sigh

Despite being somewhat molested by my mother, the beatings and the mental abuse, I don’t hate her. I feel sorry for her.




With the drunkenness and never being there, I don’t hate my father. I miss him



I don’t hate my ex-wife. She’s happy now.



I’m in a good place now. I’m dating someone special. She makes me feel good.



My daughters are growing up into beautiful, intelligent women.



For the first time in years I think I can say I’m happy.



It’s been a long time, and I have to keep telling myself to not let it go to my head.



I remain cautiously optimistic.



I know I’ll be sad again someday, but for now I’m going to enjoy this time of contented happiness.

60

60 things people have said about me or called me.




1. A walking Wikipedia of useless knowledge.

2. Intelligent but disillusioned.

3. Oblivious

4. Lacks commitment.

5. Stupid

6. Beefcake

7. One of the most cool uncool people.

8. I seem like I’m from New York.

9. Nerd

10. Geek

11. Obsessive

12. Needs constant reassurance

13. No style

14. Looks better in life than in photos.

15. Fat

16. Skinny

17. Lazy

18. Failure

19. Dreamer

20. Distracting

21. Quite

22. Will be a cult hero someday.

23. Too sarcastic

24. Too honest

25. Too punk for the indie kids and too indie for the punk kids

26. Vampire cult leader.

27. Needs direction

28. Needs motivation

29. No ambition

30. Daddy (my favorite)

31. Husband

32. Ex-husband

33. Clumsy

34. Too caring

35. Doesn’t care enough.

36. Scared

37. Too polite

38. Asshole

39. Fag

40. White trash

41. Thief

42. Friend

43. Brother

44. Bi-polar

45. Manic depressive

46. Annoying

47. Ugly

48. Smelly

49. Lackadaisical

50. Cowardly

51. Poor

52. Lucky

53. Strong

54. Tough willed

55. A survivor

56. Inspirational

57. Addictive

58. Uncle

59. Bastard

60. boring

oh well

I am totally stressing out about money today. I am also in this weird stupid/happy mood. I was up till one this morning worrying about my financial situation. I came to the conclusion that there is nothing I can do about it. At least not right now. Every thing seems to work if you let it. So that’s what I’ll do, let it. I have a roof over my head, a car to get me where I need to go and food in the cupboards. Although honestly, I may not have the roof over my head for much longer.




As for the stupid/happy, I haven’t felt like this in a long time. I missed it. To this person, I say thank you.

Weekend of death and new life.

Friday night. 04/23/2010




It’s 10:30 at night. I’m dressed in a black button down shirt and black pants. I leave the apartment. On the sidewalk in front of my building someone says “Hey!” I turn towards the voice. There is a flash of light and I’m suddenly falling backwards. I’m on the ground. My chest hurts. I can’t hear anything. I can’t breath, my clothes are wet. Everything’s dim. There are people around me, but I can’t hear what they are saying. I close my eyes.



I woke up after that. I sat up and thought, that was odd, is that how I’ll go? I went to the bathroom, got some water and went back to sleep.



Saturday morning 04/24/2010



I leave the apartment. I have a few errands to run and want to get them done early. I can see a car in the distance as I cross the street to my car. The driver and passenger are looking at the floor. I get to my car and notice they are still looking down and headed straight for me. I don’t have enough time to get in my car. I hug it as they pass by. I feel the back of my jacket being brushed by the car. They hit two parked cars and stop. The driver gets out. He is stoned. He says “Man I dropped my Slurpee.” Notice he didn’t say sorry. The police were called and I gave a report. Both of them were arrested.



Saturday night.



I had an amazing time. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

Celebrate the new dark ages.

Last night it hit me. A cold wave washed over me. I knew it was happening again. It wrapped around me and pulled me under. I struggled for a bit, but ultimately gave in and went under. It felt familiar. I know this. I embrace it. It is my friend.


I’ve learned to wear my wounds with pride. I’m not exactly proud of my past, but I do not regret a minute of it. I wear my pain and suffering like a badge of honor as a constant reminder to not set myself up because I will fall again. That’s life I suppose. Every artist needs a tragedy. We all need to suffer to be alive. It keeps us grounded.

I won’t be down for long. Tomorrow I’ll probably happy again.

Part of me doesn’t want that.

If I think

Today could go either way. I went to bad sad and woke up sad. Not for any reason, I just did. I’m human and get moody sometimes.


Still wondering about tonight, still wondering about a lot of things really. Still wondering about friends who don’t know what’s going on and wondering about the ones who do. Questions, everyone has questions. I remain guarded in my answers. Some take the hint, some don’t. I don’t get mad. They just care about me and don’t want to see me hurt again, and well, me too.

I remain cautiously optimistic though. If anything, I met someone amazing and for the time being, I am happy (but still wondering).

We need air. No allegiance to the queen.

When my parents divorced we moved into a house with another family. My mother had no concept of working or paying rent. We moved into one of the bedrooms. My sister had a bed. I had to share a bed with my mom. She would get drunk before bed. She would pull me to her and put my head on her breast. She would rub her hands all over me. She would put her hands on my underwear and rub while whispering to me “You’ll never leave me.” I hated it. I hated her. I hated myself for letting this happen. After a year I finally told her to stop and started sleeping on the floor. She said I just wanted to get away so I could jerk off like my father. I was ten. I had no idea what she meant. We finally moved out. I had my own room, but it became a prison cell. I wasn’t allowed to leave that room unless I had to go to the bathroom, eat or go to school. At three o’clock in the afternoon I had to be in my room. I couldn’t have friends or phone calls. All I had was a little black and white TV, a record player and my books. Those were my escape. I would with TV and pretend I was part of those happy families. I was the characters in the books I read. I was the singer on the records I listened to.