Nuttier Than A Squirrel Turd

2006-05-24T23:52:00.000-07:00

I've come to realize that letting go of my kids is not only necessary, it's healthy.

I've always wanted to be a father, a family man... the kind of father I never had. And I think that for the most part I've accomplished what I'd set out to accomplish. But somewhere along the way I'd lost myself in the daily chaos that is being a parent. I gave away everything I had just to make sure I was doing a good job, but somewhere along the lines I also gave away my heart, soul and passion for everything I once loved.

I now know that letting go isn't about walking away. It's about growth.

Now it's my turn.

2006-05-23T07:20:00.000-07:00

Sorry about yesterday folks. I've been reeling in my own misery, and as a result spawned yet another blog... a keeper of a name if there ever was one... called "Dimestore Therapy." It can be found here: http://dimestore-therapy.blogspot.com. Let me know aht you think. In the meantime, squirrel turds is about to wind down...

2006-05-20T10:11:00.000-07:00

OK... you guys wanna know where you can find all of my future posts?

http://flo-my-blo-no.blogspot.com

There's not much that's been said there aside from a couple of posts, and the side is currently under construction. Soon I'll have a neat-o new background full of bells and whistles... OK... not bells and whistles... but links about what I'm reading, watching, and listening to... among other things.

Hopefully, you'll find what you see appealing. But if not, tough shit. It's my muthafucking site, not yours. Get over it, or get the fuck out!

KIDDING! JUST KIDDING! Please... stay. Enjoy yourself. Laugh. Cry. Comment. Whatever.

2006-05-17T15:53:00.000-07:00

Th-th-th-that's all folks!

This blog'll be up for a few more days, until I get the balance of my old posts printed off, and then it'll be deleted. Don't fret, it's just time for change. I get this way every so often.

E-mail me for the add'y to the new spot.

2006-05-14T23:27:00.000-07:00

The whole Ativan situation was unfortunate. After further discussion with my wife, it was determined that BOTH of us looked up information regarding overosing. It is as follows:

Overdose:
In the management of overdosage with any drug, it should be kept in mind that multiple agents may have been taken.
Symptoms: Overdosage of benzodiazepines is usually manifested by varying degrees of central nervous system depression ranging from drowsiness to coma. In mild cases, symptoms include drowsiness, mental confusion, and lethargy. In more serious cases, and especially when other drugs or alcohol were ingested, sypmtoms may include ataxia, hypotonia, hypotension, hypnotic state, stage one (1) to three (3) coma, and very rarely, death.

2006-05-14T18:11:00.000-07:00

I'm still reeling from the effect of last night.

I'm not sure how many Ativan were in my carryall case, but I emptied it out by turning it over and into the palm of my hand. And then I went and fished an unknown amount out of my script bottle. Insert under tongue and wait and you have the makings of a real fucked up time. So bad so, that I couldn't walk right, speak clearly, function appropriately. I was in a bad way... and still am.

I've added both a local and a national suicide hotline to my cell phone book, and am in the process of looking for a poison control center that will work anywhere.

The reasons for this are many, but since I am cooking Mother's Day Dinner... I will touch base on them tomorrow.

Fucking Cheerz Muthafucka's!

2006-05-13T10:39:00.000-07:00

OK... yesterday - after leaving a somewhat scathing blog about my building resentment and pent-up anger - I began to get all sorts of freaked out. My anxiety was climbing and the pressure I feel when I get anxious was building. One Ativan, two Ativan. Nothing. I need more. Three Ativan, four Ativan, one Vicodin... anxiety no more. I'm sure that was the wrong thing to do, taking Vicodin, but as I held ten more Ativan in the palm of my hand and prepared to insert them under my tongue, I remembered I still had some left over oral surgery Vicodin and how calm it made me feel.

Weighing the balance, I THINK I did the right thing. Then again, I don't possess a degree in either pharmacology or psychiatry. Nonetheless, I've told my wife what I did, and on Monday I will be telling my head doc much the same and more.

That said...

I started my new/replacement med last night: Abilify. Here's what the product info has to say about this drug.

Aripiprazole is used to treat certain mental/mood disorders (e.g., bipolar disorder, schizophrenia). Aripiprazole is known as an antipsychotic (atypical type). It works by helping to restore the balance of certain natural chemicals in the brain (neurotransmitters). This medication can decrease hallucinations and improve your concentration. It helps you to think more clearly and positively about yourself, feel less nervous, and take a more active part in everyday life. Aripiprazole can treat severe mood swings and prevent or decrease how often mood swings occur.

2006-05-12T15:06:00.000-07:00

So... last night I was able to escape for a couple of hours by taking my daughter to an advance screening of Lindsay Lohan's new movie "Just My Luck." Not a bad film. Funny. Funnier than usual, so it served a dual purpose: I was able to spend a bit of "alone" time with my youngest while getting a breath of fresh air from the fight that had taken place between my son and I just prior to she and I walking out the door.

I don't want to spend a lot of time on details here, but I will say that it was stereotypical of most of our fights. I witness something he's done or said, call him on it, and he basically tells me that I don't know what in the fuck I'm talking about. It has all of the making of a real doozy of a blowout, that is... until I somehow reel in my anger and begin to talk to him. I ask him into the bathroom, and as I take a shower for my free night out, I discuss the situation, ask questions, use examples. I even realize during our conversation how unfortunate it is that due to his mother's busy schedule I am the one who always seems to be his disciplinarian. He agrees. Long and short is that he says (insert benefit of the doubt here) that he understands where I am coming from and why what he did was such a problem. Considering that the freeview is literally across town and I need to travel in 5 o'clock traffic, I have no time to discuss the situation with my wife, which lends to their time together as being "wonderful."

When I finally talk to my wife, over and over again I am told about how the two of them had such a great time together.

It isn't until today that it hits me how shitty that was of my wife to do that to me. I am CONSTANTLY being the heavy to my son. Rarely is there a time where he and I are allowed to have a "great time," and when we do get together, he's too busy being cool to recognize what I am attempting to do. So for her to relay their time well spent - it's like a smack in the face to my struggling parental perception of myself.

I'm glad my son actually had a good time with someone, I really am. It's just too Goddamn bad it was at my expense. Why do I say that? Because my wife is gone all day, and for the few hours she's home, she's not too terribly involved because she's either studying or smoking on the patio (don't get me started here) or sleeping... and I'm still being the fucking heavy.

Why doesn't she just tell me how shitty of a job I'm doing with my kids? At least I'd know where I stand.

Am I resentful of what she said last night? You're Goddamn right I am. Just like I am about her going on ANOTHER fucking vacation while I fucking struggle with her fucking idea for my son and I to do the fucking same, and about doing something fucking substantial with her life while I emotionally batter my children to the point of hating me.

2006-05-10T11:27:00.000-07:00

Sorry things have been dead around here as of late. There's not much to say. I'm having a rough go of some issues and an even rougher go with myself, but I'm still here. Hell, there's not many more places left for me to go anyhow, so here is as good a place as any.

I tried leaving another voice blog on Monday, but after recording and then re-recording what I had to say, my signal was lost thus sending my five minutes of fame into oblivion. Oh well, there's a reason for everything, right? Yeah, right. Whatever. I tried to leave another one, and learned that my cell service has been temporarily interrupted for nonpayment. It just keeps piling on. So for those of you who asked that I call you, I did. I left you messages yesterday, before I was nixed from the cell phone world. If you still want and or need to talk to me, e-mail me and I will give you my home line. That includes you too, Brat, should you choose to do so. (((BTW: You are kickass, and what you have to say is so relevant to me - wether we're merely blogfriends or not.)))

That said, I'm going to wrap this fucker up before I get too caught up in myself and sink further into a much murkier funk. Besides, I have more of my life to hawk on eBay in order to make a single substantial week come to fruition.

2006-05-07T16:42:00.000-07:00

2006-05-06T10:49:00.000-07:00

I don't like the way I'm feeling these days.

I feel greedy.

I feel desperate.

I feel selfish.

I feel needy.

I feel anxious.

I feel pathetic.

I feel stupid.

I feel angry.

I feel nervous.

I feel alone.

And it's mostly because of this trip.

A trip that was supposed to be fun has now turned into a double headed monster.

My wife isn't helping me much... she just listens... which I appreciate... but I need more... I need suggestion, ideas, direction, guidance. Afterall, she's the one who forced me into this situation to begin with. And although I've talked with her about it, my resentment over her drawing a line in the sand continues to grow longer and wider, forcing a huge gap between us.

Goddamn her.

2006-05-05T15:35:00.000-07:00

I've never handled stress well. I'm not sure what the main component of this particular dysfunction is, but when the going gets rough the very foundation of my being beings to shake and rattle and crack, with many aftershocks laying in wait.

Our proposed trip is the main source of my insurmountable stress level and has been for some time, but now that we're down to a mere 43 days until we're supposed to leave, I'm ready to call the whole thing off for fear of falling off of the deep end.

I'm looking at the itenerary we have planned versus the one I am working on SHOULD we in fact win this fucking auction and what was once a good time is now about making it to the next crowd worthy site for that all-inclusive photo-op of us wearing ANY COMPANY U.S.A.'s promotional garb. I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it anymore. Not to mention, I've been wondering if I am trying to force the hand of fate.

(((GODDAMN... ALL I WANT IS A FUCKING VACATION WITH MY SON!)))

(((I JUST WANT TO SPEND SOME TIME WITH HIM AND RECOUP SOME OF WHAT WE'VE LOST!)))

(((IS THAT TOO MUCH TOO ASK?)))

2006-05-04T13:47:00.000-07:00

Well, I've gone and done the unthinkable: I've pimped by son and I out on eBay with the hope of generating enough money to make this trip happen.
Crazy?
Maybe.
Insane?
Probably.
Worth it if it works?
DEFINATELY!
I don't know what else to do, and I'm not ready to allow this trip to takes its last breath just yet.
That said, should you choose to view it, here's the link to the auction site.
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=6056240558&rd=1&sspagename=STRK%3AMESE%3AIT&rd=1

2006-05-02T14:36:00.000-07:00

I'm sick with nervousness and fighting off a steady stream of depression today, and setting aside the poor me factor involved with why I'm feeling this way, I feel like I've completely let down my son.

Last night I had to sit my son down and tell him that it seems we're having trouble coming up with the necessary funds required to make our proposed San Francisco trip and as a result, it's quite possible that we won't be going. He threw his head back, let out a huge sigh followed by a loud groan, and then brought his head forward and rested it in his palms. (There's nothing like theatrics to hammer home your feelings.) What he said next was what sent me reeling into an all out war with myself. He said, "I KNEW IT! I JUST KNEW IT!"

What?

Huh?

What do you mean, "You knew it?"

I don't understand. I really don't.

I wonder if he felt there was never going to be a trip to begin with, and if so, why was he leading me to believe he was so into what I was trying to accomplish? Why would he offer up some of his belongings to our auction if he knew it was a dead idea long before I did?

Please, someone, help me understand. I really want to understand.

2006-05-01T13:41:00.000-07:00

Heya, Hiya, Hoya!

I've not been around the ol' blogging tee pee lately, and for that I owe a sincere and heartfelt apology. However, my absence does not go without good reason.

Without saying too much, I've come up with what I think is a really kick ass idea for not only jump starting my writing, but also adding a breath of life to this otherwise dismal blog.

I know, I know... you always say shit like this, but you never bring forth your efforts, right? Well, rest assured my wonderful blogglings... this time it will be a hoot.

Although it is becoming stagnant around here, I still drop by and even say a thing or two when I deem it relevant. That said, even if you don't see me for a couple of days, you are still invited to flirt with me, say hello, tell me to fuck off, or threaten my well being (so long as it involves leather, cock rings and edible panties!)

Let me leave you with this thought: Those of you who have routinely stopped by to peek in on my troublesome life have in some ways come to know who I am. With this new idea... you will have no choice but to get to know me on the most personal of levels... that is, of course, should you decide to stick around (and if I hedge my bets, I think you will.)

2006-04-30T10:50:00.000-07:00

My friend, Brat has chosen to tag me for this highly interesting questionairre.

The rules are:

I must write six weird things or habits about myself, then tag six other bloggers and notify them in their comments section.

That said...

1. I will not ((((WILL NOT))) purchase a dented, folded, bent anything... even if it's the last one.

At the bookstore I will go through a pile of books and pick out the one in the greatest condition. Same with the market, drugstore... wherever. If I can't find one that meets my criteria, I'll go somewhere else.

2. I must ALWAYS have pairs of everything.

Two earrings in each ear, two sleeves... two stars... one on each hand. I bought two hand carved skulls to go on my nightstand to match my two iron candle holders and two lamps. Two air fresheners for the Xterra. I take two bottled teas with me wherever I go. It's like I'm off balance when I don't have even amounts of something. "STRANGE DAYS, INDEED."

3. I am terrified of the movie "The Exorcist"...

...and yet EVERYTIME it's on television, I watch it. My phone ring tone is even set to the theme song of the movie, "Tubular Bells."

4. I think about killing myself AT LEAST three times a week.

But no one knows that, except of course, for you. (((Shhhh)))

5. EVERYTHING MUST be done in a particular order.

My pills are taken in certain order. As are the dishes being done, the laundry, getting dressed, stacking books...

6. Despite my appearance and rough and tumble talk, I am highly religious in nature.

I just choose not to follow the doctrines of organized religion. Been there, done that, got the free "change everything about yourself" lecture.

I don't know who I should tag because most of the people I would pick have either deleted their blogs or gone on indefinate hiatus. (((sigh))) That said, if you're reading this, you've been tagged!

2006-04-27T17:38:00.000-07:00

The pics below ARE NOT the touch up's I mentioned earlier. These pics were taken a month or so ago and show some signs of scabbing and whatnot. I assure you, my arm looks a HELL OF A LOT BETTER than this would lead one to believe. Nonetheless, this one goes out to Juanita since she merely peeks through the windows these days.

x x x x x x x x x x

Have I mentioned how much of a bitch it is putting things on eBay?

It's a bipolar nightmare (if there is such a thing).

x x x x x x x x x x

BTW: What's with EVERYONE wanting to jump blogger ship these days?

We sound like a bunch of suicide jumpers standing impatiently in line atop a sky scraper.

(((N.........E.........X.........T!)))

2006-04-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

2006-04-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

If you're interested, I have a couple of new posts up on http://we-need-your-help.blogspot.com. More later...

2006-04-26T13:49:00.000-07:00

I'm so behind on everything this week. I feel like I'm trying to catch my ass in a tornado.

Just about the ONLY think exciting (to me) that has happened is that I finally received the majority of my free touch up session on my sleeve. And in a weird way, I enjoyed every last stick and prick and drop of blood. It was a serious tension release. I still need to go back in a couple of weeks to finish the remainder, so... who knows, it may be perfect timing.

Anyone wanna see what I have thusfar?

Or have I already shown it to you?

2006-04-25T10:21:00.000-07:00

barista brat said...
"i admit, i visit your blog every day so i would hate to see it go. that said, i would hate for you to feel like blogging was an obligation, especially if it starts to become tedious or forced for you."

Thanks Brat. I truly appreciate your daily visitation and commentary when times get rough. While I don't necessarily feel as though I'm forcing my daily posts or am obligated to add something every day, I often wonder how far my reach is. In other words, is this medium continuing to serve its purpose or would I fair better by having a personal journal no one sees?

Tom said...
Sorry I've been silent the last few posts--I was on the road. I, too, would hate to see your blog go. I think there's plenty of time and energy to do your blogging and your writing and that thinking the former is taking away from the latter may possibly be another ploy of the Resistance the writer's brain inevitably throws up to keep anything from getting done. My guess is that you're like me: the only thing standing between you and not writing is not writing. On the other hand, if you feel the urge to take a break, take it--we'll be here when you get back.

As always, my appreciation goes out to you, Tom. Your insight into how I'm feeling in the moment is unique to me in that it somehow rings true to who I am. As a fellow writer, you too appear to have visited my familiar haunts which in turn makes your commentary comforting, applicable, and touchable. As for the aforementioned break: I don't know if it's a break from blogging or a break from my life that is warranted. There's a great deal of shit going down right now and I feel like I'm being drawn and quartered. I KNOW it 's going to get worse before it gets better, but coming to terms with that idea BEFORE it happens is something I really need to consider.

Lindsi said...

hey dude, just checking in.funny... i had the same thought about my blog the other day. i've just had it so long i think i'm attached now. and then delightful strangers like you find me and well, that's the fun of it i guess.hope all is well. i have some reading to do on squirrel turds...

Hiya Lindsi! I miss hearing from and/or reading you. I was in the process of changing blog skins and accidently erased EVERYTHING except for my archives. BUMMER! Then again, maybe there's something to be said for that having happened? Who knows? In any event, thanks for adding your thoughts. It makes me feel better knowing that there are a few people out there willing to lend an ear.

Sandra said...
My first visit to your blog (links from bored housewife's) and you talk about leaving? Jeez, dude, I just clicked! Com'n, don't go... plah-eeeeeze? i have my bored moments with my own blogs (2 of them, one you will know about and the darker one you may chance upon). Now go look at my perty flowers and skip along to writing your next blog entry. I mean, if you want to, I don't give orders.Peace.
Thanks for stopping by, Sandra. The "Bored" one is a kick in the ass, isn't she? Nonetheless, I'm glad you stopped by. After hearing from some of these fine folks above, I think I'll keep it up for a little while longer - hope you still want to stop by.

Sandra said...
you may chance upon my other blog by accident when you click next blog button. I do need to update it and maybe i'll send you a link. Especially if you write some good stuff in YOUR blog.

Looks like I need to do some searcing...

2006-04-24T13:35:00.000-07:00

It's interesting that a close blogger friend of mine deleted her blog today because over the course of the past few weeks I've been wondering if too much time has been spent trying to come up with something witty or tragic or capricious to say, thus casting aside my lofty yet nonetheless very real goals of becoming an accomplished screenwriter/author.

I've wondered about starting up an opinions style site wherein I don't feel the need to weight in every day, yet I can vent some of my frustrations in a healthy manner. I've also considered putting more effort into my writing blog (anyone been there yet?) because it's been a pretty dead site ever since I started it up; The same can be said for my http://we-need-your-help.blogspot.com. It has suffered tremendously over the past week and yet I've still managed to have a dozen or so hits.

Hell, I don't know. I'm just trying to find solutions to my ongoing problems and in turn get my ass in gear and start writing something other than my woes once again.

That said: here's your opportunity to weigh in. What do you think? Would you like to see my Squirrel Turds stay or go, or does it even matter to you?

2006-04-23T08:13:00.000-07:00

As I'd stated yesterday, all I want is some fucking respect. I want my family to understand that being the house bitch/cabana boy is not the easiest fucking job on the planet, especially when you have two incredibly slovenly children and a tired-all-of-the-time wife.

I'm tired of washing double the amount of laundry because my children are too Goddamn lazy to pick up their clean clothes and put them away, instead opting for tossing them away in the clothes hamper. I'm tired of cleaning up the piss of a twelve year-old who knows better but refuses to lift the fucking lid on a toilet seat. I'm tired of cleaning blood out of sheets because my wife INSISTS on sleeping nude during her period and invariably marks the linens. I'm tired of wading through mounds of toys my daughter refuses to clean up, only to watch her hold out for days at a time just sitting in her room fumbling her thumbs and picking her ass. I'm tired of telling my son to brush his teeth and wipe his ass (I mean this literally) and stop picking at everything from his face to the remote controls to holes in his jeans to his sister, only to hear him say "Oh-kayeee!" and never see my requests through. I'm tired of being a leisurely fuck toy neatly tucked into someone else's schedule but left out of my own.

I'm tired of being the "I need this" or the "I'm gonna tell..." or the "Honey, will you..." go to guy. Sure I took on the job, and as a whole I don't have a problem with the duties outlined in the job description, but enough is enough.

You people are lazy, hygenically devoid, selfish, demanding, irresponsible, intolerable, inexcusable, and Goddamn it... lovable as all hell.

But get your shit together.

Otherwise you'll be wearing dirty clothes to school, using old, musty towels to dry yourselves with, sleeping on bloodsoaked sheets, toyless, smelly...

(((ugh!))) I can't even imagine.

2006-04-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

Trust is a MAJOR issue with me, and last Friday I found out that my trust had been breached.

I've been saying for some time now that I feel alone; that I have no one to talk to. It's no surprise. It's not something that's been privy to blogland. In fact, I've mentioned it on several occasions throughout the coarse of the past few months. Nonetheless, when I took off to cool down for a little while Thursday night, that seemed to peak my wife's interest. Not because I'd left, rather because I was so tight lipped about where I was going or what I was doing.

Understandable.

But the truth of the matter was this: the reason I was so tight lipped about my whereabouts was simply because I wanted to be ALONE. Odd, considering I'm always alone, I know. But I was so pissed off that I just needed time to myself. I needed to cool down, think some things through. I didn't want to be text messaged countless times, and I didn't want to answer my phone. I wanted to be alone. Plain and simple. Apparently, that's not so.

According to my wife, she wanted to know if I had text messaged her after she fell asleep, so she checked MY phone to see if I had while I slept the following morning. She also said she wanted a particular phone number in case she needed to call someone on my behalf. What she found while looking for said phone number was the number of a female friend I had talked to once over the phone and that suddenly became a major issue in our argument.

Long and short... words were said, assumptions were made, reiterated conversations about having no one to talk to were brought back to the table, hurt feelings about losing trust were to be had. It was fucked.

As I told my wife, if I were so secretive as to have a "special" playfriend, would I honestly have her name listed as is or would I be that much smarter than the average guy and list her as someone completely different - say Bob Smith or Joe Somebody. Hell, I would just assume list her as Captain Howdy or Jamie Gumb, but if I were certainly fucking her, the last thing I would do would be to list her by her real name. But I digress.

I told her that having this person's number has EVERYTHING to do with not having an outlet, a voice of reason, an unbiased ear, and NOTHING to do with being a personal fuck buddy. I know how it may appear but as I've stated to her, in the fourteen years we've been together, I've NEVER given her a reason to doubt her own trust in me. NEVER! I tell her everything - to include that I've made a great friend in this person.

I don't know where her thoughts about this situation are at the moment, and in time, when cooler heads prevail, I'll dig a little deeper. As for right now, however, I'm still trying to hold on to the anger I am feeling over the blow out that took place a few days ago. It's hard, considering I'm not in the habit of purposely staying angry, but I feel my frustration is validated, and until someone takes notice, life as my family knows it will cease to exist.

All I want is a little fucking respect.

Nothing more.

More tomorrow.

2006-04-21T13:24:00.000-07:00

I love tattoos.

I love the entire subculture associated with tattoos.

I received my first janky piece (a red rose with a banner that read "The River") when I was twenty one at a shop in Vegas by a gal named Dante. It was done in part because my then friend/soon to be wife had received one on her ankle and I relayed to her during the first phone conversation afterward that I had always wanted one.

Fast forward to a trip where I planned to meet up with her but had yet to get inked. I know I needed to or continue to face the fun-loving harassment she was giving me, so a few weeks before I left I received my first set of colors. That was all it took. And of course extra pocket money.

Fast forward nine years to a time when I decided to pierce my nostril. That was interesting. She wasn't happy with that decision, but I felt it was MY decision to be made. Not OURS. Long and short, I tried to take it out and install a nose ring but it wound up getting infected, so out came the nostril piercing. She was happy.

Fast forward five more years to a time when I - purely out of curiosity - stopped by a new tattoo shop in my neighborhood. While there I met up with a guy named Don. Cool as fuck. Down to earth. Reasonably priced. So we start to talk shop: what is it I'm looking to get; how do I want it placed... all of the regular questions. Although I'd always wanted one, I NEVER ONCE intended to set myself up with an appointment for my first full sleeve. It just happened. Two months later, the outline is finished and color is being pushed. I'm really hyped about the work and begin making plans for my left arm... AND a back piece. Fucking crazy!

Next thing I know, my wife is showing outward signs of her distaste for my decisions, but I respect her thoughts, consider them, file them in the back of my mind and press on with my plans. A few months pass, and as more color is being added, she admits to taking a liking to my body art. Cool! Fucking awesome! She also admits that she finds the whole thing "sexy," kind of a turn on. Whatever. Cool, but nonetheless, whatever.

Moving on.

Keep in mind, I have, throughout our marriage had my ears pierced a total of five times. Twice they were infected and had to close, but within the past year, I've added two more for a total of four in my earlobes (a look she admits to liking). This past February, after months of debate, I'd decided to once again get my nostril pierced. Why? Because I wanted to (again.) My wife gets pissed. Not about the earlobes, mind you. Just my nostril. Over the course of the next two months several heated conversations ensue with the last one ending with her saying "You routinely go against my wishes and do things I don't want you to do!"

Add that statement to the ever growing pile of piss-me-off's and I'm off and running.

I have ALWAYS considered the importance of her thoughts on any subject, to include my body adornment fetish. I've listened to her, and in many cases have agreed with her, ie: neck tattoos, job stoppers (knuckles), face, hands, etc... although I did add two quarter-size stars - one on each hand.

My question is: since when did our marriage become a dictatorship? Where in our license does it say I forfeit all of my personal rights and forgo my personal tastes? I don't muscle her around and expect her to do as I WISH! I WOULD NEVER! Despite any personal feelings I may have on certain subjects. So why is it that I am now "going against [her] wishes" when she 's known all along that these are things I like and wish to do?

I can't help thinking I embarrass her.

For fuck sake, I'll probably grow out of the nose ring in another couple of years, so let me fucking enjoy it until that time comes. The same can be said for the earrings. Then again, maybe I won't. The point is, let me fucking live a little, PLEASE! Let me be me, not an extension of you. If you're secretly embarrassed by me... that's something you'll have to work on because I have given you ample opportunity to voice your concerns and every time it's the same old lip service.

Why now are you pulling power trips on me? Why are you trying to direct my life for me? Why is it I feel like we're drifting apart?

2006-04-21T08:50:00.000-07:00

I've been giving this a lot of thought lately, and after driving throughout the city last night in an attempt to calm down and regroup, I've decided I'm going to do some Spring cleaning. Mind you, this isn't your mamma's Spring cleaning, rather a purging of my soul.

Since I have no outlet with which to verbalize my frustrations, I am going to utilize this blog as a way of dealing with issues past and present that are affecting my life until I am able to harness yet another in a long line of therapists, and even then, there's no guarantee I will stop there. I have had a few fuckwads in my time armed with Associate Counseling degrees who undoubtedly need to seek psychological intervention as well, so it stands to reason that they could end up being read my version of the riot act before they are sent packing.

Right now I'm off see Silent Hill, but when I get back I will begin the first of many steps towards my own recovery - or something like it.

Hang tight, Napoleon Dynamite. The best of the worst is yet to come. (God, I hate that fucking movie!)

2006-04-20T23:58:00.000-07:00

Everything I'd been feeling over the course of the past few months finally came to a head this evening in the form of verbal sparring on the street.

Although a lot was said, the situation is far from over.

I don't feel I'm getting the emotional support I need to work through some of the issues I have, and if that means I need to find someone who is willing to lend me an ear from time to time, so be it because I can't continue on in this manner much longer.

A day doesn't go by where I don't think about killing myself. Really. I find myself looking for opportunities to swallow my medicinal arsenal without being interrupted. I think about taking a long drive towards Payson and at a high rate of speed veering off the road ala Thelma and Louise. I think about mixing a lethal combination of alcohol and head pills, taking a nice deep nap, and aspirating on my own vomit ala Jimi Hendrix. Why? Because I can't take much more of this shit.

Selfish?

Maybe.

Pussy?

Maybe.

In a house full of people I am alone, left to my own devices. On any given day, all I have to rely on are my thoughts, my whims. Is some of this my own doing? Probably. After all, I did choose to terminate most of all of my friendships in favor of a leaner, less intrusive, more sedentary lifestyle. But I'm not the "Let's get together and have a few drinks sort" that my wife is. I've been there and got the free beer koozy. I've moved on. Don't get me wrong, now and again I'll go with her more so I can spend some time with her than anything. However, I feel that to her I am nothing more than a safe ride home after a night of making an ass of herself. I don't much mind though. It's either that, or I get a call telling me she's wrapped herself around a telephone pole. You do the math.

This evening, when she tells me I need to think about what it is I want, I retort by requesting that she think hard about why she is still with me; why, if she thinks that she and the kids make me miserable, she chooses to keep me around. (There's more to it, but I'm cutting the fat out of the conversation.) I get the staple answer: "Because I love you." Gee, thanks. But if I'm that fucking bad, why stick around and make your life hell?

(((YAWN!)))

As much as I'd like to continue this, the truth is that I'm tired. It's nearing midnight and I need to get up in the morning and become house bitch/cabana boy before going to see Silent Hill ALONE!

2006-04-19T09:32:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling pulled in several directions today so rather than contemplate any one emotion or condition, I've decided to simply put them all out there with the hope of letting go for a while so I can work on my screenplay. With that in mind, here's a sampling of the fluctuation my bipolar bean experiences on any given day. Enjoy!

x x x x x x x x x x

I don't know.

Maybe it's the head space I'm in right now? Maybe it's the fuck who sent me a spam link to his "penis enlargement" blog? Maybe it's the trouble my son recently found himself in at school and his imprudent attitude about the situation that still reverberates throughout my soul? Who knows? But whatever the scenario, I don't like the muddiness I'm feeling right now. I feel heavy, weighted down, really. I feel unhinged. I feel faulty and malfunctioning. I feel betrayed as a father, lost as a parent, used as a homemaker, and forgotten as a husband. But at least I still have feeling, right? Not all hope is lost.

x x x x x x x x x x

I've decided to change the name of my blog - which in turn will change the web add'y. I feel I simply need a change. Nothing drastic, but certainly more befitting my present life. I'm in the process of setting things up so when the time comes I'll let you all know. I'll also be leaving the "Squirrel Turds" blog up for a period of time with a link to the new site for any newcomers who are interested in making the trek. I'll keep everyone posted.

x x x x x x x x x x

Last but not least: It never ceases to amaze me how the universe works. Over the past two days I've mentioned the possibility of pulling the plug on the San Francisco trip and then last night, out of the blue, I begin receiving significant hits on my e-bay auctions.

I'll be the first to admit that I've been a praying fool - moreso than my nightly thank you's and blessings. But as anyone who believes on the power of prayer knows, they are answered in due time. Not always on your time, but in time nonetheless.

2006-04-18T12:07:00.000-07:00

I wish I had something witty or brilliant to say today, but the truth is, I feel shitty and moody and completely out of touch with myself.

All I want is to have someone to talk to. Someone with an unbiased ear who can give me the time and attention I in turn would enjoy giving to them, however that's not to be.

I am alone again.

The house is 50% clean. The laundry is churning in both the washer and dryer. The landscapers are making a terrible racket outside with riding lawn mowers, gas powered blowers and weed eaters. And once again, in terms of writing I've not accomplished one Goddamn thing. I am trying to will myself to, I really am, but the idea is not being received very well. Okay... so I consider doing research for a screenplay I am slowly conceptualizing, but I find myself going back to the guilt I have over the house not being 100% clean and the laundry not being done, and so it starts all over again.

It's a vicious fucking cycle.

Throw in to the mix the fact that my wife makes me feel inferior in comparison to her Wonder Woman-esque pace, and that I am faced with pulling the plug on the San Francisco trip and I've pretty much clocked out for the day... hell, maybe the rest of the week.

2006-04-17T18:54:00.000-07:00

Based on the trip counter, my son and I are 1 month and 29 days away from our once proposed, now hopeful San Francisco trip.

(((sigh)))

I've got to be honest, I don't know if this is going to pan out. I'm trying everything in my power to make it happen - hell, I've even reduced our plans to better fit our budget but it seems that everything has stalled. Add to the mix other external circumstances and I can't help but find some doubt about whether or not this trip is going to happen.

It would kill me to have to tell my son that it's been cancelled, but...

If, in the event, this doesn't work itself out, rest assured, I will return any donations that have been made. I couldn't keep them knowing that their purpose wasn't truly utilized.

2006-04-17T14:07:00.000-07:00

What a fucking day this has turned out to be. The shit keeps piling on higher and higher all the while getting deeper and deeper. I just want to know when it's going to end. Anyone care to chime in? I didn't think so. It's been as dead a a fucking doornail around this fucker lately so I can only assume I'm talking to myself... and I CERTAINLY don't have the first clue about digging my way out of this mess.

BTW: for those of you peering in from the side window, the new head med I've been prescribed is Abilify. Anyone heard of this wonder drug? I haven't, but I'm certainly going to give it a hard ride. Hell... anything's got to feel better than the way I've been feeling lately.

Life.

Death.

Life again.

Death again.

I'm to the point that I'm thinking a nice sturdy terminal disease would be nice. At least that way my death can be better understood, as opposed say, hanging myself in the garage. That way my wife won't think I'm such a pussy for offing myself, and my kids can still lead semi-normal lives.

Aww, fuckit!

2006-04-16T22:58:00.000-07:00

It's true meaning notwithstanding, Easter is such a horseshit holiday. I mean, why do we go to all of the trouble of busting our fucking humps to clean and cook and re-clean what we'd previously cleaned for inappreciative relatives just to satisfy a man-made, non religious icon the likes of a fucking rabbit. A rabbit! Who's the dumb ass that came up with the concept of celebrating the day Christ rose from the grave by utilizing a rabbit? Is there some form of symbolism there that I'm missing? I think not.

Furthermore, why do waste hard earned money on a variety of confectionary products that are as meaningless to the true meaning of Easter as my wanting to run the fuck away from everything? Chocolate rabbits (hollow and solid), disgusting cream filled eggs, peanut butter this, chewing gum that, baskets and pails and dumptrucks and dolls. None of it has one fucking iota to do with the rising of Christ. None! And yet every fucking year, yours truly included, we all flock to the nearest fucking drugstore and/or discount outlet and waste money hand over fist to make happy, children who don't have the first clue about what Easter is really about.

I recognize that this isn't their fault. They're kids. They're miniature opportunists to the Nth degree. If you offer them free anything that involves the words candy or toy, they're on it. No different than we adults would be if we heard the words free money for recommending a friend or rebate or buy one get one free.

Here's a far-fetched thought: why don't we take the money that we aimlessly spend on future dental bills and ADHD pills and dietary guidelines and give it to noteable and worthwhile charaties? What if we were to allow someone who isn't so lucky as to have a shitty Cadbury egg the opportunity to have a good meal, a shower and a pair of new clothes, or to keep from having their power shut off or, or to help rebuild houses, or to give money to the residents of a city that for years have given so much to the world only to be shat upon by its own country in it's most deperate time of need?

Then again... it's just a thought.

My thought.

But a thought nonetheless.

2006-04-16T16:40:00.000-07:00

(((Ssssshhhhh!))) Be vewy, vewy qwiet. I'm hunting wabbits!

2006-04-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

2006-04-14T09:52:00.000-07:00

The past 48 hours - for me - have been rough going. Too many familial trials and tribulations to deal with while I'm being detoxed from one psych med and not having another lined up to take it's place.
While my outward demeanor appears stable, last night while enjoying our defacto anniversary dinner, my wife and I both noticed my inward instability in the form of uncontrollable nervousness. So much so that she suggested I take a anti-anx pill, but since we were already waiting for the check, I decided to forgo the pill in favor of getting the fuck out of dodge.
Everything is "nucking futs" right now. I know things could be worse, and I certainly don't want that. Nonetheless, it's enough to drive a semi-crazy bipolar bloke like myself to the front doorstep of the psych ward.

If you checked in on me, you might have noticed a certain post regarding my son. I did so because I came across something that freaked me out and once again I was home alone and needed to vent. I've since removed it from public viewing at the request of my wife, not because she controls what I say here, rather because she had a point in that this is something that I'm sure my son wouldn't want to have made public. If you did get the chance to see the post and want to discuss it with me, by all means do. The only thing I ask is that you do so via e-mail.

2006-04-13T07:55:00.000-07:00

Are You Normal?

According to Chatterbean.com, my Normalcy Quotient is: 18 out of 100.

My quiz results make me a Marvelous Maverick Giddy-up partner. Apparently I'm a maverick and don't know what the definition of normal is. That's a-okay because I'm now part of a fascinating group of desperadoes. Wherever I ride, it's sure to be off the beaten path because it's way more fun to find the path least traveled.

2006-04-13T06:38:00.000-07:00

Tom asks...

"What, with honesty, is the single best sexual moment you have ever had?"
This took some thinking. The BEST sexual “moment” I have EVER had was actually a period of time, and it was with my wife when we first became a couple. It was an incredibly insane sexual time for the both of us. INCREDIBLY SEXUALLY INSANE! We were like jungle monkeys. We fucked anywhere and everywhere leaving only a trail of destruction and used condoms in our wake (I still feel guilty about the Quality Inn in Flagstaff). There were days where we never once set foot out of the bedroom, and when we did, it was usually dark, and we did so only to feed and shower together and then we were right back at it again. I don’t know if it had anything to do with youth being on our side or if it was because we were so hormonally charged that there was really no other way to reduce the unhinged tension building between us. Either way, it’s been fourteen years now, and for shits and giggles we’ve attempted to recapture that magic every now and again, but it just seems to lack that frenetic energy of lustful primal lasciviousness that left an indelible mark on many a cleaning service woman the following morning.

Anna asks...

"Following Tom's lead, how old were you the first time you had sex?"
Insanely enough, I was fourteen years old. Fourteen. Back then I thought I was the shit, and these days when I talk to my peers about it, they are beside themselves at how young I was. I couldn’t agree more. I mean, I used protection all but twice – and had the fucking scare of a fucking lifetime when I didn’t – however, I would have NEVER been emotionally prepared to deal with raising a child. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

barista brat asks...
“Which Muppet best represented you? I see you as a slightly understated ‘Animal’ that doesn’t play drums.”
You were dead on with the Muppet question EXCEPT I did play drums once upon a time - and quite well I might add. Animal was, is, and always will be my man. Can you think of a better character you'd rather be, aside from maybe Rizzo, Beaker, or (forgive me forgetting) the little French speaking lobster from Muppet Treasure Island?

Juanita J. Sanchez asks...
“Have you ever had a turning point in your life, one moment, in which you made a decision that has changed the course of your entire life? And if so, did you make the right decision?"
If I can truly recall such a momentous occasion, NOT a moment, but an event, I think it would be when I was faced with either moving away to pursue my drumming career or fully profiting from the emotions I was feeling for the friend who would later become my wife. She’s been my Rock of Gibraltar for many years and as I’ve said to her on more than one occasion, based on everything that has happened to me since meeting her, I truly believe that had I not made the decision to act on my feelings I would have committed suicide many years ago, not because I would have felt I made the wrong decision by moving away rather because I am ill and probably would have never pursued pharmacological aid for Bipolar.
Did I make the right decision? ABSOLUTELY! Unfortunately, and certainly for different reasons, there are times I feel as if I want to end my life, however I’ve yet to do so. I’ve come to realize that it’s part of the Bipolar landscape and as such I am learning to cope with those issues as they arise. So until the day I am successful…

2006-04-12T12:50:00.000-07:00

OK... I have your questions answered and queued for tomorrow's post. I can only hope this time my answers have not failed you.

If anyone else cares to submit a question, please feel free. As I said, this is for tomorrow's post so you still have time to think something up.

2006-04-11T23:59:00.000-07:00

I didn't forget my blog.

I'm just taking a small break while I get some things figured out around here.

I still pop in to see if anyone has left messages... and in turn, I am answering the questions that were previously asked of me. By the way... thanks for playing. They should be up within the next day or so, so keep your eyes open for them.

That said...

How is everyone else doing?

Good?

Good.

I've gotta get going.

Let me know how you're doing.

2006-04-10T18:12:00.000-07:00

Daily Routine May Help Bipolar Disorder
Study Shows Regular Sleeping and Eating Patterns May Help Stabilize Patients
By: Salynn Boyles WebMD Medical News

Most of us function better when we maintain a regular daily routine, but for people with bipolar disorder, routine may make a big difference in recovery.
Researchers from the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine report that bipolar patients fared better when their treatment stressed the importance of establishing daily routines for things like sleeping and eating.
Social rhythm therapy, as it has been dubbed by the researchers, is based on the idea that irregular sleeping habits and those associated with other daily activities can trigger manic episodes by disturbing the body's sleep-wake (circadian system) clock.
"We see patients with bipolar disorder as having exquisitely sensitive and fragile body clocks," researcher Ellen Frank, PhD, tells WebMD. "They need to be more attentive than the rest of us to things like when they get up and go to bed and when they eat their meals."
'A Manageable Problem'
Once known as manic depression, bipolar disorder is characterized by extreme swings in mood, energy, and ability to function. Periods of highs and lows are referred to as manic or depressive episodes. Medications such as lithium are prescribed to people with bipolar disorder; these drugs can help stabilize mood swings.
According to the National Institute of Mental Health, more than 2 million Americans have bipolar disorder.
The study by Frank and colleagues included 175 severely ill patients with the disorder, all of whom were treated with medications. In addition, about half of the patients got social rhythm therapy from the beginning of the study.

The Importance of Routine
These patients learned the importance of establishing regular routines, and they also learned strategies for anticipating and coping with stress.
"We teach them to think of their illness the way someone with diabetes or asthma would; as a health problem that can be managed," Frank says. "A diabetic has to be careful about what they eat and when they eat. And people with asthma probably shouldn't have three dogs and two cats in the house."
The study is published in the September issue of the journal Archives of General Psychiatry.
No difference was seen between the two treatment groups in the time it took to emerge from a manic episode. But patients who got the social rhythm therapy had longer periods of stability between such episodes. Those who were most successful in establishing regular routines saw the most improvement.
The intervention translated into a 72% increase in time between manic events, Frank says.
A Holistic Approach
Depression and bipolar disorder patient advocate Sue Bergeson, who suffers from depression herself, says the study by Frank and colleagues shows for the first time in scientific terms what many patients have long understood.
Bergeson is vice president of the Chicago-based Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance.
"It is clear that medication can take you only so far," she says. "An effective wellness strategy for bipolar disorder and depression has to go beyond that. We know that we have to get enough sleep and understand our triggers. And travel can be problematic."
Bergeson watched her sister Barbie battle undiagnosed bipolar disorder for years. Five years ago, Barbie took her own life, a few months after her disease was finally identified.
"She had been misdiagnosed for years," Bergeson says. "She had gone through decades of struggle with no light to be seen, and she was just worn out."
Her sister's suicide led Bergeson to learn as much as she could about her own illness and become a voice for others with depression and bipolar disorder.
"It is not OK that so many people die of this," she says.
She recommends a holistic approach to treatment that includes drug therapy, talk therapy, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle.
Bergeson says paying attention to routine doesn't mean life has to be boring.
"In fact, I just got back today from a trip to Las Vegas," she says. "I can have a good time and do fun stuff just like anybody else. I just have to make a plan and think it through and take steps to minimize the impact."

SOURCES: Frank, E. Archives of General Psychiatry, September 2005; vol 62: pp 996-1004. Ellen Frank, PhD, professor of psychiatry and psychology, Western Psychiatric Institute and Clinic, University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine. Sue Bergeson, vice president, Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance, Chicago.

2006-04-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

OK... so... THAT idea failed miserably. I thought that with the amount of traffic I get here on any given day I might have some interesting questions to answer. Not so. I had two people ask me something. The rest, I suppose, just want to peer through the windows to my soul.

Oh well... whaddaya you do?

I suppose that's the beauty of having a blog. One can be as annonymous, as faceless as one chooses without having to give up anything about oneself.

God bless the power of the internet. (((thhhpppttt!)))

2006-04-09T14:35:00.000-07:00

Tom asks...
"What, with honesty, is the single best sexual moment you have ever had?"

This took some thinking. The BEST sexual experience I have EVER had was with my first serious relationship (name and location withheld for obvious reasons.) We were young and we didn't know any better, but I think that's part of what made it so great. It was 100% trust in one another. There were no boundaries, just unhinged experimentation.

Anna asks...
"Following Tom's lead, how old were you the first time you had sex?"

Insanely enough, I was fourteen years-old. It blows my mind because I have a son who is nearing that age and he is nowhere near prepared to have intimate experiences.

2006-04-08T22:41:00.000-07:00

This is the third attempt at blogging something of substance and nothing has happened. I'll take it as a subtle hint that I have nothing of value to say and pack it in for the night.

I look forward to your questions.

2006-04-08T15:48:00.000-07:00

So... I fell into this gent's blog as I was purusing through the comments of another fellow blogger and something in it gave me an idea. He had an informal Q & A. I want to do that. Right here, right now.

I am offering my soul up to YOU, my fellow bloggings, so that you may ask ANYTHING you want. ANYTHING. I will answer it as truthfully as possible. The only catch... you have to agree that I republish it here tomorrow.

Bottom line: if you yave the balls to ask, you have the balls to share.

Cool? Cool.

Ask away!

2006-04-08T08:19:00.000-07:00

I was incredibly stoked to learn my name meant that I was a real life Muppet - according to a quiz site I found on MySpace. You don't even know how much I dig the Muppets - always have, always will.

Oh well, just thought I'd share.

Do you think I should share it with my head doc? Maybe it's some sort of weird-ass fetish I hadn't realized I've been dealing with. Maybe I look for Muppet-esque traits in people and send 'em packing when they don't reach those standards? Maybe. Maybe? Hey, maybe... I've finally lost my fucking mind?

2006-04-07T08:36:00.000-07:00

Today's theme is R.E.L.A.X.A.T.I.O.N.

After yesterday's hellish rollercoaster ride, I'm going read through my fellow blogger's newly added posts, do a little lite housework, take a nice hot shower, and work on my book. I'm not going to much think about what I'm faced with, nor am I going to get caught up in wanton nonsense.

Done.

I'm curious, how many of you have had the chance to stop by http://we-need-you-help.blogspot.com? Did you see the picture of my son and I? He looks harmless doesn't he? Don't be fooled by is youthful presence. He has a tongue like a razor. :o)

It's all good.

2006-04-06T16:54:00.000-07:00

Why don'tcha jump on over to http://we-need-your-help.blogspot.com. I've posted a picture of my son and I for the hopeful and helpful to see. It's always nice to have a face for a name. While you're there, stop by the "Make A Donation" donation button at the left hand top of the screen and drop off your loose change. Afterall, a penny donated is a penny closer to our goal.

Take care... and in advance, thank you.

2006-04-06T13:51:00.000-07:00

BTW FYI: I want to add that the pic below is in no way an indication of me killing myself. It's all about symbolism.

Can't you understand that I've reached my maxium?

I feel as if I've been pushed to the point of being back into a corner and I don't have the energy to fight my way out. I feel as though I am the cause of my family's woes and as such I want to disappear.

2006-04-06T12:43:00.000-07:00

The day's been going good. I've spent a little time with my wife, remembered laughter, had my blood drawn and watched a baby puke all over the floor of the laboratory without being ushered outside to finish the job in the grass.

That is... until I went to the mailbox.

Over three years ago I was awarded permanent and total disability by the Social Security department. That means, given my current and ongoing condition, the likelihood of me ever rejoining the working class is slim to none. As a result, I had amassed a large sum of student loans. Loans that my condition has since made impossible to repay. So what is the logical thing to do? Apply for a loan discharge. I did... over a year ago. And in that time, my medical condition hasn't changed. If anything, it has progressively worsened. Months go by and I don't hear so much as a mutter from the U.S. Department of Education... that is, until a few minutes ago. Apparently, "Further review of [my] discharge application and supporting documentation indicates that [I] do not meet ED's (U.S. Department of Education Disability Discharge Loan Servicing Center) definition of total and permanent disability for the following reason(s): MEDICAL REVIEW FAILURE." As a result "ED" will be returning my loans to active status wherein I "must" resume payment on the loans.

(((WTF?)))

"Medical review failure?"

If I assume correctly, this means that someone, somewhere along the psychiatric diagnosis and disability chain has left a bloody body in the trunk of my car and now I must answer for it.

(((GODDAMN IT!)))

It such bullshit. I don't have the mental or financial means to pay for it. If I did, I would. If I did, I wouldn't be blogger begging for money to take my son somewhere so that he and I can make good on a struggling relationship. If I did, I wouldn't be fucking prostituting my-fucking-self on eBay for three to six months of fucking advertising space with the hope that someone will think the idea is fucking kooky enough to drum up some publicity for their business. If I did, I WOULD FUCKING WORK TO HELP SUPPORT MY FUCKING FAMILY AND NOT FEEL LIKE SUCH A FUCKING LOSER MOST DAYS BECAUSE I CAN'T FUCKING HOLD MY HEAD ABOVE WATER LONG ENOUGH TO FUCKING FUNCTION IN FUCKING STRESSFUL ENVIRONMENTS!

As if that's not all... (yes, there's more)... because finances are so low around here, we applied for state assisted medical insurance for my kids. DENIED! You betcha. Those two letters were laying in wait as well. We were denied because we make $321.91 more than the "total countable income limit" requirements BEFORE we buy groceries or pay car insurance or pay for monthly pharmaceuticals (which by the way, for me alone are $120.00 a month.)

We applied for assistance because our children need some form of medical coverage. They both have health issues (one of which has a monthly medicinal tab as well) and yet we make too much money. Not so much that we can't afford health insurance for our kids, but enough that we can barely make the essentials, not to include the aforementioned items listed above.

I want to know why this happens. Why can't I - an American born citizen - receive financial and/or medical assistance for my family? Why can't my family be made a priority in their own country?

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go shatter myself now.

2006-04-06T12:36:00.000-07:00

2006-04-06T00:49:00.000-07:00

Catching up on some blog reading this evening, I stopped by a friend's site to find a picture of a grave marker heading up the latest entry and it got me to thinking: My grandfather has been dead for twenty-two years, and in that time - aside from the funeral - I can only remember having been to his gravesite just once.

Why?

That's a good question. One for which I have many viable answers.

I think it has a lot to with the fact that I never wanted to attend his funeral. It's not how I wanted to remember him. But not attending was not an option. So I went, and I vividly remember the funeral, and for the longest time I resented my mother for forcing me to do so.

I think it has a lot to with my belief in that our loved one's are always with us in our hearts and minds.

I don't believe that routinely revisiting one's final resting place is essential in keeping their spirit alive inside us.

I believe that they are always alive so long as we choose to keep them that way.

But it was in reading my friend's latest post and seeing this particular picture that made me realize it's time to make the trip to California to visit with him once again. With my son's approval, I want to take him with me and would like to do so while we are off on our manly jaunt to the Bay Area. There's something about him being there with me that weighs heavy on my heart - almost as if I am introducing the two for the first time.

2006-04-05T13:55:00.000-07:00

BTW FYI: The previous day's resignation regarding going to San Francisco with my son has once again been rescinded. If anyone's counting, how many times has it been anyway?

You all know the story. Repeat after me.

"I was pissed.

I was frustrated.

I had no one to talk to except for my son, who at the moment was the last person I wanted to hear from..."

Good job class.

I'm sure most of you are aware of how this blog functions. Once again, repeat...

"I rant.

I rave.

I derail.

I detox."

In that order.

Very, very good.

As I mentioned late last night, I fixed our situation. At least I hope I did. I talked with him calmly, lovingly, apologetically. And with a stroke of luck on my part, I hope he forgives me as well as owns up to his role in the brouhaha.

Anyway...

It bears repeating, if not for any other reason than to remind myself that I don't like going to bed angry. And as a family it's one of things we try very hard to accomplish. So when we do battle, we talk about it. We repair any fences and clean up broken dishes (it's just a visual people). We hug and kiss and tuck one another in. And then we try to make tomorrow a better day.

God I love my son (and my daughter - she just knows to steer clear of these situations.)

2006-04-05T00:48:00.000-07:00

2006-04-04T23:48:00.000-07:00

I have to get this off my chest.
If memory serves you correctly, a few weeks ago I mentioned the fear I have of getting in touch with old friends if nothing more than for the sake of comparing personal and professional cock sizes. Well, I finally did just that: I was able to not only find but get in touch with a particular "old" friend that I'd known for the better part of the past twenty years. Back and forth we go, both of us e-mailing bi-weekly promises of touching base when lo and behold, last night I find her on MySpace. I decided to take the first step and get the old ball o' friendship rolling once again and here's how it starts.
Me: "Hello beautiful!"
Friend: "Hey there - I am sooo addicted to myspace aka: takes over my life. You change your pics everyday I think?? Hope your having a good one - I need to go to sleep. Your song is obnoxious by the way - I can't listen to that heavy stuff anymore - geez I'm old!!"
Me: "(((OBNOXIOUS?))) It's... it's... (((ugh!))) I love James Taylor too. Would you prefer I add that?"
Friend: This portion was lost in e-mail translation, however the gist of the conversation was that I shouldn't change my profile song to suit her. It wouldn't work well with my MySpace "image." She further asks about the "crazy bitches" I have listed as friends on MySpace, and then proceeds to tell me that I'm a perv... but in a good way.
Me: "Just for you... I changed it to James Taylor! :o) As for all of the crazy bitches... there's something about a gal with a fist full of ink that, well... I guess brings out the "perv" in me (in a good way, of course.) I dunno. Much like my music, I guess I have eclectic tastes in people. So long as they're interesting... you know what I mean? What about you? Any ink yet? Or is that considered "obnoxious?'" (((laughing)))"
The rest of the conversation is merely old fucking friendship fodder. How's this? What's up with that? Have you seen...? What about...? Did you hear...?
Drivel. Pure and simple.
So... I'm a bit kicked in the sack at this point because here is a person who hasn't seen me in over twelve years, short of a few posted pictures and a semi-honest MySpace profile (I say semi because I don't intend to announce to the entire MySpace world the complete inner workings of my life) and she has the audacity to begin verbally cross checking me?

(((W.T.F.?!?)))

It started with her saying the song I have posted is "obnoxious."

First of all, aside from the heaviness of the opus, it is entitled "War Profiteering Is Killing Us All." That's not "obnoxious." That's a fucking fact! Secondly, age doesn't define a person. So to chalk your comments up to your age... GROW THE FUCK UP! That's like saying you won't go to Disneyland because you're too fucking old. Get fucked you fucking fuck. Third, to refer to people I deal with as crazy bitches... where do you get off? Must be the age thing again! Fourth, to refer to ME as a "perv...," remember, you were the one who in your little questionnaire eluded to the fact that you still wanted to fuck me after all these years - sight unseen. And that makes ME a "perv?" All I said in retort was that you need not hide behind cheesy high school answers.

That said...

(((FUCK YOU!)))

Maybe this is all me. Maybe I'm being uber-sensitive? But I don't think so. Not this time. I'd made amends with my son long before this conversation took place so my emotional conditioning was good. I think last night I came to the realization that you're a twat! That like so many others, you too have changed little. The only difference is, few of us are still as judgmental as we once were. We - despite our outward appearances and or personal changes - have grown up. You on the other hand have stayed in your hovel of an existence, pouring ladies night pitchers and debating over which man is good enough to keep in your life (your words, not mine), all the while debating over whether or not to have children, flashing your degree like a plastic police badge, and wishing I were the one you should have never let get away.

2006-04-04T15:59:00.000-07:00

Let's add to my daily mix the fact that my son and I just duked it our over a situation that doesn't bare repeating, and the fact that I have resigned myself to going ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY nowhere with him this summer and I think the bases are pretty much covered.

No... no... I take that back. Now all I need is to be ganged raped by the underwear gnomes and sock snatchers hiding in the laundry room and I'm pretty much fucking set.

((( GODDAMNIT!)))

(((I HATE THIS FUCKING SHIT!)))

(((I REALLY, TRULY, UNEQUIVOCALLY... HATE THIS SHIT!)))

(((GOOD FUCKING BYE!)))

2006-04-04T14:45:00.000-07:00

There's not much to say today.

I'll give you the Cliff Notes.

You fill in the blanks.

I went to the orthodontist today for a follow up...

... he says I have yuck mouth to the Nth degree and I could be in deep shit. He also tells me I have a "HUGE HOLE" where the upper extraction was and that it explains the ear pain I've been having.

Nice.

Thanks for sharing.

(((NEXT!)))

I actually started writing today...

... it wasn't much, but EVEN I know something is better than nothing, and that little bit of something allows me - with some degree of honesty - to refer to myself as a bonafied writer.

(((Funckin-A, Baby!)))

I feel like shit...

... I'm achy; I'm painy; I'm sweaty...
... wah, wah, wah.

I'd rather go back to writing.

That way I can forget about the other two issues for a period of time.

2006-04-03T13:23:00.000-07:00

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.

~Eleanor Roosevelt~

2006-04-03T07:53:00.000-07:00

Preparing to burst at the seams last night at my new found distaste for writing, I called my wife at work to briefly discuss my troubles.

I should know better.

She always has some newly discovered logic to present; she allows light to be shed upon the gloomier parts of my life which I have difficulty seeing. But worst of all, she makes sense.

For the remaining couple of hours she's at work she semi-ponders my situation only to come home, sit back in a chair and present a possible problem: Zoloft. She asks if it's possible that because I'm being weaned off of said AD and have yet to have a replacement med added to my medicinal battery that I am back to beating the shit out of myself (a trait I was infamous for PRIOR to being diagnosed and medicated.)

I explain to her what my head doc explained to me; that AD's generally have an adverse affect on people with Bipolar; that they tend to heighten negative mood swings; that this is the primary reason I am being taken off of that particular med.

In hindsight, I think her being home helped to eradicate a great many negative feelings yesterday. We ate dinner as a family, watched a little tube, squeezed a little boob, and then I found myself back on the couch, laptop resting in my lap, pecking at a previous WIP.

It felt good.

It felt damn good.

As I read through some of what I have (call it a refresher if you must) I realized that what I DO have is still as good to me if not better than the last time I'd worked on it (a personal barometer for me if there ever was one.) That said, I continued to needle away, all the while wondering why I'd allowed myself to get where I was earlier in the day.

2006-04-02T17:15:00.000-07:00

I quit!
My journey as an "aspiring novelist" is over.

2006-04-02T14:00:00.000-07:00

For the first time in two plus weeks I'm sitting on the couch with my laptop nestled in my lap trying to write, but nothing's happening.

I've come up with the opening line to a non-fiction opus about the adventure my son and I are undertaking, but so far that's it. I keep drawing blanks.

It upsets to me to no end to feel this way. I don't know if it's inadequacy once again creeping in through my back door or if what I am feeling is the reality of years spent hearing as well as telling myself that I could never amount to anything. Either way, I am noticing that anger and frustration have replaced my once solemn mood, and now I feel like throwing my laptop through the fucking window in a fit of unbalanced horror.

I have serious doubts that I'll ever be able to write.

More times than I care to count, complete strangers acknowledge some well hidden ability I have to pound out the written word, but let's be honest shall we? I'm blogging. I'm writing an online diary. I'm simply spewing my life onto cyber pages so the world over can peer in on what a thirtysomething, stay at home, Bipolar father does with his day.

Let me save you the trouble by stating that I do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WITH MY DAYS.

I wish and dream and contemplate suicide. I jack off and occasionally fuck a woman who for some reason enjoys my company, and then I curl up in a ball while the house is empty and cry about the shambles my life is an how if effects everyone I know. I rarely sleep and I drink caffeine like an alcoholic locked away overnight in an Irish pub, and then I wonder why I have insomnia.

Oh... and then there's blogging... and MySpace.

Here's a thought: when people ask me what I do, maybe I can tell them I'm a journalist, because to a degree I am.

Remember, I DO journal.

2006-04-01T16:10:00.000-07:00

Okay... something's not right.

It's been ten days since I had my surgery. Ten days, I might add that I was told is normal for the "effects" or this procedure to completely ware off. And yet I'm still taking the antibiotic, I'm still taking Ibuprofin, and I'm still taking pain killers because there is a throbbing in both surgery sites - either at the same time or seperately, to include additional teeth that weren't originally considered, and shooting pain in my ear.

I don't see how this is normal.

I'm not a hypocondriac.

I'm not a pain pill junkie.

I'm not seeking attention.

I'm in motherfuckingpain.

What to do?

I have a follow up appointment with my orthodontist on Tuesday. I could call the surgeon on Monday, but is it really necessary? I mean, couldn't the ortho doc take care of his problem?

2006-03-31T13:54:00.000-07:00

Insomnia.

(((ugh!)))

M.I.L.F.'s and businessmen.

Teens and elderly.

Psycho's and soccer mom's.

We all stand rank and file.

Patiently awaiting (sometimes not).

We all want our daily push of a low dollar high end suburban crack equivalent.

Do these people have the same problems as me?

Probably not.

Maybe so.

They could be worse off.

Can't they?

Maybe not.

My head doc says I need to kick the habit, I need to quit drinking caffeinated products.

Does she realize that would be like kicking the chair out from under me?

Not literally.

Well, kinda.

Afterall, caffeine's my crutch.

My vice.

My addiction.

It's my social interaction. My way of blending in. My way of feeling like I'm a part of... well... something.

Isn't it?

What exactly am I a part of?

Everything I said I would never be?

That's right.

Now I have a reason to quit.

2006-03-30T16:09:00.000-07:00

I'm in need of your input.

Over the course of the past few days I've received comments regarding this blog's new layout and the difficulty some are having in either differentiating between the text (blending in with) and the background, the text being too small, the text running off of the page, or the background being too busy.

Are any of you experiencing these or similar problems?

What do you think of the new(ish) layout?

I want your input because I would like to troubleshoot any problems so this blog is accessible to all.

In advance, thank you for your time and attention.

2006-03-30T12:46:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like the taste of sweet victory to make a day feel THAT much better.

I just received a phone call from the property manager regarding Old No.5 and the violation notice, and in short I was reassured that the letter has been removed from our file, that she is now more aware of our "situation" regarding Old No. 5 and her campaign to remove us from our home, and that we need not worry about the many baseless accusations that are apparently routinely being made against us.

Routinely?

Really?

How is it possible that we routinely cause problems when we stay as far away from this woman as deemed necessary?

Routinely?

Unreal.

Un-fucking-real.

You know something, if I weren't on medication, I could almost guarantee I would "routinely" exact revenge on her and her dopy ass boyfriend. But I am, so I don't. Not only that, as much as she pisses me the fuck off, I don't want retribution. I really don't. I just want her to leave me and mine the fuck alone. Stay on your side of the fucking drive and we'll stay on ours. Don't say so much as go fuck yourself to any one of us - especially my kids. They know you're an evil Nazi bitch, and if it weren't for their good natured hearts, they would tell you to get fucked quicker than I could. But they're great kids, so they don't. They leave that up to me.

Ah... I LOVE THE SMELL OF FRESH VICTORY IN THE MORNING!

2006-03-28T22:25:00.000-07:00

I'm still deeply involved in yesterday's post as it seems I am finding it difficult to own up to a skeleton I have chosen to remove from my own closet. When I finally get where I want to be with the post, you'll be the first to know. Just remember to look back on Sunday, March 16, 2006 for what I have to say.

That said...

I want to discuss my Nazi neighbor from hell.

There is this woman - for the sake of not wanting to be sued for defamation I'll refer to her only as Old No. 5.

Old No. 5 as it were, moved into our cul-de-sac just over eighteen months ago, and in that time she and I (as well as the leathery looking, smoke smelling, Herman Munster of a man she calls her boyfriend) have had many words, slurs, middle fingers, and ill wishing passed on to one another. Simply put, she is THE closest thing to hate that I can honestly feel, and in most instances she is the very test of my will to be a better person.

Our latest exchange comes in the form of a FIRST NOTICE OF VIOLATION LETTER. It reads as follows:

Dear Homeowner:

The following violation(s) of the CC&R's for (name of Association withheld) has recently been brought to our attention on March 22, 2006:

Child riding skateboard and breaking curb.

For the comfort of all homeowners, it is our intention to ask every homeowner to comply with the rules that govern this property; therefore we ask that you correct the aforementioned violation(s) within ten (10) days of the date of this letter. Failure to correct the violation by this date can result in a daily fine of $10.00 until compliance is re-established.

If you wish to dispute this notice, you must do so in writing to the Board of Directors in care of the address listed above within ten (10) days of the date of this letter.

Sincerely,

The Board of Directors

Here's the rub: Old No.5 has gone on record as stating that we don't belong in this townhome community, to the tune of recommending ways that we be removed from our residence. The hilarity in all of this is that my wife has lived here off and on since she was fifteen. I have lived here for the better part of our nearly fourteen year relationship. My son came home from the hospital after having been delivered to spend the majority of his pre-tween life here. And my daughter has spent the past five plus years here. This is home. OUR HOME. It has been such far longer than this woman can conceive of and yet she has the audassity to say we are unfit to reside here.

Get fucked.

The situation as it stands, is this. The so-called curbs that are damaged were done so, not by a tween and his skateboard, rather by a midlife Hispanic perched atop a riding lawnmower the likes of which our landscapers use EVERY Tuesday. Where the damage exists just so happens to be the entry and exit point for said mowers to gain access to the greenbelts around the property. The date said damage allegedly occurred was this past Wednesday, the 22nd - a landmark day for me because that's when I underwent oral surgery. Couple this information with the fact that my son was grounded from his skateboard until this past weekend and I'd say the violation letter is certainly without merit and further proves that Old No. 5 is a baseless cunt who is trying to fuck my family out of its home.

I've gathered pertinent photographic documentation and made the necessary phone calls to rectify this latest situation. And when I'm finished here I will be composing a letter of dispute which I will hand deliver tomorrow.

I'm tired of these games, and I'm tired of Old No.5 thinking she can bully her way around this neighborhood. I'm the sweetest, most caring and helpful neighbor anyone in this cul-de-sac could ever ask for, but when my family is being pushed around and our every move is being watched, I'm like an angry lion protecting its pride.

2006-03-27T12:46:00.000-07:00

In making my daily blog rounds, I came across a post of a fellow "cyberfriend's" regarding the subject of self-censorship in conjunction with blogging. Their entry, in part, is as follows:

"There was an interesting cross-blog discussion recently about the issue of self-censorship in blogland. One cool blog friend went so far as to take down her blog because she felt she wasn't being totally honest in it, so why bother? I miss her blog, but I admire and even envy the integrity of the move. When I started blogging I thought: wow, I can say anything, because nobody knows who I am anyway! But then you make cyberfriends. Cyberfriends you really like. And you want them to like you. So you start to issue press releases instead of genuine messages from the heart."

I couldn't agree with this statement more. As members of the blogging community, we have a tendency to cast light on certain facets of who we truly are while luring our readers away from truth of our individual realities. Why? So we can look and/or feel good to or for someone who doesn't know any better than to believe what we say as being the truth?

(((a long pause and a sigh as I think about the purpose of this entry.)))

In line with my friend's commitment to being honest, I too wanted to submit an entry that had yet to be shared with anyone outside of my inner sanctuary. And having sat on this idea for the better part of a couple of days, I came to the realization that of the skeletons I keep tucked securly in the back of my closet, there are far too many to choose from. With that in mind, at this time I can't seem to find the strength or courage to release any one secret without the fear of retribution, or at least the repercussion of disapproval - none of which I am prepared to accept.

To my friend, I truly am sorry. I tried... but after having talked with you, I am able to better rationalize the effects of my decision based on the truth of my own reality.

2006-03-26T18:29:00.000-07:00

I'll keep this short and sweet.

My wife broke her ankle in two places Thursday night while on an overnight stay with my daughter and her school at one of our local zoo's. She's doing fine - three days later and after having gone through three different ankle support devices.

That said...

I'm hanging in there, but interestingly, after the two day time frame in which my mouth should have hurt was over, my mouth began to hurt. I looked today and found a hole which opens and closes with the function of my left cheek and I can't help but wonder if that's normal. I don't see any broken sutures, so... my wife says I should call the oral surgeon tomorrow but I'd feel like a real panzy if it's a normal condition.

The kids are fine.

My daughter received an incredible report card - A's and B's, and my son has managed to bring his low grades in Math and Science back up into B range. Unfortunately he doesn't know that the trip financing has stalled - which in turn leaves me feeling a bit uncertain about its probability.

Maybe that is part of the reason for me mentally beating the shit out of myself: I feel guilty for thusfar seemingly falling short of my projected financial mark.

2006-03-25T20:36:00.000-07:00

I feel like forcing words.

Not just any words.

Relevant words. Words that make me feel like I've something important to say. Words that make me want to write. Words that make me want to sit back with nodding head, smiling in agreement, loving the sound of my own voice.

Yet I have nothing to say.

I've spent a great deal of time here today - off and on, on and off, starting and then stopping fantastical prose, only to quickly highlight and then delete the nothingness of my thoughts.

Where in the fuck am I right now?

Who am I?

What have I become?

Why am I here?

When will I leave?

I want out of this maniacal psycho-trip of Bipolar bloggery if for no other reason than to tell myself I've moved on.

But have I really?

Or am I stuck in a muddied down rut of nonsensical blabbermouthery?

Who knows?

Who cares?

Next?

2006-03-24T11:23:00.000-07:00

I'm convinced the surgeon attempted to remove other organs while I was under because I am sore in places that make no sense what so ever. From my waist up including my rib cage, my back, my neck, my entire waistline... everything is sore beyond belief. I understand the neck, I really do, but everything else. My mouth is actually sore today, but not in the way one would imagine after having two wisdom teeth and two molars removed. It's more my cheek from what I assume is the local anesthesia the surgeon told me he would be administering. Aside from that, no pain meds are on board. Just Ibuprofin and penicillin. Cool beans.

Enough whining...

I wish I had something intelligent or exciting to write. I feel a bit empty not doing so. But the truth of the matter is that there's nothing exciting happening right now.

I can tell you about the dead pigeon my son put on the neighbor's doorstep last night.

Nice. (((NOT!)))

Here's what happened.

I'd asked him to take out the trash, and because it was dark and he doesn't like going to the dumpster alone in the dark, I followed him outside only to hear the neighbor's niece yelling at him to remove a dead bird. This caught me by surprise, but more so was the idiotic - bordering on moronic - laugh that came from my son as she was yelling. It was like Baby Huey meets Rainman meets Special Ed meets the two old balcony guys from the Muppet Show.

Now, I know this is a boy thing to do, but not to our Russian neighbors. They don't understand that kind of humor, and apparently their English speaking niece didn't either. Hell for all I know, it was some sort of death threat from the Russian Mafia and my son just laid it on them.

Great. (((NOT!)))

Anyhow... I tell him to pick it up... and he does... WITH HIS BARE HANDS! Now... I'd just had a talk with him not two hours earlier about messing with dead animals and what does he do... he picks up a dead animal with HIS BARE HANDS! Worse... I tell him to scrub his hands with antibacterial soap. Does he? NO! He runs his hands under the water... and, get this... sticks his mouth up to the very faucet he'd just fondled with dead pigeon and takes a long pull of water.

Jesus-good-God-almighty!

I'm at a loss on this one.

Once the pigeon excitement had ended I watched some movies: "Dark Water" and part of "Snatch" (but I fell asleep). I had lined up "Last Days," the movie based on the end of Kurt Cobain's life but that never happened. Maybe I'll get to it this evening.

2006-03-23T13:30:00.000-07:00

Surprisingly I'm up and about today with minimal pain, I'd say somewhere in the range of 1-2 (the hospital has a scale they use that ranges from 0 being the least to 10 being the worst). I give it a two only because my neck is so sore that they must have turned it completely around during the surgery. It hurts much worse than the surgery site itself. Oh well, I couldn't get away without ANY pain now could I?

All is as well as could be expected here. Not much to report by way of mood swings or anything. Sorry. I know it makes for better blogging but... I can't always please everyone now can I? It could be that the reason for my ease is the pain meds they've given me, and if that's the case I'll go with it. After all, even the nuttiest of squirrel turds needs a break from the ebb and flow of being Bipolar.

2006-03-22T00:05:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be down and out for a few days as I am going in to have oral surgery this morning. I don't expect to be on today and tomorrow is certainly questionable, but hopefully I'll be able to get back on here on Friday.

In the meantime, stop by http://we-need-your-help.blogspot.com as I've added a post by my son regarding his views about our proposed trip.

Let me know what you think.

I think you'll agree with me that he's an amazing kid in his own right.

That said, it's midnight plus and I'm looking at quite a few hours of being NPO. I'm going to bed so I don't have to deal with the rigors of not being able to have a sip of water.

2006-03-21T11:20:00.000-07:00

I feel like I need to be kick started into this day - or at least kicked into it.

I woke up at 10:15 a.m., which in and of itself is a major problem considering my day generally starts at 6:00 a.m., only to find the house a fucking disaster. Normally I'd be set off at the thought of re-cleaning something that not even twenty four hours earlier had been made clean, but I don't really care right now. I'm just not feeling the emotions required to be pissed off, and...

...

... I wish I had something charming or witty or analytical to say, but the truth is, I don't. Not only do I not, but I don't want to be charming and witty and analytical. I'm just not feeling it right now. Although I do keep trying to analyze this emotion so I can better understand where it has come from and how to cope with it, but in doing so I am realizing that I don't know what it is. I don't know why it's here. I don't know where it's come from. I just know that I'm lacking.... something.

2006-03-20T14:40:00.000-07:00

I realized late last night that I've lost touch with so much in my life in such a short amount of time that I'm having a hard time remembering what's important to me.

I know how crazy that might sound, but it's true.

I don't take care of the house like I used to. I don't care for myself unless I'm forced into doing so. I don't write - unless of course you count my two blogs. I don't read - something I dearly miss. I don't sleep. I don't eat much. I don't laugh - and when I do it's usually prompted by maniacal fits of grandeur and self loathing. I don't believe. I don't have faith. I don't exercise. I don't dream. I don't want. I don't cry. I don't stay on schedule with my medication. I don't die. I don't live. I don't feel. I just don't.

The one things that is for certain is that I DON'T LIKE LIVING LIKE THIS.

I want back what I had - even if it means struggling to maintain it. I just want to breathe again. I want to be able to see and feel and know pain - and I want to know that the pain is real. I want to know that I can live and have faith and be successful and believe in something other than the magic of disbelief. I want to laugh because I'm happy and cry because I'm sad. I want to take my medication like clockwork everyday and be productive and dream and read... and above all things... I WANT TO WRITE.

God, do I want to write.

2006-03-19T22:09:00.000-07:00

First and foremost, I want to let you all know that from time to time I am going to shamelessly pimp my latest addition to blogdom - http://we-need-your-help.blogspot.com - for the sole purpose of reaching as many people as possible in a short amount of time. While you may not agree with my methodology in raising funds for this adventure, I want you to know that I respect your views and ask that you do the same for my son and I.

That said... I can't express the enthusiasm that is being drawn from him right now. We have had our bumps and bruises since this effort began but somehow we manage to let go of the nonsense and come around to what we are trying to accomplish not only in our efforts leading up to our proposed San Francisco trip, but our sights are already set on what the future has in store.

Already, I can't thank you all enough. You are an amazing bunch of people.

THAT said... (of course there was ANOTHER "THAT" to be said) I would like to ask a favor of you all. Would you-could you add a link to your blog(s) leading to the above site? As you all know, word of mouth is an amazing way of promoting something, and with merely three months to go anyone who can help us is a Godsend.

2006-03-18T22:28:00.000-07:00

This evening as I was browsing through random blogs, I came across a post by someone that struck a chord with me. This person mentioned that they noticed when things were going better in their life, the hits on their blog were down, but when chaos ensued it was like a feeding frenzy of the curious and voyeuristic.
How so true.
Are our lives more interesting when we are most vulnerable, yet when we are at our strongest our lives are at best stodgy? During these moments of inept weakness are we seen for who we truly are? Are we no longer able to hide from our own madness? Or are we merely modern day circus freaks who, when indulging in our personal despair, are available for prodding, goading and chiding?

2006-03-17T10:22:00.000-07:00

While on my morning blog walk I came across a response to a post that has since set me off kilter (just a little).

I won't out the person who's blog the comments exist on, nor will I out the person who made the comments, but I will take a few minutes to touch base about the nature of what was said.

First and foremost, let me state that Bipolar Disorder, also known as manic depression, is a serious illness that - if not treated - can lead to risky behavior, damaged relationships and careers, and even suicidal tendencies.
Bipolar Disorder is characterized by extreme changes in mood (poles) from mania to depression. Between these mood swings, a person with Bipolar disorder may experience normal moods.
"Manic," or mania, describes an increasingly restless, energetic, talkative, reckless, powerful, euphoric period. Lavish spending sprees or impulsive risky sex can be irresistible. Then, at some point, this high-flying mood can spiral into something darker - irritation, confusion, anger, feeling trapped. "Depression" describes the opposite spectrum of moods: sadness, crying, sense of worthlessness, loss of energy, loss of pleasure, sleep problems. But because the pattern of highs and lows varies for each person, bipolar disorder is a complex disease to diagnose. For some people, mania or depression can last for weeks or months, even for years. For other people, bipolar disorder takes the form of frequent and dramatic mood shifts.
Second, to most people living with Bipolar Disorder, medication is the one safe place where everything - for the most part - feels semi-normal. It is while on psychotropic meds that these people are able to better function not at the pace of a corporate lemming or as a spineless metal patient, rather as a more rational and productive member of society.

Some people with Bipolar Disorder, for their own reasons, choose to live free of medication. That's their prerogative. But to the throngs of people who know there is something more that awaits them while on said medication, trying to sway others to consider not taking their prescribed medication it isn't reasonable - in fact it borders on irresponsibility (a commonon trait of being Bipolar).

To claim that one may be living a full life without being medicated is their choice. And it may very well be that they have yet to experience the furthermost realms of either pole to recognize that it can be an extremely scary and dangerous place to reside in. In any event, no one person living with Bipolar Disorder has the exact conditions of another. We experience similar emotions, but the conditions and outcome are entirely different.

2006-03-16T10:25:00.000-07:00

In trying to figure out what my son and I are going to do this summer, I came across a plethora of ideas in the bay area that could - should - would - keep he and I busy. The problem is dinero. (Anything worth doing is going to cost $$$ - and a decent amount of it.)

What I have decided to do is add a link to my blog (http://we-need-your-help.blogspot.com) with the hope of raising as much money as possible for our trip. So, to anyone reading this... if you can find it in your hearts to help he and I out with a dollar or two so we can make this trip a reality, it would be a blessing among blessings. If you can't, I understand.

2006-03-15T21:17:00.000-07:00

This morning I learned that I'll be weaning off of one of my head meds over the course of the next month or so, and in turn will add a new and reportedly more improved as of yet unknown med. (((Woo Whoo!))) I sure hope it works because unbeknownst to me, the one I'm currently on appears to be the reason I've been in a major cycle prior to my going to Barstow. I know it sounds crazy, but after having it explained to me, it makes sense - for a doctor - which I'm not - but understand anyhow.

One of the things about my relationship with my head doc is that I disclose EVERYTHING to her. I do so because I want to receive the best treatment possible, and in turn want to live the best life possible. In many ways, I think she knows more than anyone in my entire family. Not because I'm keeping secrets but because she has an unbiased ear. It allows for the removal of all emotional ties and permits me to get to the meat and potatoes of my disorder.

That said...

It was good to get out today and spend a few hours of quality time with my daughter. I didn't quite know how things would go considering I've been off my meds for the past three days. Now... before I get a bunch of grief about the pro's and con's of abruptly stopping medication, I need to interject that the reason this happened is because I was down and out with another head cold. My sleep cycles were thrown so far off that I was out for twelve plus hours at a time. When it was time to take my meds I was out cold. When I woke and remembered to take my meds it was too late to do so.

I've only intentionally stopped my meds twice since being diagnosed (which I might add seems to be the norm for most new diagnosees when they begin to feel better). And both times I learned rather quickly that no matter how well one may feel, it can NEVER compensate for the havoc it causes in one's life.

With that... I need to go now so I can take my meds.

2006-03-14T10:21:00.000-07:00

It's important for me to know that there's so much more out there, so much untapped potential left in me that this is not the end of my road. I don't want to live the rest of my life feeling sorry for who I am or regretting the decisions I have made. I want to live. SO LIVE I MUST!

On April 1, 2006, this blog will cease to exist. I WILL start another one, and if you're interested in coming along with me, consider yourself invited. I will send out the link on Friday, March 31st. If not, I'd like to take the opportunity and thank you for your valuable time. In some unknown way, you have made my world a viable place to live in.

The new blog will contain a majority of what has been posted here, if only for reflective reasons, but I am changing the pace of my intentions. I'm tired of writing about all of the bad things in my life. I'm tired of living in the muck and mire of my darkened mind, thus providing the many anonymous blogging voyeurs with information from which they laugh at or measure their own lives up to. It's not worth it to me. And although it's not my responsibility to consider their feelings, I know it does them a disservice as well.

With that, I bid you adieu for today.

2006-03-13T10:03:00.000-07:00

I've come to realize over the course of the past week that I've wasted far too much time on my self pity and loneliness.

Most of my days have been spent feeling the loss of so many things in my life that I have lost sight of the incredible things I do have, and in turn have urged me to delve into other areas in search of an emotional patch that will - with any luck - make the pain go away and the reality of my life unwittingly come back to me.

However, that hasn't been the case.

Despite any temporary losses I may be feeling in the moment, I know that what I feel had gone will again come back to me. I know that things will be as good if not better than they once were. I know that I will feel the happiness of sunlight shine down upon my face. And I know that my inner voice will once again reverberate throughout my body thus catapulting me into a literary frenzy.

I don't regret where I've been... unless of course you count the amount of time that could have been spent writing the Great American Nonovel. Aside from that, it's been a huge lesson for me; a lesson that will undoubtedly stay with me as I push forward in search of a successful means of working with rather than working for my disorder.

It's all a part of my being Bipolar.

2006-03-12T00:40:00.000-07:00

Over the course of the past 48 hours I've managed to find 6 old friends and/or acquaintances that my wife and I have been looking for over the years, and now that I know where they are and have contacted a couple, I feel sick to my stomach at the notion of actually meeting up with these old friends and comparing notes.

Why?

What would I tell them when it comes down to the ol' "So, what have you been up to all of these years?" question and answer session? Do I tell them the truth: that I have been diagnosed with having and have been struggling with Bipolar Disorder, and that I take a battery of psychotropic medications every night? Do I tell them a softer more subtle version of the truth: I'm a stay at home father and aspiring novelist/screenplay writer? Do I lie and say I've been incarcerated - which in some ways I believe would be easier to accept than learning that I am Bipolar. Or do I simply avoid any chance of getting together?

Why?

Because this is where living with Bipolar Disorder becomes difficult.

Although I have come to terms with myself, unfortunately I have learned that disclosing such a potent piece of information without first surveying the mind of those you are disclosing said information to can be detrimental to your relationship. What's worse is watching the growth of these one time friends and/or acquaintances and considering where you are in your own life, only to realize that you haven't amounted to much of anything outside of being the best family person you can be.

The thought of having to deal with any of this makes my body ache with revulsion.

2006-03-11T11:34:00.000-07:00

It's beyond me to understand why I insist on kicking myself in the teeth every chance I get. I never allow myself the proper credit which in turn denies me any chance at success. I simply fail and fail and fail. I give up. I walk away. I retreat to the dark hole that has become my comfort zone. I return to the cold place where familiarity has been passed over for the confines of self imposed security. However, my retreating begs the question, how secure am I when I routinely turn to thoughs of killing myself? It seems to me that the one person I trust most - me - is in fact the one that causes me the most harm.

2006-03-10T11:43:00.000-07:00

I need to clear the air about something.

The other night, prior to when the crux of the drinking drama came about, I spent time on the internet researching successful methods of suicide - not for a book I'm writing but for my own personal use. I searched for drug combinations, effects, and success rates. I had every intention of walking away from everyone and everything that night, but interestingly enough found little information to aid in my attempt. So I did what many consider to be the next best thing, I left the house to calm down. I drove around for a while, visited a local record chain and thumbed my way through every square inch of the DVD section and twice through the metal and general music catalogs, purchased CD's by Mike Ness and Six Feet Under, and then while walking to the Exterra had a great idea! Why not have a Vodka and orange? I drove around some more and considered hitting an open late college area Starbucks but decided that it was better to stick to my original plan. Then I found my way into the parking lot of one our many supermarkets at just before closing yet with enough time to grab my by then much anticipated old school drink of choice.

I wanted to feel better. I wanted to stop being angry and depressed and lonely and dependent and frustrated. I wanted to test things out. I wanted to see how it would feel mixing alcohol with medication. I wanted it to in some small way work so I would know for future reference what was required to carry out my plan successfully.

What I got was a slight buzz, a shit eating grin, and three days of insurmountable anger and depression and loneliness and dependency and frustration.

And yet I still find myself wondering if what I had planned will actually work.

2006-03-09T14:36:00.000-07:00

If you missed the drama that took place here over the past few days then reading this will certainly make you feel as if you’re out of the loop because I have chosen to remove four posts, instead opting to combine the valuable points of each into one, and then, with any amount of luck and hope, move on and “Drop the rope,” as it were.
That said, here goes…
I hate to harp, but there are some serious issues in this house that need to be resolved. After a lengthy uphill conversation the other night about the hardly infamous one drink incident, I still don't get it. The thought that I am unable to have a single mixed drink as the result of a great deal of pent up stress has me falling over the fence with equal parts frustration, anger, and resentment. I don't get how one drink can become a situation where I am running to a bottle for answers. I really don't. I don't know how it can become a situation where I am "completely out of character." I don't know how an ongoing feud between my son and I can become so pressurized that I am on the verge of a complete meltdown. And I don’t know how I came to feel that I am being forced to carry the burden for all involved.
During said conversation, many accusations were applied to me; accusations that are not only unbelievable to me in that my own wife would actually consider them possibilities, but there were things she said that hurt me in an incredible way; things I would have never expected from her.

In retrospect, they are things that are "completely out of character."
Despite having explained my situation over and over, there was no getting past the fact that I knowingly and willingly chose to have a drink to help calm an anger that not even my anxiety pills could control. It was the simple fact that I chose to purchase a bottle of Vodka and have a single drink - a drink I might add, that I hadn't had in more than ten years (yet another point that was constantly pointed out.) It had absolutely nothing to do with the obvious - that I had mixed alcohol with psychotropic medication or the ramifications of said combination.

2006-03-08T00:12:00.000-07:00

"You Look At You"

Killin' myself again

Losin' to myself again

Livin' in a dream again

Livin' on a lie again

I've got do something and I've got to do it now

I've gotta get to somethin' but I know I don't know how

Always keepin' busy takin' other people's change

I know I'm not afraid to push it but I'm too afraid to ask it

Back to myself again

Forget my name again

Hate my guts again

Parted my friends again

You look at you

Lookin' toward myself and all the people that I see

Wonder what they're seein' when they're lookin' back at me

I tell you that I hate you but you know that's just a lie

You know that I don't mean it I'm the one that I despise

Losin' my grip again

Start to slip again

Stand in line again

Look at my mind again

You look at you

Can you deal with it

Can you deal with it, deal with it, deal with it, deal with it, deal with it

~Henry Rollins~

2006-03-07T08:49:00.000-07:00

The wifey isn't a morning person. Never has been. So if there's one thing the house knows, it's that YOU DON'T FUCK WITH THE WIFEY BEFORE NOON. That said, the boy decided to step to her this morning and in turn got yet another dose of parental reality.
I don't know what he's trying to accomplish by having this fucking attitude of his, but so far all he's managed to do is piss off the people who control his comings and goings, who allow for certain guilty pleasures, who stand with and support him when times are tough, and who love him unconditionally.
So why the bullshit over an alarm clock this morning?
Then again, why the bullshit over DVD cables? Why the bullshit over movies? Why the bullshit over food? Who fucking knows?
What I do know is that I'm glad he pulled the "Why does everyone think they know what's going on inside my head?" number on the wife this morning because now she can experience what I've been putting up with instead of hearing second hand information in the form of frustration. She said it best when she said "You don't think we know you? We've raised you for twelve years. I think we know you better than you know yourself right now."
(((A-FUCKING-MEN!)))
One thing is for certain, if this is the role he wants to play, that's fine, but he needs to understand that there is no room for give and take. He will be treated accordingly. Maybe then we'll have a better chance at becoming reacquainted with our long lost [sic] son.

2006-03-06T01:05:00.000-07:00

"...take him on vacation for a week? I'll end up in San Quentin. How fitting. I'd be in the area."

Although I said yesterday that I didn't want to do this, I've decided to purge this latest battle of wills with my son from my system so I can focus on the healing process I'll be faced with throughout the course of this week (I'll touch on that later in the post.)

Oddly enough, the trouble started simply because I'd asked him to collect one of our portable DVD players from his room and bring it to me so I could store it. In doing so, he stumbled down the hall, dragging wires and such behind him, rather than disconnect and gather them. All I said was "You've got to be kidding me?" and we were off to the races - so to speak.

We ran the usual gamut of excuses, ranging from "You didn't tell me" to "It's confusing" to "How was I supposed to know?" All the while, true to form, his tone in his voice is changing and the volume is elevating. Having reached the end of a very short fuse with him, I let out a roar that would have shut down every neighbor in our cul-de-sac. (For the record, I HATE doing that. I really do. But sometimes desperate actions entice desperate reactions, and... well... you know the rest.) Anyhow, back and forth we go, until I shut my bedroom door on him in order to cool off. He stumbles off and drops down into our overstuffed armchair, his pout in full swing, his angst pouring from his semi-fresh faux hawk.

I finally open the bedroom door and calmly ask him to take out the trash and load the dishwasher. He obliges without so much as a grumble of discontent. I, on the other hand, grab hold of my cell phone, step out onto the back patio, and place a phone call to the wifey. (I've come to acknowlege that by doing this it appears as if I'm tattling on my children, but the truth of the matter is that it soothes and calms to vent.) Again, anyhow. So I'm on the phone with the wifey, we end the short lived conversation and I call him out for a continuation of our conversation. By now I'm calm and better prepared to handle his one off remarks. Badda boom, badda bing... we spit a few words back and forth, and as if the little shit new exactly which combination of buttons to push, he had me in a full swing piss off all over again.

This time there was talk about "You don't know me" and "You don't understand me" and "You don't know what's going on in my head." On two out of three points he was dead wrong. We do know and understand him. It's the last point he may have had me on because he's right, I haven't the slightest clue what's going on in his head these days and I find myself internally as well as verbally "What were you thinking?" from time to time.

As much as I'm sure he hated me doing it, I reminded him of his age and went as far as to suggest "knocking" him back down to it if his attitude didn't change and quick.

Now, I don't hit my kids. Never have. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe not. Based on my background, I swore I never would, however, the boy is fast approaching a rap or two across his pre-teen ass if his attitude towards me doesn't adjust in double time. I've pretty much reached my limit with him and his unfounded anger.

x x x x x x x x x x

Interestingly enough, he has decided it would be great to tour Alcatraz Island. Great! That's roughly three hours out of our day. What about the remainder of the week? Does he want to see the Golden Gate Bridge? China Town? The Marine Aquarium? The Red Wood Forest? Haight and Ashbury? There is so much to do and see. I just don't think he has an interest in doing most of it. He's a gamer. Gamer's like games. If he had his druthers he'd much rather play games the entire week, and has gone so far as to semi-suggest it when the original idea of he and doing something came up.

If we're driving twelve hours to tour "The Rock," we're sure as hell going to do more than sit in a hotel and return the following day.

x x x x x x x x x x

Before I forget. This afternoon I'm going in for oral surgery to have two wisdom teeth and two "affected" teeth, all on the right side of my mouth, removed. Although I will be in and out of coherence on a daily basis, I will do my best to drop a line or two.

I'm warning you now, if I say some off the wall shit, consider the Vicodin before accusing the author. You never know what you can expect from the drugged up mind of a guy like me. Hell, look at what I say when I'm "With it," so to speak.

2006-03-05T21:54:00.000-07:00

I'd thought about posting yet another entry about the latest installment of me versus my son, but I've come to the realization that doing so makes me feel like I don't care about him, when in fact caring - along with the love I have for him - is one of the deepest feelings I hold onto.

He's a major pain in my ass, and I KNOW I'm the equivalent to him. That goes without saying, but when he's already telling me that I don't understand him, that I don't know him, that I don't know what's going on in his head... I have to wonder how on track he might actually be before I rope myself in and realize that he can only be as lucky as to have two parents that care as much as we do.

We don't let him run the neighborhood or hang out with his friends at crowded strip malls or go to the movies unsupervised primarily because he is still a child who has yet to display the mental maturity required to be given such freedoms.

He doesn't understand.

He disagrees.

He struggles.

He argues.

We disagree.

We struggle.

We argue.

But we understand. WE REALLY DO!

Maybe the wifey and I are more involved in his life than he would care for us to be? I'm sure there is a portion of him that thinks this way, but I also know that he WANTS us there if not only for when he needs us. He likes the security of our presence, the dual parenting, the insanity of our homelife, and yet he struggles with himself about what he wants versus what he needs versus what he and his friends think he wants and needs.

It's an interesting battle. One in which I am prepared to throw my hands in the air out of frustration and walk away. I suppose that's where this blog comes into play. It helps me to vent. To add a voice to my sometimes distraught heart and mind. It keeps my hands at my side and my focus on the betterment of my boy rather than a momentary lapse in my reasoning.

2006-03-04T15:35:00.000-07:00

I've been milling about the house today, doing various odds and ends, making a pot of my not-so-world famous chili, putting eye drops into an infected with pink eye daughter's eye, threatening to take away her Black Eyed Peas concert tickets and my son's Ministry concert tickets if they didn't get along and get their nuclear mess of a room cleaned, and doing laundry, all the while pondering the thought of ditching this blog and transferring everything within in it's confines into a more personal setting, i.e.: my new notebook, or at least, into a new and improved, undisclosed blog where I would become one of the many faithful blogging faceless.

I don't know.

I... just... don't... know.

I know I need to keep writing because it has helped me immensely in releasing the daily pressures of my life. As well, it allows me the privilege of speaking my mind without the slightest concern for recourse. In short, it has become a virtual best friend of sorts in that the computer listens but never speaks.

So I find myself asking myself the elusive question: What do I do?

I have no fucking idea.

I really don't.

Will my disappearance solve my problems? Maybe. Probably not. Will I find some unknown happiness in return to my self-abusive roots? Definitely not, but it sounds like it might be worth a try. Will I be satisfied with where I am internally versus where I could be? I wish I had the answer to that. I really do.

2006-03-03T08:12:00.000-07:00

half-cocked (haf'kakt')
adj
having the hammer at half cock: said of a firearm
*go off half-cocked
1 to go off too soon: said of a firearm
2 to speak or act thoughtlessly or too hastily: also go off at half cock

x x x x x x x x x x

Here's how the week can be summed up.

I've been really angry at a lot of things, in particular, myself. I find that I walk around half-cocked, in a state of impatience and with surmounting self-inflicted pressure, and for what? For no other reason other than to say I do because that's the way it's always been and that's all I've ever known. I've managed to place undo expectations upon myself for no other reason than to tell myself that there was a verbal agreement with the wifey, and within said agreement, I took it upon myself to accept the responsibilities outlined. Little did I know then, and what I don't understand now, is why said agreement has become flexible. Is it so because of my mental state? Is it so because it always has been but I was too blind to see it? Is it so because verbal agreements are widely left open to interpretation? Or is it so because that is the best way to handle me when I reach this state? I suppose it doesn't really matter so long as I am able to come to terms - even if only temporarily - with this setback, learn from the mistakes I've made, and move forward.

Positive thinking, right?

If only...

Now that I've vented, my prime phys called yesterday afternoon and has prescribed yet a higher dose of Levothyroxine (generic for Synthroid) in order to once again gain control of my wavering hypo-thyroidism. Hmmm... that might explain why I've been so Goddamn tired lately. Then again... it could be because I've been keeping some really fucked hours as of late, averaging roughly 4 to 5 hours of sleep a night. There was no negative talk about the results taken for my physical, so I'd like to think that as of right now, aside from being as nutty as a squirrel turd, I am in good health.

If I'm wrong, I'm wrong.

I suppose either way, I'll be a winner someday.

2006-03-02T09:30:00.000-07:00

I'm experiencing a weird vibe right now. I don't know if it's me being hyper-sensitive or if it's the course I'm currently on. Either way, as the desperation of my condition continues to set in, the depression I am feeling is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Stress is a factor, as is loneliness. Stagnation and exhaustion are indications as well. Frustration plays a mighty role, and lends way to contemplation, which in turns allows for self-imposed expectation and ultimately, condemnation.

Despite the "TION" communication of this dissertation, there is no relation to the fact that today is the birthday of one Dr. Seuss (a.k.a. Theodor Geisel). I wish there were. GOD, HOW I WISH THERE WERE. Unfortunately, it's all about me today. Me putting pressure on myself for having committed to something that at times seems a grander challenge than I am capable of.

I am talking about writing.

Not just any writing.

Certainly not blog writing.

I am talking about writing my novel.

For a year now, I have been complaining that not having a place, time, or a means of writing has been part of an ongoing problem I've had with fulfilling my obligation to myself, but now that I have a nifty new notebook primed and at my disposal, I am scared shitless. I am scared shitless because over the past two days I've come to realize I've always been scared shitless. Not of the writing process per se, rather the thought of actually accomplishing something without having the burden of being told I can't do it. I'm scared shitless, not of the creative process either, rather because the thought of failure is a MAJOR bone of contention for me. This fear of mine - the premise of being scared shitless - is stifling to the point of near paralization, thus lending an extra hand to my deviant procrastination, followed closely by my creative self-destruction, and ultimately my mental execution.

Maybe what I am in need of is verbal masturbation. Better still, a little linguistic fornication.

What I'd really like is a stress related vacation to a yet undiscovered part of this vast nation.

2006-03-01T09:40:00.000-07:00

So... here's how things stand between my son and I.

We proposed the idea of my son finding something HE would like to do this summer. He threw out a couple of ideas (paintball shooting and paintball shooting), but other than that, he didn't know of anything he'd be interested in doing.

I brought up Magic Mountain, but he wasn't too keen on the idea and didn't care to elaborate. Disneyland? Nope. "The same rides." Universal Studios? Something the fam as a whole wants to do. Knott's Berry Farm? Aside from what he's heard my wife and I talk about, he hasn't the faintest idea as to whether or not it would excite him. I mentioned Catalina Island, but added that it's more of a relaxing environment than action packed. I've yet to hear back on that one, although I'm pretty confident as to what his response will be. The ONE THING that peaked his curiosity was staying overnight aboard the Queen Mary. And the reason for that is because we told him that it is reportedly haunted. My thoughts: It sounds good in theory, but when it comes down to making reservations, he won't want to. The mere thought of staying anywhere that professes to being haunted won't sit well with him. How do I know, you may be asking yourself? Because I was this close <-> to making reservations for an overnight stay at the Lizzy Borden Bed and Breakfast in Massachusetts two summers ago, and while he talked tough about staying in the very room where she alegedly killed her mother, from the get-go he was nixie on the whole idea.

Where does all of this lead us? Nowhere. The wifey and daughter are going to New England for a week (the same week she proposed that he and I do something to mend our relationship), but let's not get into her trip right now. That's a... well... moving on.

I can take him paintball shooting. Not a problem. But every day the girls are gone? That MIGHT be a problem. There are the movies, maybe a show that is coming to town, maybe another trip to see my grandmother... aside from that I need to consider the budget before suggesting anything else.

It would be AWESOME if he and I could go to San Francisco and tour Alcatraz Island. I KNOW he would dig that. I just don't want to say anything right now.

(((sigh)))

Goddamn, what a pain in the ass this is becoming.

A Mountain of Proposed Bonding Magic

2006-02-28T08:05:00.000-07:00

So... yesterday the fam went to one of the many local shopping mecca's in search of tit slings for the wifey. In all actuality, it was the wifey who went looking for tit slings. The kids and I tagged along just to get out of the house. In doing so, my son and I meandered around, looking in various nonessential stores, stopping to get drinks, and gazing at the pair of Chihuahua's being sold at the pet store for a mere $2, 199.oo each, until we ended up sitting outside of Dillard's, people watching and picking out various females of differing shapes, sizes, and ages that piqued our interest while we waited for the wifey and daughter to return.

In short, we actually had a good time.

Time passes, and the wifey and my daughter exit the store carrying a bag of over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders, to find us having a jolly good time, and she doesn't hesitate to point out the obvious.

"See... that's what it would be like for the two of you," my wife says. She is, of course, referring to the previously mentioned Magic Mountain vay-cay that she recommended my son and I take this summer.

"I dunno," I retort.

"Look at how the two of you are. That's EXACTLY what you would be like."

"All we were doing was looking for chicks," I point out.

"I still think you two should go."

Maybe she's right. Maybe we should go. However, I'm still not convinced.

It's not so much anymore that I don't want to go with him because it may come across as a reward for his behavior, rather because there is little time spent amongst the family as it is. To be separated makes everything that much more difficult, and in my mind, more complicated... and frustrating.

Do I think a good time could be had? It's possible. However, I'm not so sure my son would be that interested in trying new things. He likes to stay inside of his comfort zone. Rarely does he venture beyond it's borders. Going to Magic Mountain... that is certainly out of his zone, primarily because it is made up of many roller coasters - a ride I had to bribe him with $20.00 to try the last time we went to Disneyland. (Imagine what it would cost me at Magic Mountain.)

"This is something he will remember for the rest of his life," the wifey announces to me. "Remember when you went with your grandparents to Alabama? You STILL talk about that trip."

"No I don't," I say, knowing full well I do, from time to time, return to that summer in 1980.

"He'll remember it as the trip that 'Dad and I took, with no little sister to bug me.' Just me and Dad'"

"Maybe..." I quip. Then I begin to wonder if she's right. Afterall, she has a point, but is it valid?

He is such an introvert... and me... well... I'm pretty Goddamn outgoing. To a fault sometimes, but nonetheless, outgoing. He's so concerned with being cool, that cool isn't fun, whereas I'm too busy having fun to worry about being cool. Make sense?

(((sigh)))

I don't know. There's so much to be worked out.

Despite my request that she not say anything to the kids until I figured this out, the wifey apparently didn't hesitate to seize the opportunity while I was out this past Sunday night. And in doing so, my son apparently showed a great deal of reluctance to go to Magic Mountain. Now there's a certain excitement that's building in him, and I am beginning to feel as if I'm being backed into a corner.

What in the fuck am I supposed to do?

Running From Reality

2006-02-27T09:12:00.000-07:00

Have you ever come across someone you knew once upon a time, only to feel that once you've gotten past all of the trivial bullshit and past life Cliff Notes, the conversation was nothing more than pinchbeck?

Such was the case last night, upon leaving the second night of two sold out Social Distortion shows.

It seems that nearly every show I go to, there is this one individual who the wifey and I used to party with, there as well. He never says hello. Never tells me to fuck off. Never acknowledges me unless he is approached, and then - and only then - does his shit eating grin form, followed by the spewing of his "It's so nice to see you, wanna' hear about my band?" attitude.

I hate that shit!

I hate comparing lives for the sole purpose of measuring up against someone. What does it matter if I or you or he is a bumb a father a musician a garbage man or the Goddamn Governor? What does it matter if life is good or life is bad? Do you really think what you have to say wants to be heard anyway? Do you honestly think two shits are given about how your life has turned out - especially if it's a better life than one currently being lived? I think not.

When the "Oh my God! How are you?" question came about, I seriously thought about answering him with a smug "Borderline suicidal, thanks." That would have certainly change the pace of the conversation, wouldn't it? I mean, how in the fuck would you respond to something like that? Honestly? You wouldn't. You couldn't. It's just not possible. Especially after having allowed so much time to pass between you. Because now you're mere acquaintances. Hell, you're practically strangers. You can't act as if you truly care about something like that. It's not like I am on the "Let's keep in touch" list.

But Goddamn, it would be great to see and feel the reaction of something like that being said.

Don't get me wrong. We made small talk about tattoos, his new lady and my wifey, my kids and his step daughter, and how time has passed, and there was even an invite to go have drinks sometime, I just needed to contact him through his band website e-mail. (God forbid I be given a personal one.)

Unfortunately - more so for him than me - he has always been this way. He has always been into himself more than anyone else could ever be expected to be, and for this, it seems he has always had to overcompensate for his own shortcomings. So now that he's been in one fledgling, signed (and ultimately dropped and disbanded) band, and is now in another who, to the best of my knowledge is surfing upon the small crest of a nearly faded genre of music with the hope of sparking some notoriety, it appears that he has something to prove. To whom, exactly, I don't know.

Why does shit have to be this way? Why can't people just be people and not always feel they have to compare notes? For fuck sake, does it matter if someone is Bipolar or in a band or married or single or skinny or fat or drives an XTerra or a PT Cruiser or anything things else? It shouldn't, but in this case it does.

It always has.

That's a big part of why I've distanced myself from people I once knew, throughout the years. There's too much drama in managing relationships, too much cock comparing. There's enough infighting with myself at any given time. The last thing I need is to have someone pointing out all of the things I could have been, would have been, or should have been.

It's my own way or running from reality.

Patience Is Futile...

2006-02-26T23:58:00.000-07:00

...and in limited supply.

As a result, I am two nuts shy of a full squirrel turd.

My son, on the other hand thinks I ride his ass every five minutes about nothing in particular, thus making his young life a living hell.

The question I have for him is this: Does he honestly think I find enjoyment in spending a portion of each day bitching and yelling and hollering at him, all while tucking myself away as to avoid further confrontation while cursing to myself about the state of things between us?

The thought is so obnoxious, it's not even laughable.

The reason I mention all of this is because the wifey has suggested that he and I spend some "quality time" together this summer - maybe hit a California amusement park, all with the hope of regaining as well as retaining the pieces of our disheveled relationship.

Sounds like a load of fun to me (please note the sarcasm).

I understand her push to see this happen, I really do. She is concerned about the direction he and I are headed in (and justifiably so) and wants the two of us to find some common ground where we can co-exist without wanting to strangle one another in our sleep. I too, am concerned. I have been for some time. In fact, I have been so concerned that I have made the initial efforts to seek outside intervention, only to have the outcome be a one-sided fuck off as he quickly forgets his role in the healing and growing process. I've tried to pull him back on to the tracks and redirect his thinking many times, only to be met with head nods and hollow agreements.

I want to believe this is all a matter of his age. That he is going to get through this any day now, and that the little boy the wifey and I used to get compliments about because of his well-mannered behavior, will find his way to the surface, if not for anything other than to serve as a reminder that IT IS POSSIBLE to live a mixed life of equal parts cool, respect, and rationale. As of right now, however, I am seeing none of those three. Instead, what I am finding is an obnoxious little shit who knows everything and does nothing, wants everything and respects nothing, and talks up his own game but has yet to take a turn at rolling the dice of decision.

In hindsight, reading over this paints a pretty bleak picture of my son, and so I want to state for the record that he is not as bad a kid as is possible of someone at his impressionable age. No. It's all about finding himself, pushing the boundaries on our imposed limitations, and finding loopholes in our tween dictatorship to squeeze through.

Do I think a trip to Magic Mountain will solve our problems? No, sorry, but I don't. I think taking him to Magic Mountain is in many ways rewarding his behavior. I think he will relax in the interim because there is only he and I, and while many would consider that to be a good thing, knowing the way my son functions, I would speculate that he will use the time we share to his advantage. Why? Because he is an opportunist. He is quick witted and sharp, and can spot an opportunity a mile away.

x x x x x x x x x x

Having said all of that, it is now pushing 1:00 A.M. Two hours ago I left an incredible Social Distortion show at the Marquee Theater, and in five hours I have to get up and get the kids and the wifey off to school, followed by getting my blood drawn for a physical I had recently had done.

There's a lot to think about, so I am going to sleep on what I've said and revisit it in the morning. Should you have any questions or comments, I welcome them one and all. I can use a little guidance right now.

Prerequisites for Creativity

2006-02-25T23:12:00.000-07:00

To create, you need:
1. Time to develop your skills.
2. Confidence (high self-concept). There are risks involved with creativity. It can be scary to show people your work, and creativity can make people so jealous that they actually attack you. You need confidence to go ahead and create anyway.
3. A reasonably calm mood. Depression may be the most powerful creativity suppressant there is. Other forms of anxiety inhibit creativity too. When you are manic, you can be very original, but you are not necessarily able to follow through and develop your ideas into creative accomplishments. That is, creativity requires relaxation. Relaxing is the only way to give your unconscious mind a chance (which it may or may not take) to combine everything you know and everything you are thinking with everything else you know and everything else you are thinking until it hits on something wonderful. You need to completely let go and let your intuition and feelings take over.
4. Ability to remain alert while relaxed, that is, while your thoughts and feelings roam free. Here’s the challenge of creativity: to create, you need to leave your mind free to think and feel what it wants, except that it can’t fall asleep. If you are sleeping well at night, it should not be difficult to achieve this balance. But, if you are the type of person (like me) who was born unable to sleep soundly for eight hours a night, good luck! And if you are on psychotropic meds that dope you up, good luck!
Have you ever been really tired, but you were trying to stay awake? You sat down and rested for just a couple of minutes — and you fell sound asleep. When you are tired, the only way to stay awake is to stay active. Since creativity requires relaxation, not activity, it can be very difficult to create when you are tired.
5. Good sleep patterns. Good sleep patterns usually consist of 6 to 8 hours of sleep through the night (although everyone is different). Any less than 6 consecutive hours of night sleep probably constitutes a poor sleep pattern. If a poor sleep pattern continues long enough, it will slow your thinking, decrease your motivation (“I don’t want to paint. It’s just too much work!”), and cause you to drop things, make mistakes, and forget things until you are tempted to give up trying to be creative.

Strain vs. Resistance

2006-02-24T08:33:00.000-07:00

If I shake my head any longer, I'm convinced it will fall off my shoulders and onto the floor.

I find myself doing this more and more with my son, as he attempts to find his own nook in life. Lately EVERYTHING is a battle. I mean EVERYTHING. I can't say anything without his underdeveloped coping mechanism twisting and turning around the purpose of my words, or his overdeveloped tween false sense of security finding any possible fault with what I say. He tells me that he doesn't understand me, that I "confuse" him, that I "don't listen" to him. I tell him that he doesn't "pay attention" to what I say, that he is far too "cocky" for his age, that I'm not going to change my ways to suit his in the moment needs.

This is how it goes, day in and day out, seven days a week; I've become engaged in a verbal and mental pissing contest with a smart mouthed, unappreciative, neglecting, unfocused tweenager.

While eating supper last night, the topic of his homework had come up. Apparently, it involved finding the general term for different parts of the skeletal system, i.e.: clavicle = collar bone. He assumed that because the wifey is currently in school studying the difficult art of radiology that he could simply ask her for the general terms and move on with his day. WRONG! I proceeded to tell him that he needed to look them up on the computer - in short, do the required research, to which he retorted that his teacher didn't want them to. WHAT?! Since when does a teacher tell you not to look up the terms on an assignment like this?

The story continued to morph.

"Most people don't have to use the computer," he says.

"What about people who don't know what these terms are?" the wifey inquires.

"They turn in their assignments with the wrong answers and that's ok."

I am perplexed by the notion that it's acceptable for an assignment to be purposely turned in without having attempted to find the correct terminology, and say so.

"I don't buy it," I say. "It doesn't make sense. They purposely turn in assignments with incorrect answers?"

"No," he says. "Not everyone looks in Encyclopedias..."

I interrupt. "After supper, I want you to go onto the internet and research the answers. Having your mom give you the answers isn't learning..."

In hindsight, I think his reaction to my request would have been met much easier had he been kicked in the groin first, because the way he responded to me was anything short of unacceptable.

"Yes it is!" he insists. His voice is increasingly growing impatient.

"No... it's not. And if you..."

"She's not GIVING ME THE ANSWERS!" he snaps.

Because of this, he adds to his troubles the following day spent in the house, and a means of strongarming control away from him, he has lost his video game privileges for the day as well. That doesn't sway him in the slightest. He continues to push. He is warned. He pushes some more. The wifey steps in. He continues to push. Long story short, he is asked to leave the table. He tells me he's still eating. I look straight at him and tell him to go to his room.

"FINE!"

He storms out.

"NO T.V. ... AND NO STEREO!" I add as he pounces down the hallway.

He isn't allowed back to the table until I am finished eating.

The problem with this scenario is that he never gave me the chance to explain why I wanted him to do the research. He could have cared less. Because the wifey is familiar with this category of knowledge, he simply expected the answers to be handed to him, and when his grand idea fell through, he threw a temper tantrum - something, that, for being a pre-teen in search of a little personal freedom - shows clear signs of emotional immaturity on his part.

Later that evening I asked him when this incessant battle of the wills was going to end, to which he simply smirked at me and answered, "I don't know."

Interestingly enough, that's the very thing I keep whispering to myself about him.

"I don't know. I just don't know."

Reverberation vs. Regret

2006-02-23T08:21:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, I received a one page letter from my mother accompanied by an additional two page letter addressed to my father who, since their divorce nearly three years ago, has relocated and remarried, and I might add, appears to be doing quite well.

I have chosen to acknowledge this here, not because I am a vindictive and spiteful person, rather because I am beginning to feel the reverberation of lifelong regret for having contacted her to begin with.

The letter is as follows:

"Dear ( [sic] ),

I just left the envelope open so you can read the letter yourself.

As I write this, I am in the hospital and have been here for a week, I won't be home for a couple more days. I made Valentines for the kids, with $5.00 for (my son) - $9.00 for (my daughter). I'll mail them when I get home.

What a hoot - Valentines again.

Love you

-Mom- (underlined twice for impact)

Mom - not (my mother's name) - you stop disrespecting me - I don't deserve it."

As previously stated in an earlier post, while in Barstow I received a phone call from her which, at the urging of my wife, I chose to ignore. She did so, not because she is vindictive or spiteful, rather because she knows what happens to me when I talk to her. I go into an emotional tailspin, and for a brief moment on Saturday, I did just that. I once again let her gnaw at the very center of my soul via telephone conversations she had with my children.

Why do I let her eat at the core of my very existence?

Furthermore, I don't know what she expects from me, I really don't. My best guess is that she expects me to forgive and forget everything that has happened between us, that we're supposed to just pick up the shattered pieces of our life together and carry on as if nothing has happened.

It's not that simple.

I'm not that stupid.

It's not going to happen.

As I've explained to her many times, I have forgiven her for all of the things she did to me throught my life, but I will never forget any of it. This is not because I harbor resentment. There simply isn't a need. It's because I try to use what has happened to me as learning tools in how NOT to fuck up the realtionships with my family.

So why did I call her a few weeks ago? Because I had a feeling something was wrong. In more ways than I care to divuldge, she is a very unhealthy person. That said, when these feelings occurr (they are less frequent that one imagines), I move them aside to see if they will pass. Most times they do, but there are a few that linger for days and weeks at a time. (This time was certainly elongated because as is outlined in her letter, she went back into the hospital.)

There's no underlying message to all of this. It's me purging. It's me taking a mental and emotional shower in order to wipe away the filth I have once again come in contact with.

That said...

... I have two more things:

1) Calling you by your name is not a sign of disrespect. Referring to you as something other than your Godgiven moniker would be, i.e.: bitch, cunt, whore. I choose NOT to call you Mom, not because I am trying to disrespect you but because Mom is title that is earned. You have not earned yours.

2) You were adamant about changing your last name BACK to your maiden name, and have - according to you - gone so far as to address the courts regarding this matter. My question to you is, why did you address your letter to my father with his last name, a name you no longer carry?

Back To Lucidity

2006-02-22T10:11:00.000-07:00

Things are finally starting to come around again.

I am able to breathe a little easier, feel the sun on my face, smile at the chaos that took place over the past weekend and realize that my ENTIRE family, every last one of us, is a hodgepodge of insanity, instability, inability, insecurity, and moreover, fallibility. Like it or not, we're a bunch of drunks, druggies, freaks, fags, hypochondriacs, hussies, hypocrites, and enablers.

We are a veritable " Barstow Breakfast Club."

I don't know how things got to be as fucked up as they are, but if I were to hedge my bets, I would say the main culprit is time. We've all grown in our own individual ways, and we behave and believe the way we do because of the way we were brought up, because of where we're from, and because of who we've become. We've gown apart, and yet we remain freakishly close for a bunch of misfits hell-bent on self-destruction. And although we don't always see it that way, we are precisely where we are because of one another.

The standing question I've had for some time is: What will happen when the last thread of our family has unraveled and the seam that holds us together has separated?

Familial Detox

2006-02-21T08:56:00.000-07:00

What a hell of a weekend I've had.

Every morning was jumpstarted with a horrendous headache, quickly followed by massive amounts of Ibuprofin, a shower, and an extended trip to one of two local Starbucks (neither of which, I might add, can make a decent Iced Caramel Macchiato, nor knows what the Starbuckian term "melted" means.) But I digress...

Going into this trip I was nervous as hell, so much so that prior to reaching our chosen destination, I was on the verge of vomiting. In retrospect, much of my self-inflicted stress had to do with the ever evolving drama surrounding my family, and the need to routinely and incessantly wander through said drama's dark halls. Coupled with the fact that I was uncertain about the state of my grandmother's mental and physical health, I wasn't mentally prepared to make the trek. In addition, what I didn't take into account fully was the depth of some other familial issues - none of which I care to discuss here - sorry. But I will go on record by stating that what I learned firsthand over the course of four days was far more than I could have ever imagined, and I'm not even around to consume the problems as others in the family are. Each day I felt hurt and concerned and even more confused than I ever did, and now... now I just don't know what to make of the whole situation, familial or otherwise.

Throw into the mix a daily bout of exchanged verbal blows with my tween son, and unexpected phone calls from my mother and the subsequent eaves dropped conversations with my children that followed, and I was a fucking car crash. A train wreck. I wanted to take the AR-15 that was used in target practice on Saturday afternoon and tuck it under my chin. (I'll let you surmise the outcome of said visual.)

Taking into account everything I've just said, and without knowing the scope of the issues I have eluded, I assure you, I was hyper-sensitive. I was on edge. I was defensive. I was offensive. And at times... at times I was even pensive.

I tried taking daily drives around the Barstow block - and if you've ever been there, you'll agree that a block is a pretty accurate description of the town's diminutive size - yet it never really seemed to help. There were a few smiling faces: The blonde WalMart chick who mistook me for a tattoo artist and struck up a quick conversation about my sleeve and other pieces; the two really cool Main Street Starbucks chicks that kicked ass on my order even when I had to explain to them what I wanted, or lacked parts of my order and gave me free alternates in exchange; or the woman in the flower shop who didn't have what I was looking for but kindly directed me to her competion - who in turn didn't have what I was looking for either. They all helped in shining a ray of light on my day but in the end it wasn't enough. I took anti-anxiety pills, Vicodin... whatever felt right at the time, just so I could see myself through to the end of the day.

Don't get me wrong, there was laughter. My God there was laughter. Mostly at my expense, that is until the night of the impromptu cake and ice cream session for my daughter's missed birthday. From that point on, it appeared that the vibe of the vacation took a turn for the worse.

Overcompensation was attempted when most of the family regrouped the following day for a jaunt to local mining/ghost town attraction, Calico, but with everyone scattered about, there really wasn't any quality time to speak of. Just freezing cold weather, a scattering of tween boredom, and a half-assed attempt at a desert style Civil War reinactment.

The day we were scheduled to leave, something was amiss. I can't quite put my finger on it, other than to consider that maybe we had all reached an unexpected limit, but it appeared on both ends that we couldn't leave fast enough.

Maybe it was me. Maybe I was so desperately in need of familial detox that I didn't know what to do except run, but run I did. I ran like a Freudian Forrest Gump hopped up on caffeine and prescription drugs.