Temporary breakthrough

To say that I have written very little lately is an obvious understatement. I'm not even talking about updating this blog, but writing in general. The addictive time suck of social media, along with a lack of confidence has really caused me to essentially stop writing. It's been months since I've written a poem.

Months.

Since Meatgrinder last July, perhaps?

It's been a few years since I've written with any energy and grief stopped that in its tracks. Now, I have zero confidence in putting any thought to paper, let alone want to present it to people at a reading. I think I have successfully erased myself from the Columbus poetry scene. That's how low I feel.

Something was festering in my head for a few weeks though. The germ of a thought that came from an observation. Could I put it down and feel like i am not mining my son's life, which is (again) what the poem is about?



There was a moment in time before a webinar today when I set pen to paper and hoped. It took less than five minutes for most of it to be put down. I refrained from putting the paper in the shredder. During the webinar I edited it a bit and in typing at home it got edited a bit more.

Not the best, far from it. Not the worst, far from it. But it's something, and it's been a long time since I put something down that I did not immediately hide or erase.

More from the Westgate Cavern

Today is Scott Hutchinson's birthday. I'm doing my part, with clumsy fingers, to keep Frightened Rabbit's music alive.

Anything but the Mets

Anthony Bourdain's death was a blow on the bruise of Scott Hutchinson's. Both less than a month apart. Both had the signs, but many (myself included) thought they had gotten through the really bad stuff. I keep forgetting that depression does not just go away. It does not go away like putting Visine on red eyes. It can return at any time, they way a powerful wave at the beach can knock you into the undertow. The way you can be doing well one minute but a thought, a couple of bad thoughts can enter your head and flood it to the point where the body is incapacitated. It all sucks, so much, and plodding on while all this nonsense is happening around us becomes increasingly difficult.

Had two beers with friends last night and woke up feeling absolutely lousy today. Been trying to cut back on the alcohol because it's really not helping me tolerate the daily chaos the administration creates every day. Still paralyzed by all the grief though. Unable to focus on reading, what gets written down is garbage and confidence remains low.

A couple of weeks ago we said the heck with it and put my son in underwear. If he pees or shits in it we'd deal. So far he has not had one accident. His underwear has been dry. Been peeing in the toilet this whole time. He will with more frequency go into the bathroom unprompted. As for the poop though, it's a mystery sometimes. There have been instances he has used his hands to put the poop in the toilet. Sometimes he does not use this extra step, sometimes he does. It is a profound improvement.

Truck, what truck?

52 is an odd year for an even number. I'm one year younger than my Brother when he died. It's tough to wrap my head around that, still, and all the other grief I've dealt with over the last year.

Did a lot of driving this weekend in the new car. It's been a comfort, a lot of fun to drive. Went to Yellow Springs for lunch, another match of International Mini Golf (the first draw!) and to Westerville for dinner. Took in a good sunset at Hoover Reservoir.



My Wife's been taking good care of me. This afternoon we went to the Ohio Theater and took in a matinee of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Clark Wilson did his thing on the Mighty Morton Organ.



So it's been a good birthday weekend. And I got a reminder from my son's mother about upping the size of diapers. He's eating well, if not sleeping right, but he is growing - he never came with a pause button.

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."

The missing phone call I cannot make

First Mother's Day without Mom around this year and it's solemn. You scroll through all the pictures on the social media of friends with their Mothers who are still thriving and you can't be mad. Life is for the living. And some friends recognize that the people in their circles have Mothers who are no longer around, and that's alright too I guess.

I want to call her and say that her Grandson is going to have the same caretaker this summer as last, and they're going to have fun because they will not be going to the hospital every day like last summer.

I want to call her and say I had a great time at Kafe Kerouac's 10th anniversary bash and that Scott Woods hosted an excellent and compact 45 minutes of poetry and assembled some great poets.

I want to tell her that being involved in an increasingly bureaucratic organization is taking the fun out of it for me and I'm not doing the thing about the thing that I should be doing.

I want to tell her how wonderful my wife is at putting up with my nonsense but that we did not get into an argument at IKEA yesterday despite her not liking the coffee mug I wanted. Oh, we could afford to buy stuff at IKEA yesterday, thanks Mom.

I want to tell her we're going to have a heat pump installed later this month so we'll have central air in the house for the first time in 11 years. Thanks Mom.

I want to tell her that a lot of people miss her because she's not around. And that people will always love her.

One month in

This was the week I could finally get a few things done with the car that needed to be done.

When you buy a car by yourself, there are things you may not necessarily think of. After I signed the papers and took the car home my wife and I went out shopping.

When she went to open the passenger door, there was no handle! Very odd. When you're the driver, you take for granted the handle will be there. I immediately called the dealership. Sure, I missed it, but do they really want to be known for selling a car with no door handle?

The salesman was kind of surprised too, "I'd say that was an essential piece of equipment." He agreed to have it taken care of. It took a bit longer than I wanted, but holidays and other things set in. Finally got that taken care of yesterday.

About a week after I had the car, I looked in the trunk a bit more, and there was the broken door handle.

There were other things the dealer was not going to take care of that I had done today. Could have had them done myself, but I have neither the patience or tools to get the job I wanted done. Sometimes paying for peace of mind is easier than doing it yourself.

Mom's been gone a month and it's hard. I want to call her, but that's impossible. My motivation for a lot of things is low, but I plod on. Have to. Spoke to my step-father, who naturally has his moments also, but is keeping busy.

I've been told the park bench will be assembled and etched with daffodils along with a plaque. It's going to be dedicated in April, when the flowers in the park will be in bloom. If I can get some advance notice, I'm going to do my best to be there. If you'd like to donate to preserve the park my loved so much, you can do so here. If you have, a sincere thank you on behalf of my family.

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.