

This time, they didn’t even try to access my friends account for any type of con, instead, within 10 minutes of them controlling my FB account, they put up stuff so egregious that I was permanently blacklisted.

In 10 mins.

There’s (a lot) more, but I’m still trying to salvage my accounts. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Him: It sounds like someone’s trying to hurt you.
Me: It does. I can only think of two people that have that level of hatred for me.

On another topic entirely, I worked for years with a woman named Tess – so long that I was there when she divorced her first husband and married her second.

We used to speak a few times a week for years but stopped after Alison got sick, and I stopped working.

She rang me out of the blue because she’s going through another divorce and wanted a friendly ear to listen.

Her: How have you been?
Me: Some good days, some bad days. You?
Her: Same.

We spoke for a while, and she told me what was going on with her. A friend of hers had come across Alison’s story on FB back in the day and asked her about me and Alison.

Her: I told her that you used to date a lot but that you spoke differently about Alison. I could tell you loved her right away.
Me: Yeah. I set her apart.
Her: I’m so sorry about what happened to her.
Me: So am I.

Tess said that she was talking to a therapist, and I told her that I thought it was an excellent idea and told her about my own.

Honestly think that everyone should talk to a professional to deal with all the things bouncing around our heads.

Didn’t originally like my therapist all that much, but the past few sessions have been really insightful and really made me think about where I am in my life.

I suppose, just like the stuff in my room, I’m just looking to figure out what belongs in my head, what doesn’t, and where to put it all.

Don’t even know where I belong.

Except with the boy. He’s the only thing keeping me from going starkers right now.

Location: my phone, for days, trying to clear my name and accounts
Mood: rough and close to crazy
Music: mouse inside my brain (Spotify)
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

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

%d bloggers like this: