Hey Mom. Just thought I would type a quick note while I had a moment. The things you left behind are being put to good use. Seemed like I would never see the bottom of the old cigar box full of quarters. Must have been around $200 worth. I stretched those quarters to clean countless loads of laundry for your Son and granddaughters. Thanks. I used to always laugh to myself when I pushed a cart up and down the grocery isles, you on the other end of my cell phone, "So, do you want some frozen dinners?" The amount of hot tea you had me purchase made cart organization difficult. And I would get a little mad. Sorry about that. I always tried to hide the fact I was mad about something as stupid as hot tea. I took those boxes of tea home with me when you died. And I've enjoyed them. Can't really see the need for the decaffeinated ones, but I can't throw them out either. If I drink tea, I want something with a kick. And lotsa honey and cream. But they've been great and I'm beginning to run low on those as well. I finally put an old picture of you up. And a Chinese fan that belonged to your Mom, and Mardi Gras beads. And remember those dumb little wooden calypso spoons that have been around for years? They're on the same shelf as the picture. And my cat Sebastian that became your cat that has once again found himself as my cat is doing really well. Hard to believe the children he once avoided like the plague have become a source of comfort to him. I think he knows they are somehow connected to you. And remember Jennifer? You suggested I date her before you died. We're so close now. Were you there when all of that happened? I wouldn't be surprised. Before I go, I also wanted to tell you that I think I really quit smoking again. Maybe for good. I used modern medicine. It's still not easy but I have a lot of support and I wanna stick around here for awhile. I love you and I think about you every day. I think you can take that for granted. Thanks for everything. We'll talk again.

Marching the Hate Machines into the Sub

Jesus. I mean really. Did you think I would just sit around and wait forever for me to post again? Hoping. Wondering. I'm not just going to pine away longing to hear my words. If you don't think that I have anything better to do with my time than wish I would post something brilliant, you have another thing coming.

So. Ever thought about the way things come about? What I mean is this. Long ago, in a galaxy far far away, or roughly 20 years ago, when we opened cans of soda in this nation, we lifted the tab, heard the familiar release of nitrogen inspiring pavlovian salivation in anticipation of the first sip. And after the can was fully opened, we were left with a small, incredibly sharp piece of aluminum on the end of an eyelet. Okay, stay with me. And one day someone, some dumb-ass just like you and me said, "hey now, I realize I'm a dumb-ass n' all, but can't someone make an apparatus that opens this here sodi-pop without creating a small weapon that, when left behind, slices the bare feet of children?" Then that very dumb-ass came up with some half-cocked idea to open the same can without leaving an extra piece. People laughed. Some of his friends said it was stupid and he should just leave his idea alone because, after all, he was a dumb-ass. And that dumb-ass found a way to patent his idea and sell it to gigantic corporations that have the ability to have a human being killed, and is now, if he's still alive after doing pounds of cocaine off the ass of some hooker, a very wealthy dumb-ass.

Honestly, I have no idea weather it was a dumb-ass or not, but ideas like that are thought up every day. I wonder how many are followed through, step by step, until the end. Which one of the best ideas ever thought of never made it past the laughing friends.

Yeah. I don't know either.

Like sands through the hour glass

I sing a song to the girls before they go to sleep when the soon to be ex-wife isn't able to. "The song you know, Daddy," is what they request from me. Please note, I am not a singer. Oh God, how I always wanted to be. But not the well trained kind. More the Holy Shit he has an incredible voice for never taking a lesson kind. And, for the sake of clarity, I repeat, I am not a singer. I barely recognize pitch or the general key I should be singing in. Not a singer. Me no singie. So I sing this song to them. I began singing it to the six-year-old when she was very small. Every night. Goodnight moon and the song. God only knows why, have I mentioned I can't sing, I would choose a song from an artist who sings in a key almost humanly impossible to sing to. Peter Gabriel. That's what I choose to sing to my daughters. The song is Don't Give Up. The duet with Kate Bush. I sing the Kate Bush part as well. In addition to the fact I can't sing either part, the lyrics aren't the absolute best I could have picked to sing to children. No profanity or references to sex or violence, just not exactly what one should sing to a child. "No one likes you when you lose," is a line I hear with a degree of sarcasm, but I'm not sure either girl can even say, much less define sarcasm. On a positive note, the song does state to not give up, to rest your head because you worry too much, and we're proud of who you are. So it's not all bad.

I don't know why I even wrote this.

I just closed my eyes again...

How many posts have begun, "gosh, I just don't know what to write," and then carried on about how they felt that day, or what they wore, or what their boyfriend said. And that's why I haven't been around. Because gosh, I just don't know what to write. Yeah. Whatever.

Can't any fucking thing come easy? Take the trashbag out of the can and the hole in the bottom grows until you're dealing with a bottomless trash bag. Oh, and a shitload of trash on your kitchen floor. I know. Not really a big deal. Just seems like that's how everything is turning out. Yeah. I know, waaah waah. (How in the Hell does one spell a baby crying?) Okay, fuck it.

Did I mention June 30th marked 4 years clean and sober for yours truly? Yeah. Turns out I make much better decisions without a drink in my hand and a shitload of speed running through my veins.

Oh, and I happen to think she is a phenomenal person.

So there.