That's when I reach for my Macallan

Looking at where I was ten years ago, Jesus how did I get out of it in one piece? I've said that many times, and am projecting it all to the country now. When do the flames start? Will they signify an ending, or new beginning?

The transfer of power has been peaceful and stable, until this one. Every day another boondoggle of half truths, lies and obfuscation. All to keep control on the populace, that would be us.

So I dip into the 12 year old stock in the cabinet. Realize I'm more secure on paper than any time in my life. And wonder if I will ever sleep right again.

A moment of being pulled into the shit

If someone does not like when you call them a bigot online, perhaps they should not be posting things that are racist.

Done now. The bigot used a dictionary definition in his final act.

People are funny, except when they're racist.

Good thing there are some baby camels to calm me down.

It's trendy to slag them off now

This song is one of the several that got me through a rough patch in my life nine Novembers ago. This month symbolizes lock down to me. The leaves go, have to be picked up and raked. We're paying someone to do that for us now, which is one major difference from those days when bleak was the norm. The temperature drops then the days get shorter as I go to work in the dark and come home to sunset.

Doesn't help that death came last month and there are now constant reminders of it to our house throughout the holidays now.

So maybe the best thing tonight will be drinking down some Cava and watching the Bills/Jets game from the couch. Even the football is taking up too much time investment these days. I've only so much time, so many hours, left. It's coming to a point where I have to really start thinking hard about time allocation. Or maybe I should just go with what I'm dealt, every day, for whatever is left.

It's hard to remember the fun with all the shouting going on when I look at my screen, which I admit is another part of the problem.

I will be out for a reading tomorrow night, at Kitamu Coffee in Hilliard, featuring with the wonderful Nancy Kangas. Here's the information about it. I will have a lot of new and newer poems about death and travel. Guaranteed to be entertaining and engaging. Plus, free!

The return of the October Classic to my radar

Twenty nine years ago this month I was sitting in my living room in Fredonia, New York, watching the Mets win the World Series on a 13” black and white television trying not to celebrate too much as my then wife had her face in a pillow. She was a Red Sox fan and was devastated. I had to mute any joy I had, which was fairly representative of that relationship.

Fifteen years ago I was at a New York Rangers/Tampa Bay Lightning hockey game the night Roger Clemens threw part of Mike Piazza’s bat back at him. I saw this happen through long lost binoculars as I looked at the screens of the luxury boxes of Madison Square Garden from my Uncle’s seats. My then fiance and I were on vacation, visiting my family on Long Island. That is about the only memory I have of the 2000 Subway Series other than the yankees won it all at now demolished Shea Stadium. They should have won it on their own turf, but so it goes.

It was harder for me to follow my team from Columbus, Ohio back in those days. After the 1994 strike that cut the season short, I did not look at a game or a box score in the newspaper for an entire year and never really got my enthusiasm for baseball back. It took a few more cable channels devoted to baseball and an internet that could always find access to a game to bring it back.

I watched two end of season collapses from afar and a horrible playoff loss in the last decade or so. This year I have been paying even more attention.

After an impressive take down of the Dodgers and a sweep against the Cubs that I would never have predicted the Mets find themselves in the World Series against the Kansas City Royals. The Royals return to the series for the second straight year after getting defeated in gut wrenching fashion by the San Francisco Giants. The team has not won the series since 1985.

So this is where we are at: the solid hitting of the Royals vs. the young hurlers of the Mets.

Will the bats of the Royals solve the fastballs of the Mets pitching, or will control be the key for the New Yorkers? From my side, I’m worried about the left shoulder of Yoenis Cespedes they way I was about the field crippled Rusty Staub in 1973. Can Lucas Duda produce in the way he did in game four against the Cubs? If so, he is capable of carrying a team.

And of course there’s the explosive chaos that surrounds Daniel Murphy, who had owned opposing pitching this postseason to the point where he now has a major league record of most games in the postseason with a home run to call his and his alone. Will he be able to keep up his amazin’ pace against the erratic starting pitching of Kansas City?

The Royals have home field advantage, which means the designated hitter will be involved in at least two games. The Mets are said to be using Kelly Johnson in this role, but I prefer the seemingly out of favor Michael Cuddyer. I think the starting pitching is going to be ok and adjust to the fastball hitting Kansas City lineup, the way for the Mets to win will once again be maintaining their offense and ability to generate runs. I’m excited!

Not the Dark Knight, but Gotham

With the Mets coming closer and closer to clinching a playoff berth for the first time in years, it will be good to finally relax and get the distraction of imminent collapse out of the way and focus on the other stupid distraction that is taking away from genuine accomplishments on the field this season. I can only mean Matt Harvey’s arm and the agent and/or physician indicated inning count.

On Sunday, Harvey was on the mound against the yankees and pitched five excellent innings. After that he was pulled from the lineup because someone above Mets management believes that Harvey pitching too many innings will hurt his arm. After Harvey left the game, with a 1-0 lead, the Mets fell apart and lost 11-2. This was not necessarily Harvey’s fault, but you could tell it messed with the flow of the team.

It’s understandable that no one wants Harvey to get hurt again. It’s also understandable that his agent, Scott Boras, is looking out for his client and a good payday of his own. But what about the rest of the team. How does it look when one of their own is not allowed to compete at his fullest?

Athletes, are supposed to leave everything out there on the field of play, especially during a playoff run and post season. You do not pitch when you want to, you go to the mound and stay there when it’s your turn in the rotation.

Could you imagine a NFL quarterback pulling himself out of a game after three quarters or a NHL goaltender taking himself off the ice after two periods - they’d be laughed out of the league.

But because the arm of a pitcher is babied like an orchid or sensitive banker we are subjected to this behavior. Harvey’s role as a postseason starter is still murky. Do you really want to see another on field collapse in a seven game series after Harvey gets pulled after four or five innings? This would not be indicative of a big time player, but a selfish mind who only wants what he wants now. And if this is how he is now, what happens in 2018 when some team that may not be the Mets signs him to a massive payday? Heaven forbid he gets hurt ever again.

What I've been doing all summer

There is something happening in my life that has been a part of my life for years, but in the last six months it has really flared up. I’ve hinted about it in the past but it’s finally time for me to talk about it more openly here.

How about those Mets?

This season has been a rollercoaster of Daniel Murphy chaos, Matt Harvey inning count drama, Yoenis Cespedes heroics, Wilmer Flores emotions and so so much more.

I had hope going into the season. Harvey was back after arm surgery, the pitching staff looked very sound. The rest of the lineup was Wright, Granderson and some prayers.

In April the team went on an eleven game winning streak. The pitching was doing some strong work while the bats were pulling out just enough to win.

The Wright got hurt, then d’Arnaud their steady young catcher got hurt.

Then the bats stopped working altogether. May and June were grim months as the team struggled to keep pace with the division leader. July was not much better. A player hitting .176 was hitting cleanup as injuries mounted and team depth diminished. What in the names of Mayberry, Monell and Muno was happening? There was discussion to let a couple of the better batting pitchers pinch hit. The fan base was screaming at GM Sandy Alderson to make a move to improve the team. Michael Conforto was brought up from the minors, and while he’s a fine young outfielder who is only going to get better, he was no savior. Then they brought up phenom Steven Matz, who pitched and hit very well for two games until he tore a muscle in his back. This, also, was so Mets.

In mid-July Alderson was forced to deal. He made a couple of trades of some promising minor league pitchers and brought in Juan Uribe and Kelly Johnson. Both players immediately upgraded the slop that was on the bench and they immediately made impacts on the team on the field, and in Uribe’s case, in the locker room.

Later in the month, with reliever Jeurys Familia in a post All Star Game slump, Alderson traded with Oakland for reliever Tyler Clippard - a move that strengthened the bullpen and sent their closer a small message - which was received.

Then, on July, 29th, one of the most amazing, crazy and incompetent thing in franchise history happened. While losing to the San Diego Padres, internet rumors of a trade between the Mets and Brewers that would send outfielder Carlos Gomez to the Mets for shortstop Wilmer Flores and injured pitcher Zack Wheeler reached the team bench. Manager Terry Collins had not heard these rumors, and kept Flores in the game. Flores went out for his at bat and received very warm goodbye applause from the crowd at Citi Field and went he went to play his position, teams fell as he took the field.

The trade though, did not occur. The Mets thought Gomez was an injury risk and pulled out.

The Night of The Tears had happened.

Then, at the trading deadline two nights later, the Mets traded for Yoenis Cespedes. This was the power hitter the team was lacking all season. Cespedes was acquired just as the team was starting a series with the division leading Washington Nationals.

Game one was tight. A 1-1 tie that went into extra innings. In the bottom of the twelfth the first real magic from The Night of The Tears happened as Wilmer Flores hit a walk off home run that gave the Mets the 2-1 win. The Mets went on to a three game sweep of the Nats and were tied for first place in the NL East.. They were nowhere near out of it now. This was a pennant race.

In August the bats were unleashed in a fury. Lucas Duda hit about 40 home runs in a week. The team reeled off two straight 14-9 wins in Colorado, put up an insane sixteen run barrage in Philadelphia and slowly began extended their division lead.

The Captain, David Wright returned to the lineup after being out since April for treatment for spinal stenosis and provided his leadership and overall skills. Catcher Travis d’Arnaud was finally healthy - the team has a solid winning record when he’s in the lineup.

By the end of the month the Mets still led the division but things got a bit wonky in Miami as they lost two of three to the Marlins and held a four game lead with a three game series to the Nats to come.

During this series in Washington, the Mets were behind in each of those games, including an six run deficit in game two, a soul crushing defeat of Stephen Strasburg - who was pitching the game of the season until Johnson’s game tying home run, and swept the morale out of the Nats and now lead by seven games with 23 left to play.

Credit must also be given to Manager Terry Collins, who actually has a team to manage now. He’s platooning the right guys, knows how to treat his players. As long as he can handle the middle relief, which no manager can seem to do anymore, he’ll keep the ship sailing.

That’s where things stand today in this crazy season of on field crying, late game heroics and all of the amazing plays and players I have not mentioned. The Clubhouse Raccoon and Rally Parakeet have become as beloved as Wilmer Flores’ emotions as September solidifies and you realize your 45th year of Mets fandom is going to have an incredible ending. When they won it all in 1986 they ran away with the division and saved all the crazy for the playoffs. It feels so different this year. The less said about 2006 and 2007 the better. This season, every game, every week, brings drama, social media snark, excitement and victories.

No matter what happens; be it the end of this month, the beginning, middle or (preferably) the end of October - win or lose, there are going to be tears when this season finally ends.

All of the screens

Still working on how to best utilize social media. It’s hard to reduce the massive time suck that it has become. I have been using FB Purity to lessen a lot of the clutter and for the most part is has been a success. Doing less hate reading as well, which keeps the blood pressure down.

A couple of weeks ago there was a culling of about 15-20% of my Facebook contacts list. These are people who I never had any real interaction with, nor I with them so what’s the point? I think one person noticed and sent me a friend request, which I approved - and neither of us have acknowledged each other since. Again, what’s the point?

I have no idea how people manage thousands of contacts. Sure there’s a lot of filtering involved I get that, but when does a person with over 4,000 contacts get to actually interact with all of them? Do they treat it like a giant Rolodex from the olden days? Sure it’s great to have a lot of contacts. You never know when you can help a person and they you, and people are going to use the application differently I know. Personally, I need a bit more back and forth - and to control my social media content and not have it control me.

All this scrolling takes away the time I could be writing, reading, goofing off with my kid, talking to my wife, watching a decent movie, fixing the gate in the backyard - something else. Even this inane little blog post feels better to accomplish than clicking like. It is something that has been actively completed.

Now, to see what those four new tweets are all about.

Eating and reading amidst all the chaos

Today was one of those days when you just want to come home and get under a blanket with a bottle of whiskey. A traumatic first day of school for a soon to be thirteen year old turned into a double murder live on air. It was hard to focus on anything while having a discussion of local politics with a local party high up which turned into laughter when it was revealed a local community that thrives on authenticity is getting a mall pizza shop in their neighborhood. For once I was happy that the west side was neglected. Quite the social media day considering I culled about fifty people my list earlier this week.

Then one of the baby pandas at the National Zoo died.

At least my wife loves me even when I think my kid does not.

At least I am thankful to have Saga and Martin try to solve murders in Sweden and Denmark for a few more hours.

And the Mets keep winning.

Did manage to find a decent low priced Chinese take out in the area recently. There is a great Thai place in the back of an Asian market that we frequent, but sometimes you just want the sweet and sour chicken or pork strips without all the heat. There is one place that recently changed ownership and is now called Asian Wok, but I'm not feeling the need to be a pioneer. So I did some Yelp research and gave Peking Wok on West Broad a chance.

The Wife and I like it. She says the lo mein is quite good. I can vouch for the sweet and sour chicken and roast pork and snow peas. The only minor miss was the fried dumplings. For plenty of food we paid about fifteen bucks. It's in the Franklinton Center and it's a hole in the wall but they're busy making very tasty things in their kitchen.

Been trying to read more and am almost succeeding. Recently finished a very good crime book from the UK. Here's my Amazon review

From the author of the Eoin Miller trilogy comes Ways To Die In Glasgow, a new crime thriller from Jay Stringer. Sam Ireland is a Glasgow private investigator who gets involved in a case that becomes much more complex, and deadlier than she expected. Stringer also gives us the story from the perspectives of Mackie, a violent young man with a missing gangster Uncle and Lambert, a detective who tries to stretch the system as much as possible to his benefit. It's a fast paced dark and witty romp with a high body count. Men are missing, lawyers and policemen are corrupt and steadfast - just like life. Stringer writes about his now home city with great detail and gritty affection. We're shown the dark, violent pubs and the spotless purity of legal firms, with plenty of one liners and wit that rises above the many blood stains. A good read by an author with a promising future, and that cover of Coney is brilliant.

I've also just cracked the spine of Neurotribes a look at autism from a historical and scientific perspectives. Steve Silberman has done some impressive research with this heavily buzzed about book. Hope to finish it sooner than later.

And to finish, here's a cool new song by the great Darlene Love.

My shut up Frank DeFord post

There’s a growing tedium about social media for me these days. It’s become Social Issues Media with so many posting links about ideas they supposedly feel really passionate about with quotes from long dead icons of politics or religion or or or.

It’s either that or the constant asking for something. A gofundmekickstarter for something or someone that is important. And everything is so important these days, or worth my time, or urgent or or or.

And yes, I am damn guilty of this too. I can’t help it, the Mets are leading the division by five games.

No one seems to be doing, or at least sharing, any real writing online anymore. Storifying tweets does not count! It’s rare that I see (or do one myself) a post that is more than two or three lines. So much is dependent on a link. Live Journal is dead, Facebook has turned into clickbait and likes with little depth other than posters who really feel strongly about something right now and so should you!.

There is so much hyperbole. If everything is a masterpiece or great or amazing or or or we’ve really lowered the bar on what a masterpiece is. The fun is fading, it’s not thought provoking for me, just provoking. Hate reading is exhausting, not healthy and cuts have to be made.

Of course the people online have all the answers to everything, starting with grammar. Do not say anything wrong or you may be the subject of a passive/aggressive post because direct communication is so not right now. I am doing my best to call people on their stuff, but it’s becoming easier to unfollow or remove. My blood pressure is high enough as is. Then again, I’m not charismatic enough to have the Internet Mob pay any attention to me. Hey, reading this post helps me understand that!

I do not march in lockstep nor am I a deliberate contrarian. Hell, I do not play well with others. I’m just so fucking tired. You’re not going to get a list of twenty reasons why.

The weird area of social media

Yesterday I received a friend request from a person with whom I had one mutual friend. Did a little vetting on the person's page and added back. You never know what to expect when a complete stranger adds you, with no obvious reason for them to do so. It is on me that I added this person with little hesitation.

The next thing I knew I got a like on a link I posted over a week ago. I guess that's what we do when we add someone, go back a bit in their timeline to see who they are. To get a small picture of what they do. This is understandable.

Right after that the person's cover photo was changed into one of my vacation pictures. There was no thank you, no introduction, no credit given for the picture. But this person got a couple of likes, so that makes it ok, right? The person had to go into my photo albums then dig through a couple of recent ones to find that picture.

It's not like the picture is a work of art, it's not. It's not a picture worthy of monetizing, ever. I have no intention of attempting to copyright the photo. It's a Bukowski quote that is painted on the wall of a bar in Glasgow.



I recommend Chinaski's they have a great selection of bourbon, and a sweet patio in the back which is where that picture was taken.

In the past I've posted a few pictures on this blog with no credit, which is wrong and I try not to do that anymore. It does bug me that a complete stranger adds me on Facebook then takes one of my pictures with no hello or credit. If I say something directly does it make me a bad person?

The Bad Trevor Noah Blues

The Bad Trevor Noah Blues

Court jesters should be funny
That’s how we want them to be
Now they should never tell a joke
that is offensive to me

I saw the man who got that job
said something bad about a Jew
Not a joke that’s never been said
but it was disappointing to me and you

I saw the man who got that job
said something bad about a girl
Not a joke that’s never been said
but it made people want to hurl

If we’re going to hold our comics
to be authentic and with pure soul
We’re going to look a long long time
for a funnyman to fill that hole

Closings and bannings

It is always a little disappointing when a local place you frequent closes down. On Sunday it was announced that The Jury Room was sold and would be reopened in a couple of weeks. My wife and I liked the place a lot, we thought the staff was great. When we brought my severely autistic son who does not eat off the menu due to his eating disorder, they were always accepting and accommodating.

It was weird that the owner, Liz Lessner, was relatively quiet about the closing online in that when one of her other establishments recently closed, she was very open, in painful detail, during the process of the close. With the Jury Room, there was no process, but this happens.

The local newspaper published what I think is a fluff piece about the closing that seemed more like damage control to me.

Why damage control? A former employee was publicly posting about financial difficulties and Columbus Underground, a local message board, was also getting a few posts about the situation. Questions were asked, some I thought legitimate. There were people defending Lessner and others not so much.

I decided to reach out to Liz. We exchanged some respectful emails and I felt comfortable she told me her side of the story.

Meanwhile the Jury Room thread on Columbus Underground attracted various sock puppets, trolls and deflectors, including the site's own food critic. Not a very professional move on her part. One poster was banned from the site and created a blog about Columbus Underground censorship.

I understand that Columbus Underground is Walker Evans' site, and he has rules. But his ways of moderating the site are quite arbitrary. He'll allow trolls, and newly created user names to post all kinds of libel, bullying and misogyny, but when questions are asked of a city business owner, posts begin to get deleted. He deleted my link to the blog post immediately and sent me a private message about the terms of service of the site being violated. We exchanged some messages and I told him he was promoting bullying and misogyny through his site and could have done better in handling the Jury Room thread.

We all like a few laughs, but when internet mob rule runs a website unfettered while important questions go unanswered, it might be time to rethink my interaction with a local message board.

You're all just hangers on!

On a day in which I witness brand theft, when critiques of a poetry slam go passive/aggressive on Twitter, when imaginary FEMA camps for bad people are still a thing and I call out a local website for being mainstream and no longer underground this song comes to mind.

An old comment I made well over a decade ago

"How do we all bore through the things that happen to us? The sufferings and miseries that always occur. and sure someone else can come in here with a tale of woe far greater than mine, and be forever changed. and someone else can come in with a take of woe seemingly less painful. But dammit, it fucks you up and it fucks you up and good. and for someone else to say to get over it, or let it go. well you just want to slap them."

Potato salad and circuses

I'm down with some trends. I've seen plenty of crowd funding projects in my day. I've seen millions of dollars spent to develop an app that just says, "Yo."

The outrage of the day, which we will all forget about next week the way we love Ani DeFranco or Bryan Singer again is that some dude in Columbus wanted to make some potato salad.

(if I was not so lazy, I'd download a picture of a pop culture icon eating some potato salad at a picnic in this space)

The dude's from Columbus, I do not know him. I'm sure he's a fine young man. I have nothing against him.

(Here's where I'd make a meme linking Game of Thrones to potato salad)

The dude started a Kickstarter in which he would accept donations from people to make potato salad.

(Here's a picture of James Dimon eating potato salad, or maybe drinking a smoothie)

The fund link went viral and the guy at one point had raised over twenty thousand dollars. Not bad for a guy who just wanted to hang out, maybe watch the World Cup and chow on a side dish.

(here's a shot of Lebron James from his Ohio days, at a picnic)

Meanwhile other people who have begun their own Kickstarter campaigns for their own business dreams are struggling to comprehend how some guy is raking in much more coin than they.

(put Marlon Brando from Streetcar Named Desire on the curb staring up at a window with Lana Del Rey photoshopped in place of Vivian Leigh)

Meanwhile food pantries are struggling to stay stocked while people donate to a man's quest for a potato salad recipe.

I'm not hating on the player, the guy found a niche and is running with it. The game though, it's a mess.

Yes, I've seen that Oatmeal cartoon

The World Cup began on Thursday. It's not the Stanley Cup, the Super Bowl, Game of Thrones, a movie about a graphic novel, a sequel about a movie about a graphic novel, a reboot of a movie and its sequels about a graphic novel.

People on social media write about all of these things. All of the time. Sometimes too much, and then they complain about it. There are bigger things in this world happening than a sporting event, or a television show. I know this. People are dying, being oppressed and killed all the time and to live tweet that would put anyone in the looney bin.

My social media friends and contacts may not be that diverse, maybe they are, but they're from all over the world, and some of them are going to talk about The World Cup.

So am I.

And if my friends were as tolerant as they profess to be on social media, they would understand.

You know who else did that?

To maintain a presence on social media means a near constant solicitation by others known and unknown. If it's not a kickstarter type campaign, there is someone out there needing money, asking you to buy their book, music, like their business page and on and on. For the most part I'm fine with this, it's easy to scroll past, to acknowledge or even donate to the cause on occasion.

It's the guilt trip that irks me. Do not try to make me feel guilty if I do not vote for your pet salamander as the cutest in the midwest. Do not say I am not a real friend even after I notice you did not offer any sympathy after my Mother died, you will not get my vote. And if you threaten to unfriend me if I do not click like, well guess what? It's already been done.

April is National Poetry Month with means that many poets will be attempting a thirty poems in thirty days project. I wish all of them well. I will not be doing that this year. Taking off in the middle of the month will not give me enough time to commit to it daily. Plus, I am not feeling confident. Done it before, along with other projects. Even had an idea in mind for this April, but winter sapped my spark. My idea is still with me though.

Bring out the Berke Breathed icons

In a world in which I was asked to produce records or be the guy who makes the 12" remixes, the opening horn riff of this song would have been exploited to death.



Or at least used one extra riff during the song. It really grabs you, and it would not have hurt to bring it in one more time.

But what the hell do I know? I'm just a guy who has his bad poetry put on youtube, thanks for reading.

Overwrought family drama

When a memoir is full of odd, factual errors outside of the author's life, I wonder how much real truth is being fed to me.

Such is the case with Pat Conroy's latest, The Death of Santini: The Story of a Father and His Son. Conroy reveals, to no real shock if you're familiar with his work, that a lot of his books, especially The Great Santini, are not really fiction.

We're told of the horrible childhoods Conroy and his six siblings had. They're so damaged that five of the seven attempted suicide and, tragically, one succeeded.

Conroy tells us of his eventual love and respect for this father, Don Conroy aka The Great Santini. He tells of the worship he had for his mother, and how the beauty of the Mother in The Prince of Tides was all her.

Meanwhile, his siblings do not quite remember things Pat does. I think we can infer that it was a very violent childhood, that Dad was a horror to be near. But his relationships with some of his siblings, like in many families, are often strained. His relationship with his sister Carol, a writer as well, is non-existent except at funerals, and the two funerals Conroy depicts here are doozies of family drama.

Conroy writes rich, with great Olympian detail to every paragraph. This is an asset as well as a massive, exhausting to read flaw. It's also something Conroy has made a career at.

I'm still trying to figure out how he created a member of the McCourt family named Patrick, who told Conroy that his brother was writing Angela's Ashes. There is no member of that family, and none that was a bartender in San Francisco either. Unless he meant Malachy, which means the editor failed.

It's small errors such as this that ruin the narrative for me and left me a bit disappointed when I finished.

The first pity post of 2014

Resolutions really are not my thing, they lead to disappointment. Sure, I'd like to drop 30-40 pounds, live a more authentic life that is filled with joy, substance and other buzz terms of the New Year but it's hard to not be cynical even though you know you have to plow through the first signs of failure.

The last few weeks have been a real struggle. It's been doubly hard when I have had little rest due to my son's energy and poor sleep cycles dominating the evening and early morning hours. I freely admit to being a total asshole when I'm sleep deprived, and thank my wife profusely for taking care of my son during the days of his winter break. Dealing with me in general is not easy, and I cannot express my gratitude enough that she chooses to sleep next to me, and stuff.

My son has definitely made real, solid and true progress with his eating. He's gaining weight, and that is a goal being reached. In other ways though, he's really locked in his world, in verbal and social skills he is sorely lacking and in toilet training, well, not going there in full today.

So it's disheartening hearing about other people's kids doing so well in school and sports and in life. Why didn't I get this? Woe is me. I do not begrudge the success of anyone's child. It's great, and wonderful. But to go brag about asking my son what he wants when he gets out of the shower and he says the word, "dry." Really do not want to put that in a status update. Especially when I ask him at 4:30 the next morning, after he's been up for an hour, after four hours sleep, what he wants and I get no response at all but another few pages of script he memorized from the Wonderpets. Here's where I question my parenting skills, and this happens often.

So it's the lack of daylight, and warmth, and the grief I'm feeling in so many ways right now has reduced my confidence, made my face break out and put me off track in writing and getting my shit together with the Arts Festival. I mean, what the hell do I do when people to not respond to a direct question? I can't put my energy into repeating the questions anymore.

In some ways I'm feeling like an outsider looking in on other people's lives and my lack of involvement in them. Sometimes I think all the cool stuff happens on weekends and nights I have my son. I also know it is my fault I am not reaching out enough. In 2014, I can only once again get the energy to get out of the house, shut the laptop and try try again to move forward. This is a very hard thing to accomplish.