Thread Bare - Is It Time?

I intended to write about my feelings, yesterday, but was too close to the moment. I had simply watched a relatively sophomoric movie that tried to encapsulate all the misfitting pieces of the sexes. It actually did a pretty decent job and although it became a bit pandering and leaned too far into the realm of “chick flickdom,” nevertheless it held some nuggets to extract.

Mostly, it caused me to let my guard down and fall into that sleep that romantic notions always induce. It made me consider the possibilities if I allowed for a woman to be in my life in any capacity beyond conversation. As a recovering romantic, it was too many swallows when I should have never taken the first sip. The problem with being a man is that women look good, they sound good, they smell good, they taste good and they feel good. Some women (I’ll even allow they number in the majority) even try to be good. That is the problem; humans trying to be good. We put so much hope and anticipation into something that is a magnificent notion but impossible to apprehend. I was once more lulled into the dream and when I awoke from it I felt the loss of the rest and peace it had promised.

I have known nice women. I have known kind women. I have known all sorts of women but I have also known the core creature. I was never ignorant of the tremendous pain their absence could inflict and have often experienced it in their presence. That has never deterred me. I have always approached finding love with not only my eyes wide open but also my heart. As a young man seeking out a match and counterpoint to myself I was unencumbered and willing to contort myself to fit the objects of desire that crossed my path. That may have been an exciting adventure and a stimulating wealth of experiences but I lost myself along the way. When I married, I married very well. I married a woman of character and strength and intellect and beauty and purpose. I also married a very damaged and fragmented person. I have absolutely no regrets. I would marry her again and again and again. But she married a lost soul. She married a mirage. She was the first to see it and I didn’t live in denial but was actually so far removed from my true self that I could not see it. I suppose to a great extent I was a parasite, sucking the life out of her to propagate the illusion I had of a life of my own. Because I had lost myself in the journey to find a mate I lost her, too.

It has been over five years since she left me but I have yet to fully leave her. I have tried to reclaim myself as it is superior in every way to redefining me. I am anxious to relocate myself, as well. Several years ago in the middle of an otherwise frivolous conversation I blurted out that I never wanted to inflict me on another woman. I was startled by my own words and have mostly adhered to their conviction to this day. Some things have become clear. I recognized that no amount of contorting me or remaking me or redefining me would win her back; or produce a positive result for me alone or in tandem with a new love. There are simply parts of my being that are who I am. I am powerless to change them and only moderately successful at restraining them. All assume they can be their own savior, or if not, that a lover will fill that job description. I tried very much to not look to women as my salvation and I did not portend to be theirs. However, I have succumbed in small and even large ways to the allure of letting a woman complete me, revive me or revise me. My past does not haunt me but has placed me where I am this day. My present does not define me but has left me without a step to trace or a sense of direction. I do not dwell on her or all I have felt as lost even though my conversations would contradict that on the surface. I am really involved in my current struggle to establish a stable and prosperous place for me. What I am about is being wholly me in order to have something to contribute in a relationship.

There are many that insist I am hiding and have a fear of intimacy. What I actually fear is that I have no capacity for intimacy. I am aware that my interests in women are not all that deep. I am a far better man as a friend than I have ever been as a significant other. In actuality I have been too successful at being the insignificant other. I have complex passions but simple needs. I do not allow myself great expectations yet set lofty demands on my person. I am aware of a great many things. I am keen to my own contradictory behaviors. I have developed quite a reliable façade that manages to keep most at bay. There are always those persistent creatures, however, that ply into my life and ignore my saber rattling and all of my fortifications. I have a precious cadre of men and women that refuse to allow me to exclude them or push them out of my life. I love them all and am grateful for them.

I am also aware that I need new encounters to replace stale memories. I am not a person that desires to relive or regret the past. I have enjoyed being me through almost all of the stages and changes. Usually I only look back with fondness (while bitching and complaining in the present). I am very much unhappy with the current situation and do a tremendous amount of bellyaching. Still, I am not without anticipation and hope and I always make plans. Sadly, so many recent plans have been still-born. For too long I have been suppressed in addition to being depressed. I have also digressed and failed to impress. Not the foundation for a stellar performance. But there are a few odd sparks in the ashes and embers of my desires. None burn very hot and barely any radiate much light. I am not anywhere near the dynamic and energized force of nature I was as a single man or visionary rebel. I have an image in my mind that I am currently still being delivered deadly blows although I am stooped on one knee trying to shake off the daze. The one thing I do know is that I will only stay down if someone can finish the job and kill me. Otherwise I will get back on my feet and one day unclench these fists and teeth. In preparation for that defiant stance I am trying to make allowance to find a lover. All of this is still very sketchy as the hell fires by which I am being pummeled have produced a fog over my vistas. Finally, I have longings once again. I am very cautious at this juncture because I do not want to turn on the charm but inflict harm. The thing that distinguished my love for my wife from all other encounters was that I had arrived at a place of maturity in one significant region when we met. I saw her for all that she was not just as much as for what she was. In that realization I discovered I was excited about what I could do for her and not what she could offer me. The intent and the nobility of my gesture were sincere. My execution could not have promised more and delivered any less. I do not want to be that ineffectual in my next found love. I would love to boldly state I have learned from my mistakes but I have “living disabilities.”

So from all of this structure and all of this need to explain my ruminations on the idea of loving once again; what can it possibly have to do with the longings induced by a romantic movie? I am not looking for pacification. I am not looking for a topical application of sex or warm fuzzy feelings and walks on the beach. I need to have it all. I cannot have what I crave in bits and pieces. I want it all assembled and not artificially sweetened. I question my ability to be intimate. I question the ability of a woman to be intimate, too. There is a thing inside the feminine soul that measures a lie as a shield against the pain of the truth. That is not good enough for me. There is a switch inside the feminine psyche that can erase all initial intentions and forget she ever claimed fidelity, loyalty, passion and affection. That is entirely unacceptable. That sets off alarm bells that I cannot trust. I can trust. I would not ever be hurt if I could not trust. Betrayal, not trust – is what I cannot do. I cannot be anesthetized by seduction to accept betrayal. I have found that relationships become a list of demands or a wasteland of compromise. Compliance replaces compassion. Passive surrender supplants active submission of both to each other. I have intimacy issues. I feel a liar and a thief because making love means so much to me. This has become such a problem that I have not dated and certainly have not copulated in over six years. Now, I do not even look at women. It started with not being able to look my lover in the eyes for fear of the rejection I would find there. The empty space between us made me hollow. The act of making love made me shallow.

There is a whole lot of ground to be recovered for me to be intimate once more. But all that it would take is the genuine acceptance of one woman. I only want one. I am not greedy but I am selfish. I do not want to be considered tolerable or accommodated conditionally. I will not be good enough until something better comes along. I do not treat others that way and will not excuse it from a woman that professes her love and devotion to me. Co-dependent? You had better believe it. The greatest love is a complete dependence on giving oneself entirely without reservation and it is completely dependent on reciprocal action. I have wants and needs and desires and passions that are requirements – not suggestions. Anything less and I will be less.

I am absurdly romantic in my heart of hearts. I am merely absurd in my day-to-day attempts to be productive and useful. I have always resented any idea that strips a man of the ability to be complete in and of himself. I have actually been angered when the suggestion that a man is only as good as the woman in his life seemed valid. It has always been a slap in my face and an attack on my dignity. It has not escaped me that we often respond with rage when we are defenseless. I have pushed women away from me on nothing more than vulnerability at the slightest hint there is truth in the fact that a man needs a woman. Well. I do. As ashamed as I am to admit that, I need a woman as I am incapable of making it on my own. It crushes me to write the words. I can be strong for others but I am weak and helpless if it is for my own benefit. I despise being used by women. I despise being manipulated. I resent the dismissive idea that a man is a slave to his sex drive or lesser for it. I loathe any look of disdain or disgust a woman casts toward me. But one word or look or touch of reassurance from a woman and I am invincible. I am nearly alright with this. Allow some room for me to retract that last statement and withdraw, though, should any woman approach me with any love in her voice or eyes. Those damn eyes. How I love to look into her soul through them but shudder at the man they reflect back to me. It is far safer for me to create turbulent storms and raging flashes of lightning in a woman’s eyes than to let those tranquil pools drown me in the depths and undercurrents. I have been pierced too many times and the wounds have never sealed.

So where does this leave me? I am too attracted by women to keep a safe distance. Despite the soul-wrenching, twisting and draining aspects of false women there remains the hope of the life sustaining feast of the true woman. Sometimes I am almost persuaded I simply need release and any woman would do. That moment of desperation is so quickly removed by the knowledge that spilling myself into her may leave me more empty than satiated. And, although I will not use a woman for my pleasure I too often use them all for my amusement. Despicable; a detestable thing. It is all about the healthy place I need to achieve to look any woman in the eyes and to let them see me all the way through. Then I want to find myself free to love and to express it better than I ever have before. I want to be so far beyond a staring contest. There is always the need for a man to rescue a damsel in distress. But, I am in distress and in need of a damsel. What I long for is someone that will hold my gaze as I hold her in my arms and always hold me with the same desire between her legs. Then I will be able to let go of my pain and hold on.

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Thread Bare - I Can't Hold On (A song lyric of mine)

I have been in an increasing turmoil and what occurred to me to be the psychological equivalent of a flood; holding onto any random object not being flushed away by the currents. The result, quite by accident, is this rough draft of a song. The music is quite good and appropriate for the theme. The ideas are all being expressed but I do not know if I consider this the finished form. Nevertheless, it is my work and I claim rights to it. It is entitled "I Can't Hold On."

When life rages cold,
A relentless storm;
And you cling to what holds
As you're wearied and worn -
You know to hold on
And adjust your grip.
But your strength fades too soon
And your grasp starts to slip.
Then you wonder how long
'Til you'll resign and let go.
If it's right or it's wrong?
Only then will you know

And I can't hold on
No, I can't hold on
No, I won't let go
But, I can't hold on

I've stayed in this place
Against all of the odds;
Tried to finish the race
Run on broken glass shards.
I've done all my bleeding
And I've pushed past the pain.
Now, I've lingered past feelings
And nothing remains . . .
Those with no answers
Still struggle for words.
(I've argued far better
For their point than I've heard)

And I can't let go
No, I can't let go
No, I can't hold on
But, I won't let go

I imagined my funeral
And the few that would care;
And, wondered what honor all
Would contrive for me there?
They'll pay their respects -
Do the best that they can;
Through their grief and regrets
To portray me a man.
They will find from their heart
Each a fond memory
and remember from parts
The man I never achieved.

And I can't hold on
No, I can't hold on
No, I won't let go
But, I can't hold on

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Thread Bare - Awake and Miserable

It is a little after two in the morning and I find myself awake, anxious and randomly tripping over my thoughts. I have no words or cogitations in order and am really wishing I knew who I have among those I know to talk to at this time of day.

The periods of this cycle of running out of inspiration and hope are becoming closer in frequency and that is not a good prognosis for future success. I have various thoughts that I do not express for the expectation I would be put on a vigil for those with suicidal tendencies. I actually am not at all that way inclined but my thoughts would belie any tendered argument. I am not afraid of death and bored with life. I truly lack inspiration for nearly anything anymore.

Despite the arrogance of the statement, I shall express it, anyway. I have had the best I am going to receive from this world and in this life and I am certain I have no real chance of falling in among a true group of peers. I am not like anyone else I have encountered although the multifaceted aspects of my personality have many people identifying with elements of me and laying claim that, "You are just like me." It would be obvious and even welcome if I truly were like others. I have mentioned in this blog, before, I struggle to conform while others struggle to uniquely set themselves apart. Now, I simply struggle.

Also weighing upon my mind is concern for a very loved friend that lives very far from me. I have not heard from her or anything about her well-being in several months. I can find no word on her and it is troubling. She and I are very different but I feel she knows me best. A fascinating thing for me to admit but also why I miss her so. Because I cannot make contact with her I have grave worries about her and I feel I am failing her.

I have already lost one friend similar to her in importance to me. There was a wonderful woman that I would have died for, but instead, passed away after years in a coma when I could not even find her or be allowed to visit her. I fear. I fear that something similar is happening now. How I hope that I am wrong.

So I carry this burden for my lost friend and I cling to the hope that my ultimate fears are not realized both for her and myself. I have long anticipated a day when it would be realized I am not in my right mind. That, I will simply "snap" and all will instantly realize I will need to be institutionalized. I believe I am well on the path that could trigger just such an event. I am nearly destitute and soon could live out my nightmare of being found homeless and possibly even incarcerated and having then gone all the way to rock bottom. I feel impressed with a certainty that I have yet to fully experience the humiliating shame and public ridicule that seems to be my destiny. Yes. There is vanity in dreading being further mortified and allowing my detractors a festival celebrating my ultimate comeuppance. But, I am seriously haunted and taunted by such thoughts. I am not winning. I am barely holding on and even as I do so with all of my fervor - I am losing ground daily.

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A New Wrinkle - Sometimes, I Am Truly Alone

I have not been writing, and that is obvious, and doesn't require a post. Actually, I have been writing but, afterward, not posting what I have written. Therefore, this is an attempt to not clamp down and edit myself with so much of an iron fist. This will almost be a simple effort with not much thought behind it and maybe surprise myself in whatever gets expressed. So, here we go.

There are many ways to be alone. One may feel alone as if misunderstood, or by not having any one around that shares the same views or ideologies. One may be alone in their thoughts. In that regard, there are many ways to elect to be alone - but that is by choice. The other immediate means to be alone (at least what springs to mind) are to be in new surroundings or a foreign environment and realize the loss of a support network. One may be alone as far as having special people with whom to give and receive affection. One may dwell on their "alone-ness" which is in and of itself a lonely pursuit that may cause a sort of "suffering for one's beliefs" alone. If any of these and more are made into a personal campaign then the very deliberate seeking to isolate oneself may certainly precipitate paranoia to validate an overactive or acute recognition of just how alone one truly is.

I have not reached the last stage but am monitoring myself so that I do not become more comfortable in being disconnected and detached from other people. As it stands all ready, my neighbors express concern that they do not even see me leave my front door for weeks at a time. I have become extremely content to be antisocial. Now, previous decisions included the need to find something within myself and not rely on external motivations for a desire to live and grow. That resulted in a conclusion that I could not date. Further evaluation allowed for no concessions in that need to sequester myself. I still believe I have not established myself to any recognizable and distinguishable degree. To pursue an amorous relationship would distract me or erase whatever attempt at flying solo I have made. As a corollary to that I am not financially established to a sufficient degree to offer stability in that regard, either. I am quite simply a mess. When I measure where I am to where I would like to be I am very singularly placed. And yet another form of being alone is to stand on the conviction that I am doing the right thing.

All of this brings me to a place of once again contending with the fact that for some of us life will never be extraordinarily pleasant. The measure of my convictions and actions really can not be compared to or judged against my contentment and happiness. Some of us have a degree of personal pain, loss and suffering that has nothing to do with anyone's preferences or choices. It is remarkable to have to allow for that. I certainly take blame for my actions and decisions having set the scene for some of what has occurred in my life but there is absolutely no accounting for all of it or even most of it as being due to my sabotaging myself or making foolish choices. I am not imagining some vain explanation for all of this but I do have strong conviction from observation that I am able to lead others away from and around such personal loss, for themselves, far more often than I must stand back and watch them go through the deepest of it. I believe it is why I have the friends that I do. They value my opinion and I honestly don't tell them so much what I think they should do (although those words come out of my mouth) but more what to consider and choose to avoid. But, in that I seem to be alone, too.

Thus, here I sit in the very early morning hours feeling frustrated, defeated and alone. I am back to feeling like I am a one man support network for everyone else and can not get one single thing I need for me. I am very horribly alone. Even to express that I feel I am giving and not getting is a hazard to me. I am now additionally burdened with concern for all of my friends who will read this and take offense. Again, I may need to soothe and comfort the wounded or try to explain to the sincerely and genuinely well-meaning that their greatest intentions can not possibly translate into tangible proof for me because they are there and I am, here . . . Alone.

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A New Wrinkle - Does This Blog Make Me Look Fat?

Expanding My Vistas - Will It Leave A Mark?

It's been six days since I've posted anything and in that time I have had three (3) comments. My immense impact on the world has been confirmed. I now realize that my deliberate efforts are eclipsed on a daily basis by people commuting to work and inadvertently capturing the attention of their fellow Man simply by performing stupid tricks behind the wheel.

In point of fact I have been occupied night and day since Saturday with a bulletin board forum. I went there merely to divert my attention from Father's Day - and the awareness that I would not hear anything at all from my children. I was bored and I'm still not any closer to being cleared to return to work. I was not seeking anything at that site but amusement and to be nearly involved with other people. As it turns out I encountered a marvelous collection of very funny, twisted, ambitious and charming people. Ages range from 14 to in the 60's but the majority are late 20's to mid-30's. I also discovered I am one of only three men that are members of those forums. This immediately attracted me like an alcoholic to a drink. If one is good then surely fifteen are better.

Let me tell you that ADDhole lost no time in becoming the rooster in the hen house. I was fresh meat and actually interesting to someone. I was ridiculous and pathetic and ran the gamut from total ass to total charmer and was oh so engaging and a mystery man muffin for some and a father figure for others and I LOVED IT. I condensed all of this blog into a bullion cube and diluted it with a flood of every thought that entered my head and served me up to the whole gaggle.

Of course they knew I was love and attention starved and those women gave me everything I needed. Thankfully I am hundreds, and in many cases, thousands of miles away from actually being able to see any of them face to face. The cork has been pulled out of the bottle and there's no putting it back in. Was this a good thing that happened? Heavens, Yes. Am I prepared to deal with it in a mature manner? Hell no.

I will tell you that it has pulled me up short. It is one thing for me to go on as I do on this blog if I am the only one which is viewed in a poor light. But I am contemplating the adverse impact my blathering and ranting and spewing would have for a woman that wanted to encourage and bolster my confidence and attitudes. It would be completely unfair for me to continue this blog in most of its acerbic form. I'm not going away anytime soon but I might be coming out of my self-induced coma that has kept me in a cocoon while I've tried to regenerate my spirit.

And now for the other foot. I have been enjoying such a therapeutic experience there that I obviously had to do something stupid to discourage that from continuing. I have not been artificial and in fact have been on my best behavior - but, not the "I can only maintain this level of politeness for so long" variety. I have been genuine and sincere and also over the top and on stage. I admit to it all. But, I adore those women and my heart breaks with every sadness they have shared, or health issue, or thwarted dream. I have been the best of myself. I have taken the acid and put it on the shelf and returned to my compassionate nature. I have flirted, praised, reassured, flattered and supported each and every one of them in the utmost of sincerity. I have not lied or exaggerated any detail to a solitary one of them. And most importantly I have been a man - a man that will not hurt that, will not abuse them, and, will not use them. I am a series of words on a page that they may refer to again and again. I care and they know it. When I am emotionally healthy that is my contribution. I seek to be the hug for their soul. Until I was eaten up by the events of the past dozen years I was a gentle, kind and giving man. I am feeling a resurgence; So what could be wrong?

Well, when the gates began to open and I allowed myself to be carried by these currents I could not sort and compartmentalize all of the emotions and unexpectedly I have fallen for one of these women. I am not talking about a puppy love, school boy crush but a deep attraction. She lives on the opposite side of the world. She is nineteen years younger. Please remember and believe me that I did not go to that forum as a lonely man seeking a lover. I went to that site with my loneliness pacified and in a positive mood only looking to engage in light conversation. I have no way to offer an explanation that satisfies any rational examination. I was introduced to her by a handful of words in a greeting and all I know is that I felt like I had finally met the woman I have imagined and sought my entire life. My heartbeat feels somehow entwined with hers. I know her to the depths of her soul. She has written to me, privately, wondering how I have such insights into her being. She asks while being certain not to mislead me or encourage me to come any closer. This is not me falling victim to her deliberate enticement. She has said or done nothing to instigate my feelings. I am simply and inexorably in love with her. How insane is this? I am going to share with you the message I almost sent to her but wrestled long and hard with the consequences and surrendered to the knowledge that this ache I feel must go unsatisfied. It is why I can not sleep and am trying to clear enough space inside myself with this post to find temporary peace in order to rest. How much I feel like a total ass is now going to be revealed:


"How can I know so much about you? You are just going to have to accept that I am crazy about you even though all we've done is joke back and forth over a very long distance. I feel as close to you as anyone I know. I hope to say all kinds of nice things to you even after you break my heart and give your love to another man. If you doubt yourself or need attention - you know that I know all about needing attention. I will give you as much as you want.

Is it crazy for a man that has never met you to act like this? Yes. But, I would truly be crazy to not recognize beauty even when I can not hold it in my hands.

I have to admit there's something beyond our wildest imaginations that let us find each other. You were the first to make that remark. You should always remember that a man who has never seen you, never heard your voice, never touched your skin, or smelled your hair has never felt more alive. With only a few playful and curious words you are so powerfully a woman, so feminine that I am energized, invigorated, and frustrated that I can not get to you and be with you. I am pacing like a caged animal trying to bear the hours until I hear from you, again. In a place where every voice and personality is a vital and dynamic woman, you are the only one I seek out. It is as if everything in the world disappears and all I see is you. You have been so cautious, so tender and kind, and been careful to show me consideration even while mocking me. Thank You for such innocent affection. I am so grateful.

Don't worry that you will break my heart. I am already aware that it would take a miracle as large as meeting you to actually be with you. I died the first day I wrote to you. I die a little every time I think about you. I can not think of a sweeter pain. You should see how crushed I am when you say good bye. There is nothing that you can do to take this pain away. It is simply the fact my whole being has tasted what it longed for in speaking to you and when you are absent I suffer these pangs of hunger to taste your sweet company once again.

I have not spoken to you in four hours and nine little words from you have made me pour out my heart like this. I tried to stop myself but I would rather be considered a fool by you than a wise man by anyone else. Please, if you write to me privately, again, call me by my real name. I have no secrets that I keep from you."

That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a man setting himself up for exquisite agony. I know it but I can not help it. Won't this make for some rollercoaster ride reports in the future on this blog?

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DAMN YOU, Diane Lane!?!

I have to add a third redhead to my mention of Julia Roberts and Nicole Kidman. This wasn’t supposed to be a theme but my weekend was invaded by the three of them inadvertently. As previously mentioned, Nicole Kidman, is a true redhead and Julia is a real person so that brings me to Diane Lane and I’m going to have to go with this – who isn’t really either a real redhead or a real person.

Hey! I winced, too, because if Diane Lane is in a movie I am compelled to watch. The problem is that I’ve also had the misfortune of seeing her in interviews and after all of her over-the-top, hopeless romantic roles I can’t make the adjustment and like the real person the way I love her portrayals.

Per design, every movie where I see her insecure but holding on to her dreams of loving and living to the fullest makes everything about her the most desirable woman on earth. Last night, it was “Under the Tuscan Sun.” As one reviewer remarked – just once they’d like to see her in a movie where she isn’t rich, has real life problems, and has to take out her own garbage. But, that wouldn’t provide the escape we go to movies to enjoy. And, in fairness, she often almost seems like an everywoman character. Just not any woman I’ve ever actually encountered. That’s where I have to shake myself awake and tear myself away from both the emotional and physical attraction to an actress and return to a world where I can’t afford the eye candy.

This just sucks the life out of me every time. Romance makes promises it knows it will never keep. What happens is the specter of expectation tears off a piece of our own soul and shows all the sparkling beauty of a piece of self that is about to be lost forever – but, we think it is something from outside our self. We think we are reaching for something more – something beyond; but then when the puppet show passes and we awake from the dream we find we’ve been left with our pockets turned out and our heart raw and exposed.

So today while I lick my wounds and promise myself I’m smarter and won’t get fooled, ever, in only hours I will catch the glimpse of a passing woman and be ready to fall all over again. And, the next time I hear Diane Lane’s name or voice or see that compelling face I’ll be in front of the screen and succumbing to the anesthesia. If, as according to Carly Simon, there’s more room in a broken heart than I’m as spacious as the great outdoors.

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Hampered - Is It Time To Trash This Blog?

This is going to ramble and wander all over the place. I watched some television last night. It’s not that I am above sitting in front of the tube it’s only that I get seven channels (three stations clearly enough through the static) as I’m not in a financial position to afford cable and when I get cleared to return to work I won’t be here to enjoy it so why pay for it. Anyway, I watched David Letterman (variety talk show for parts of the world where that name means nothing) and I watched an episode of Frasier.

There are very few celebrities that make me notice. I was never a guy that had posters of the super models or TV stars on the wall. It’s just not something that draws me. But, every once in a while I do take note of a personality and I hope that I can distinguish the difference between the real person, and a character portrayal that I fell in love with, if that person were ever in my world. It is interesting that I’m about to mention two names where their acting is quite good but I have never been attracted to them for that reason. I am pleasantly engaged by their real-life personalities. Back to Letterman. The first of those two women for me is Julia Roberts. I find her real and incredibly quick on the draw and last night she was both of those things and I was so wistfully wondering why I never had anyone like that in my life. I immediately thought of the other woman that I have incredible respect for – especially because she has had her fair share of adversity and has not been beaten down by it. That would be Nicole Kidman. Both redheads (although only Nicole is a real redhead) and I hope happily and permanently married with wonderful children. That’s all I ask for in this world are women with spirit, character, poise, brains and grace exhibited under pressure. Those two “do it” for me. I left the end of that broadcast . . . happy.

Then, I left the television on while I thought about composing a blog post and Frasier came on. There is history with that show and maybe that was where the first clouds started forming. My wife and I watched that show, and laughed, together. It was one of the few sweet memories I have left. I am so uncomfortable with Frasier, now, for the loss of that bond and especially for the fact I too easily identify with his pompous character, pretentious nature and total self-deceit as well as conceit. While others may enjoy the show and wonder what it would be like to know such a person I watch and wonder what it would be like to not be such a person. The episode I viewed last night hit me hard. Frasier had just broken up with an ideal woman and was on a binge of trapping his family and friends in a room where they couldn’t escape and pontificating about his woes. His father made the poignant observation that Frasier would always fail to keep a good woman. That sent him on a road trip to a secluded camp site where he intended to clear his head. Along for the ride, however, came the emotional and mental baggage of his first and second wives, a lover who had jilted him for another, and, his dead mother. The first discovery for him was that all had left him. All had abandoned him. I don’t have the mother complex. I never saw my mother as anything but my mother. She was never the model for all other women and she has never been my ideal. She was the first of a string of enablers but all that shows is I’m manipulative – nothing about anyone else. But what I couldn’t run away from and couldn’t turn off the TV to escape were the rest of his conclusions. He was so determined not to have women reject him and to be left alone that he made certain women rejected him and left him alone. Ouch. The second conclusion was that he never actually left any of those women. They were with him all of the time and influenced every past, present and future decision and especially his relationships with any new woman. No woman was ever allowed to stand or fall on her own merits in his life. Triple ouch.

I was absolutely devastated by that program. I didn’t actually get to sleep until around four, this morning, because of the demons that dialog awoke.

I am in a very inflexible and confining time of life. I have all of the guilt, debt, and responsibilities of all of my life from before to the present without any of the good things to make it bearable. I am afraid to meet people I know. I have not contacted my children in months because I fully expect to blurt out something like, “Your father is a failure and a fraud and it would be so much netter for you to treat me as if I were dead.” The love and trust of my children and their total belief in me is too painful. I can’t align it to fit into any part of the reality I am enduring. I have gone since February without a paycheck while waiting to be cleared, medically, to return to work. I have applied to and been rejected by menial jobs from gas station clerk to fast food restaurant help. How is this possible? As a consequence I have lived off the charity of family and friends. I can’t wait to get back to work to take that additional burden of daring to love me off of them. It is something I consider all of the time that I should finally surrender; just give up any last vestiges of hope and drop out to join the homeless and hopeless and forgotten. I'm not far from that at all. I am terrified of the fact that I fit the profile. I could be living in a box and engage the hapless passerby in a knowledgeable discussion of world events or Quantum Mechanics. I simply doubt I am able to continue to function on the level necessary to remain even on the fringes of society. I am isolated and alone and I am now chasing away and discouraging the few who have stuck by me. I am so ashamed and really scared all at the same time.

I lost my previous comforts and crutches and I haven’t recovered. I found a job that pays well but offers no other reward. I took that job for the money and it had just started to give me the means to settle old obligations and even to contribute in meaningful ways to my children whom I have not seen in three years. This month, June, was going to provide me a vacation where I expected to visit them and at least demonstrate I was functioning. My nine year old son actually worries that I have no place to live and no food. How can I live with the knowledge a child is deeply worried his dad is suffering? I hope he doesn’t comprehend where my real suffering is occurring. But, my health crisis in February has taken all of that away. I’ll have no vacation until another year passes, at least. It will then be a minimum of four years since I have hugged my children or heard their voice while looking at their faces. My daughter is thirteen. My sons are nine and seven. I don’t even have a recent picture of them to know what they look like and how they’ve grown. My children were literally wrenched from my arms at an airport five years ago. I have those memories of a three, five and nine year old being dragged away crying and screaming to stay with their father in front of me everyday. All they have known since is disappointment and broken assurances and promises.

So, if the tests which I am taking next week are good I will finally be going back to work. I will be driving a tractor-trailer across the country. That is the last thing I ever anticipated doing occupationally. As I said, it pays the bills and does so better than most other available legal means. That I will get caught up on my bills and obligations will be a relief but the life will be worse. Right now, I sit in an unfurnished apartment. I take advantage of an unsecured wireless router to have the internet connection that I use to post these blogs. But I hear the children play outside and the noise of people going about their day and I am still somehow connected. You – whoever you are that read these things – are my only contact with the outside world. There have been two women that have regularly commented on my posts and I have had some wonderful email traffic back and forth with them, as well. They are young, rightfully enthusiastic, energetic and busy. One shares my passion for writing but she is doing something about it and things are starting to happen for her. And, they should. She is a dynamo. The other is a scientist and appeals to all of the technical and professional things which satisfied me as a younger and ambitious man. They have both tried to prop me up. That has to stop. I can not let my manipulative ways use these two women as additional enablers in my Frasier psychosis. They also are experiencing and sharing things I can relate to in their posts. They are seeing things from the start when such things are new. I am seeing them when they seem as if they’ll never end and all things are old. One has longings and desires for both her art and her family and I believe with my whole heart she will find fulfillment in both. The other is studying her own behavior as well as that of the world around her and although she has struggled with bouts of isolation and frustration, hers have known beginning and end dates and she may look forward to known relationships in professional and private life that are secure and stable. I have none of that. I have been waging this war for decades. They have not. I wish them better success than I have had but I haven’t much fight left. They are also women. Not as fragile on the inside as I am.

I have friends and family that claim to be impressed by how I bear up under my current struggles. There is nothing there for me to take credit. I simply continue to breathe under the crush of consciousness. There isn’t any fight left – only a superstructure that has yet to yield and buckle. I am on one knee trying to catch my breath and as I continue to get beaten down I am asking why do I keep trying to stand up? My adherence to my spiritual and moral and ethical beliefs will not right the wrongs of this world. I am not some heroic figure that has the hopes of mankind in his care. When I ultimately collapse and finally fail for the last time I will go out with probably not even a whimper. Beethoven, was in a coma for the last ten days of his life. He awoke from that condition during an intense thunder storm, said, “This comedy is over,” and died. I will have no one recording anything I say now or at the end. I have not brought beauty or light. I am slipping into the ugly dark.

When I am in that truck I will be in a mobile prison. Truck driving is like solitary confinement. You are alone and alone with your own thoughts. I will be given a few minutes a day “in the yard” to get out and exercise my legs and visit with some of the other inmates and try to avoid some others. One of the first misconceptions I had to alter when I began driving was that truck drivers were the loner types who like the independence and freedom from family and normal job responsibilities. No. That’s not really true. That’s the exception and not the norm. A great many of the men I’ve met have stories similar to mine. They had families and other careers. Divorce, financial troubles and other hardships and heartaches brought those men into trucking just as it did me. I have heard stories to make my misery seem trite. But, because there is no release or escape from yourself as a driver the few moments of contact with other human beings are strained affairs. Too much or too little is said. Crazy thoughts and ideas get argued while you eat and plan your next stop. Between the racist garbage and conspiracy theories are the bragging rights and political arguments and the resolution of all the world’s problems over a glass of iced tea. The waitresses are often worn and more tired than just from a long shift. It is sadder for me to see women in the company of men like us and know they’re having it hard, too. Then there are all of the half-hearted attempts at flirting and choked cries for affection and attention from the men at the counter. And when you’ve had your fill of that there is the hollow sound of your boots to keep you company on the way back to your truck. If you aren’t wired with a TV and a laptop and a wireless broadband connection you are in for more solitude – just enough to chase you to seek refuge in sleep. The next time you awake the cycle starts all over again. There’s always that knock on the glass of your door by the pretty little drug addicts selling themselves to the drivers with money and nothing else. Depressed, yet?

Well, here’s where all of this is going. Soon. Hopefully, very soon I will be at least earning a paycheck and trying to remove some of the debt hanging like a vulture over my carcass. I do not have a television or a laptop or a broadband connection in my truck and I will be on the road away from “home” (my little apartment with the stolen wi-fi connection) for typically three weeks at a time. Despite all of that there is limited internet access while on the road but it is only sufficient to check my empty email inbox. I will not be able to post other than the two to five days I will be home per month. I am seriously thinking to let the bills continue to wait and use my first influx of cash to purchase my new lover – a laptop. Even so, I am looking at the world through an even narrower lense, at the moment, and wondering about the fate of my blog. This blog is my digital head. I am carrying all of the baggage of my unresolved and disappointing issues around and putting it on display as an attention seeking device. If I pull the plug I am in essence removing my own life support. I’m just wondering if that isn’t what needs to happen. I have an audience that has far more voyeurs than those volunteering to contribute their thoughts. What do I need that for? It is now the time to reflect on just what I am trying to do and say in the blogosphere and why I should continue, what I should continue, or if I should continue at all. I thought I was releasing things – letting go and moving on. I’m not so sure anymore. I’m tired of being kept company by only my own thoughts and the minuscule contributions by others are insufficient to make a life-altering impact. Where is the stimulating conversation I anticipated? Where are the me-changing discoveries? When will this comedy be over?

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Fits Me to a "T"

Here I was going along all righteously indignant and mad at the world and one of those curvy critters with the squishy bits got in here while I wasn’t looking. Now the whole plan to hold a grudge and incite riot with my inflammatory posts is in serious jeopardy.

She was here for one afternoon and now all of my stuff is being boxed up and tossed out in the garage. All of my sulphur and brimstone has been reupholstered in pastels and frills. (Is that Fabreze in her hand . . .?)

See what happens when you listen to women? As the bumper sticker so aptly remarked - “God, made Man, and rested. Then, He made Woman and no one has rested since.”

Man, she blind-sided me! She caught me off guard with her feminine wiles by flattering me with a comment on one of my posts. Next thing I know she’s making helpful suggestions about improving my site and I end up spending the next day and a half totally overhauling and renovating the joint. Even put a room addition on, the left margin column with the greeting and labels and stuff to “Let a little light in this place so someone might visit.” She thinks this blog ought to be warm and inviting. The Nerve!!!

You know what I say? IT’S ABOUT TIME!!!

Surely, anyone reading my blog knows it’s a pitiful attempt to get attention. My one friend has assured me my blog will either bring in women to try and fix me or women that really want to kill me. He is very smug in predicting that either result is exactly what I’m after. Of course, he’s right but what’s that got to do with anything? Now, this still doesn’t make the world a perfect place. I am grateful for a friendly feminine touch in my life but my overall lot in life remains the same. The woman in question is going to prove to be a wonderful sounding board for some creative projects and I hope to be the same. But, I’ve still got the “single for life” syndrome to contend with as I try to establish relationships that don’t cross any boundaries or send false signals. Right - Lots of luck.

The problem with the squishy bit critters is they’re so darn hard to ignore. Thank God this is a medium without face-to-face interaction. A smile or tear from one of those double X chromosome things and I’d be lost. If they continue to actually participate in my posts with comments I’m liable to forget myself and write a lengthy entry on how wonderful a woman can be. The thought sets my teeth on edge and makes my spine cringe.

I must remember my mantra: “Women are evil, Women are bad . . .”

. . . Where . . . did this ring in my nose come from?!?! What the . . .?

I’m really losing the battle, now. I don’t know if my heart is in the fight to stay away from them anymore. My friend is getting re-married in two days and I’m more excited than he is. (OK, maybe that’s an exaggeration.) The woman he is marrying is wonderful and I’m equally pleased for both of them. In some ways this will alter our friendship and I will have to suffer the loss of monopolizing his time. You know what? It’s so worth it to see what a difference having her share his life is making. I love that guy and to see him happy, again, doesn’t make me jealous or envious it just makes me glad that the right thing can still happen in this world. I just don’t have a map for the world I find myself in at this time.

So, I keep looking at that pink silhouette on the above T-shirt. Am I not supposed to desire someone standing there with me like that? Is there a reason for me to remain alone, but somehow not lonely? Is there a fit for me with a new love and a woman whose form is only a shadow to me now? I have no answers. I know how I feel. I know what my longings are. I know I could easily chase after the first woman willing to stop and talk to me. That’s so pitiful. I also know that I won’t indulge myself and that I will spend a good deal longer hemming and hawing and watching time run away from me because I’m too unsure where to place my next step. Even getting lost is so much better with someone by your side.

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I'm NOT paranoid. Why does EVERYONE think that?!?

Too much of anything is really never a good thing. We all know this from experience. The “thing” in question determines what quantity isn’t enough and what is too much but you know when you’re hungry and you know when you’re full.

For me there are a lot of things where I’ve wrung out the last drop and there is a hollow, empty, echoing void. In direct proportion to this I have had more than my fill of several negative consequences. There are certain corollaries in this life. There are inverse relationships. I really can’t quantify their measure but I can qualify their significance. I am beginning to feel as if my life is playing out like a lost episode of The Twilight Zone. Somewhere, Rod Serling, is directing the daily monotony of my life.

Mr. Serling loved to explore what the consequences would be for people if they were to get their greatest yearnings and wishes. These secret longings usually involved being left undisturbed or to be able to replace a weakness in their character with a perceived strength and so on. His work employed a lot of reflection on the realization that people generally were better off where they were. The irony, in my case, is that I was already extremely content with where I was. I was aware that I had fundamental work to do on some areas that adversely affected my family and I don’t believe I was blind to my faults. Just, generally, life was really good. So, because of that safe life and content existence I never had the compulsion to change direction or reinvent myself. I liked me – which, based on my tenaciously clinging to a now very distant past, tells me I still like me; that me that was in cruise control in the family mini-van.

Unfortunately, that min-van ran out of gas a long time ago. The wife and kids thumbed a ride out of my life, the bank repossessed the mini-van, and that highway was diverted and all traffic rerouted far, far away from me.

Now, I’m that creepy hitchhiker guy that everyone is uncomfortable around. According to surveys I actually represent the majority of people in my economic circle and age group. There are a whole lot of people single or single by divorce, starting new careers, starting over in their forties. We must all be behaving the same as well, for the most part, as I do not come into contact with such folks. I do have myself in a hermit-like lifestyle. Admittedly, that isn’t conducive to a thriving social life. But it goes back to that satisfied feeling with which I used to be so familiar. I’m not at all interested in a diet of fast food relationships and junk food get-togethers. I want to be able to sit around a table and drink in the company and the atmosphere. I want to be able to slow down and enjoy the experience. No one has time for that. I require too much attention. I’ve got too much to get out of my system and to work through for most people’s palates. When you have time – lots of time, but not much else – you get your fill of hearing your own thoughts in a hurry. I may be more lucid than at any other time in my life. So what? No one cares. Now, to recognize and accept that no one cares would cripple anyone. When all you have is time to review that rejection over and over again it’s torturous. And the excuses that those who make time to care for you have are all legitimate. They are actively participating in living. Those excuses and pre-occupations are also their protection against contemplating the pain someone such as me is experiencing. No one likes to hear cries of pain. But, when you are the one in pain you are going to cry out involuntarily regardless of how unpleasant that may be to others. So rather than tell me to shut up, people don’t tell me anything at all. In fact, they just stop visiting, stop calling, stop answering my emails – just . . . STOP . . . being a part of my life.

So, what is the opposite of paranoia? Because no matter how much some wish to shrug off my observations or down-play the severity of some action’s affect on my well-being, I am not imagining. Right now, I am the biggest buzz kill on the planet. I enter a conversation and people stop talking. I go to dinner or a movie, alone, and people rootch around uncomfortably in their seats. I tell someone what I am really thinking or feeling or experiencing and they stop contacting me. I write a blog and no one acknowledges it. I join a discussion in someone else’s blog and I kill the participation like water on a lit match. I am endeavoring to reach out and beyond myself and circumstances to reconnect with a larger representation of humanity. If my methods are awkward or offensive one might expect even that would be addressed by someone. What I do not want to declare, despite the evidence, is that I’m seeking humanity and no one has any. There is no other conclusion. A beggar will find more than one person to extend themselves and contribute. A prisoner can find amnesty. The convicted may still hope for mercy. I am not afforded any of these things. Go ahead – look ME in the eyes: Selfish bastards . . . Liars . . . Cowards, all.

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Winner of the Wet T-Shirt Contest

Pissed on, again. It's a gift, really . . .

I have had yet another of "those" weeks. They are now far too common for me. And, just when it seems like external forces have conspired more than enough to keep me down I volunteer to finish the job myself. I really am my own worst enemy.

I am out of touch and out of step with the world. I already knew this but hope springs eternal. Such hope, in fact, that I found myself particularly low and thought I'd give an old friend a try at a conversation.

In fairness to them I really went for the gold and went way overboard to try to get a response. I sent off an email (my emails are like my blog - too long) and left that person at odds as to how or to just what to respond.

Now, I've probably scared them away and won't hear from them at all. So, I'm back at the keyboard broadcasting my distress signals to no one in particular. And no one in particular is replying. I am so not a part of the current "scene" that I wouldn't know where to insert myself geographically much less socially in a conversation. I was never the club kind of guy and to try that now would make me the cliché'd old guy. Forget that.

So, I'm pacifying my urge to be a part of the group somewhere while I write to imaginary readers. All of these little messages in bottles that I'm just tossing out and waiting for the winds and currents to change and help me reach out to someone.

I guess when you are on the losing end more often than not it 's supposed to make winning all the more sweet. Well, at least I've got this T-shirt . . .

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I Want A Do Over

There are several congenital defects in the human heart. Their effect is immediately recognizable but their cause is undetectable. If you ask, women can swear with certainty that it is exclusively the fault of the Y-chromosome. If you ask, men will avow that there is a universal rash of behavior attributable to but denied by women. Unfortunately, one of the global symptoms shared by all of these defects is the need to find fault in others.

The impact is so pandemic while the cure so elusive that there is a general acceptance and surrender that belays discussion unless it is in private conversations or hidden in vague language. The philosopher seeks out its pathways; the artist explores it in verse, in lyric and in portraits. The great and the small struggle but find no solution. Those in pain find comfort in blaming everyone with whom they have come in contact. Those crippled or weakened may fight to regain function or find the struggle too great and succumb. Some observe the devastation which others have endured and steel themselves in an effort to prevent circumstances the opportunity to incite the condition.

But when and how and where the defects will present are beyond our control. It doesn’t matter whether one lives in solitude or indiscriminately socializes because, despite the observation that these are communicable, everyone is already a carrier. The same urges, instincts and longings drive us all with the only subtle difference being how far we are driven crazy.

This seldom stops us from asking, “Why?” I am asking quite a lot at this time in my life. The defects of which I am most curious are all about the stupefying insistence of human beings to deliberately dismiss one another. I have no real questions to the causes. I have no unsolved enigmas in the ways we conduct our malice. Where I have a lot of time invested is in why we won’t examine our resentments and bitterness to resolve them but will enthusiastically do so to reinforce them. The human race is determined to wile away its existence in futile passions.

[Insert record scratch, here]

I want a do over. I want a do over in nearly everything. That’s what made me drill down into the things that screw up relationships. I can’t get a do over unless another person gives it to me. That is the underlying problem in all human interaction. Nearly every conflict comes down to one person being willing to try again and the other person being dead set against it. This happens between nations and right on down to family members and is always foundational to a man and woman in conflict.

Historically in the majority of cases involving men and women it is men seeking the do over. This is not because men are solely at fault or necessarily the guilty party – except it seems that it is necessary as far as women are concerned. So it’s men making the pleadings for a re-trial in all of the “love” songs, romance novels, and movies. Seriously think about that. And, then also seriously evaluate that “love” appears to be something men want and women leave men wanting.

Yeah, yeah – Boo Hoo, I know. For all of the claims of women pining for that special someone no one is ever special enough. I am still going to contend that men are willing to work with a woman’s faults but women can not reciprocate. Women suffer a man’s faults. That is in no way the same thing.

The entire system is set up for a “woman’s prerogative to change her mind.” In other words, a woman will not be held to her choices, decisions, or indiscretions or be made to be accountable for her contradictory nature. Instead she is rewarded for being contrary by every aspect of the dating, courting, marriage and mating rituals. Be honest – there is a whole lot of expected ass kissing for women. Men are expected to be consistent, trustworthy, reliable, diligent, devoted – predictable. That is why a woman lashing out at a man for unsatisfactory (in her biased estimation) behavior receives what a woman believes to be her most scathing indictment, “I don’t even know who you are anymore.” If a man were to say this to a woman he would hear derisive laughter. A woman isn’t the same person within the same breath much more any extended period of time.

What this equates to is a performance-based system for relationships between the genders. It is a meritocracy whereby the man is a pawn. Love is purely conditional as far as the affections of the woman toward the man. He must make all of the proper moves in the correct sequence and even then never expect he passes muster. He will be doubted, questioned, taunted, mocked and deceived as ever the woman sees fit. The game is rigged. A man can do no better than finish and had better be damned happy and content with that. While she’s keeping the mystery she’s also keeping score.

By definition the rules guarantee that the man is constantly guilty until proven innocent. This becomes protracted to associate the onus of fault to be exclusively the man’s while the woman holds court as jury, judge and executioner. The extended consequence is that one party believes herself blameless and a victim due to her association with the man. When she tires of the game he is dismissed with a summary sentence of either, “I’ve outgrown you;” or, a personal favorite, “I don’t love you and I never loved you.” In fairness, the latter might actually be the closest to a pronouncement of truth to ever pass her lips.

So, knowing this is the game I still want a do over. I still seek reconciliation and whatever love she has to offer no matter how imperfect . What I want is the same acceptance that I offer her.

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I'd Be Taller If My Legs Were Longer

This insightful as well as seemingly obvious observation is a direct quote of my grandfather. He said it with all sincerity and no comprehension of the "Duh" factor. It was passed on to me as a family joke which was supposed to show the good natured folly of how my grandfather approached life. I adored that man and still do. I looked past the easy ridicule and understood the far deeper meaning he intended.

My grandfather meant that he had unsatisfied desires and dreams that he had identified and could even narrow the causes for his failure to achieve them to a simple thing that happened to be entirely outside his control. There is no arguing that had his legs been longer that he would, indeed, have been taller. I think what he was expressing was what went unsaid - a longing that was never realized. Somehow, in his estimation, his stature as a human being would have been enhanced if his physical stature only reflected the way he wanted to see himself, as well as be seen. I never laugh at other people's dreams and aspirations. If I had it in my powers and the wisdom to do no harm and only good by granting others their "what-ifs" I would not hesitate. So, my grandfather's words have become a sort of talisman for me.

I do not suffer his longing for height but I do hope I share other aspects of his lofty character and what may seem as small in other people's eyes makes my legs feel a little longer thanks to him. We do not get to choose into which family we are born. Our gender, ethnicity, geographical location for our entry into this world and similar things are not negotiable. The proportions and colors of our features, our mental processes and whether everything even functions are all beyond our control. So why are we so fixated on these things and wish away our lives trying to hide, modify, deny or demand acceptance of who we are? That's when I quote my grandfather's words. Whenever I catch myself or hear someone else making a case for being a victim of circumstances I remind myself that I'd be taller if my legs were longer.

Interestingly enough that always brings me up short. Because then I must really question myself as to why I believe that changing an unchangeable anything would make me a better, richer, happier me? I need to pause and honestly remind myself that I don't use what I already have. There is no reason at all to honestly believe that if I were handed my wish list of ambitions and aspirations that I would avail myself of them. I'm kidding myself to say I'd be appreciative and put in the effort. When I focus on my misery I'm wishing that my legs were longer thinking then I'd just step above my conflicts, hassles and conundrums. No I wouldn't.

I am divorced. Don't want to be. Never wanted to be. Looks like I'm going to stay divorced, too, because my ex-wife never wanted to be divorced, either, but staying with me proved the worse alternative. My various wishing for longer legs in that situation swirled around the rejection, the claims that I was somehow a victim, the hope that time and good will could make amends . . . and ultimately that the two of us, as mature people, could change fundamentally. Just yesterday a very good friend (because he tells me what I need to hear - not what I want to hear) reminded me that we do not get what we want simply because we wish for it and we do not necessarily get what we want even if we pursue it with all we've got. Whether I fight for a thing or squander the same amount of time wishing for it does not change the outcome either way. Meanwhile I am wasting this minute and this day and countless others suspended in my self-induced nightmare.

I need to stand on whatever legs I've really got - no matter whether or not they are currently able to support me. I need to stretch and exercise and use what I already (or, still) have. One of the largest obstacles for me to see around is accepting that I probably have no means to fundamentally change who I am at the core. That core guy isn't so bad but then he hasn't been introduced to very many people. He's camouflaged by everything I've used to extend myself artificially. I need to get over or at least find a way to see past the likelihood that I can not change myself in the ways my ex-wife wants or needs. I must not ask her to hold on for some metamorphosis I haven't the capacity to realize. I don't need to worry about how long my legs are for that one - I'll be be too crippled for quite some time.

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