Swifty phiphty niner

I am so restless today.   I know it’s the same for everybody once in a while.   Coming into work every day, every day, there has to be days that you just want to stop and scream.   Or take a nap.   Or something other than the brain numbing experience of daily toil.   Please make it stop.   Maybe those Mayan priests got tired of chopping heads off of people every day too.   The same old thing everyday, lop, lop, lop, toss, toss, toss.   Then meaninglessness of it all.   Do you think they had cocoa breaks.   “Hey Chimmje, come on now, have a bit of cocao, give your arm a rest!”   Ha ha ha, they would laugh, laugh, laugh between choppings. “It seems as if I chopped off a thousand heads, it’s all the same, they still keep coming through, and I lop off another one, no different from the other one! The repetition is killing me!” I know how they feel.   Every day I come in and am presented with the same issues, maybe a different angle, but, still, all the same shit every day.   I’m

I feel I may have overshared in yesterday’s post.   But I have to stay authentic and it is just mental streaming coming from my brain.   The truth is is that song was played after all the drama that went on between us.   I gave her the CD more than a year after everything finally tapered off.   But everytime I played that song I would feel a tug to want to go back into the pit of hell with her.   There was no lesson learned that I applied in any sensical way.   I wanted to be with her despite all the insanity that piled up behind that thinking.   The song that really went on during the whole crazy affair was by Maroon V.   There was a mix of songs on their CD, “Songs About Jane” that qualified but the one that would set my hair on fire was “Tangled”. “I’m full of regret For all the things I’ve done and said And I don’t know if it’ll ever be ok to show My face ‘round here Sometimes   I wonder if I disappear, Would you ever turn your head and look See if I’m gone Cause I fe

Last Request - Last Request What you have to understand before I go any further is that the distance between me leaving my wife and being with Nicole cannot be measured in light years.  A lot of mental damage took place.  I could not weigh the merit of my worth as a husband, a man, a lover, a provider, nothing.  I lost the race, I lost my mind to the casual benevolence of a cruel presence.  Me/child/tender boy/sensitive Chris.  L.O.S.T. every bit of my mind.  I could not work among normal workers.  I cried myself to sleep, on the way to work, during work, after work.  The self-absorption of how wrong could I have been was so total, no cell unturned that did not share in the pain of the parting.  Nicole though was an angel in this total darkness.  She didn’t judge me but acted like I was the best man on the planet.  Now this is 10 years distance since this happened and I still have a hard time transcribing this.  In retrospect I discovered that she never broke up with her boyfriend

“Last Request.”  This is a song sung by my favorite band, Paolo Nutini.  You know how there are songs in your life that you played over and over during certain periods of your life?  Well this song qualifies as a top contender on that list. “Slow Down, Lie Down Remember it’s just you and me.” There were times in my life when I wanted to be in love.  The confusion that reigned was whether I wanted to be in love with the woman I was with, the woman I dreamed I could be with or just to be in love with love itself.  The perimeter of my mental vision was imbued with an ethereal fuzzy view and my mind simply let go into that state.  It was more of a fugue than anything.  During this particular relationship, this song circulated in and out of the many endings and beginnings and spectacular displays of emotional upheavals.  The whole thing started in the eye of a hurricane and was constantly a challenge to stay connected physically, emotionally and finally mentally.  But, hey, it was

I went to my Dharma recovery group last night.   It’s the 3 rd time attending and I have some feelings I’d like to write about.   Initially we meditate for 5 minutes and then we do a personal check in.   After that it starts going downhill.   But first we talk about the chapter of the book we’re reading.   Currently we’re reading, “Radical Acceptance, Embracing Your Life with the Heart of a Buddha” by Tara Brach.   It’s a wonderful book and I’m getting so much out of it personally.   When I started the group we were on Chapter 6 (read it 4 times, don’t remember off hand what it’s about) so I started the book there.   I have since read the entire book and stay current on the chapters we’re studying.   I literally read each chapter a minimum of 4 to 5 times before going to group.   Now I’m not sure how my mind works but I still don’t remember the stuff I’ve read when I get in group.   I underline passages, re-read passages but each time group starts I draw a big fat blank.    I’m no

I saw my good friend David C. yesterday at a restaurant.   Well actually it was Café Bernardo on Capital Avenue to be specific.   We usually would meet there on Wednesday’s anyway as a precursor to going to the Balanced Depression and Bipolar Support group.   First, it was great to see Dave.   He really lights me up on the inside and I have grown to appreciate the glow of friendship that we share.   I don’t think he’d give me a kidney but hey, you never know.   I would give him mine.   There I said it so now it’s official.   But there’s no need for us to talk about organs when there’s so much to say about friendship in itself.   He’s a father of 3 adult women and he survived that process with grace and dignity!   He has a beautiful wife.   In the past they both  used to work together for their income, the same job, the same site.   I asked him, “don’t you get tired of each other being together all day and then together at night?”   You know I thought it was a valid question.   His an

 A lot has happened since I last wrote.   I thought I had to be “inspired” to write in order to write.   You know to be a writer you need to be inspired.   But the fact that if anyone reads what I write then that makes me a writer so I’m a writer.   I don’t need a muse.   I will write as I said, the last days before 60 being the vehicle of this blog. So I will write about this picture that a good friend surprised me with on my phone the other day.   Here I am, in full glorious teen years, smiling.   I want to emphasize the smiling because I think it’s a beautiful smile.   I know I’m in my bedroom but I just don’t know where this bedroom was.   There’s a picture of my girlfriend from Germany hanging on the wall so that’s a dead giveaway.   My reel to reel music player, my desk lamp and that’s about it.   If I had stars painted on my bell bottoms that would be another give away as I wore those pants out as a teenager. What am I thinking?   I like this shot.   Have you ev

When I abruptly entered this world as a baby I was delivered into the arms of a woman, my mother.  What few moments of tenderness that happened at that time I’ll never know but I know a habit of sweetness was not initiated and it was a fight ever since to allow my place in this world to be valid.  I was not nurtured with love and grace rather tolerance and impatience.   What sweet mystery that is behind the face of a woman was never revealed to me other than a countenance that displayed rancor and disappointment.  I was never to know the beauty behind the secret smile, the tender guile behind gentle blue eyes.  No my mysteries were more the raging tempest of unpredictable storms, the stringent sting of a whip on my backside.   The humiliation of waning trust turned into a shallow bitterness weathered constantly in front of family, friends and the occasional feminine interest.  I felt more of a social experiment in a lab craftfully built to look like a home, a family, a den of safety.