Fine Not Fine

Some of you have noticed (and mentioned to me) that I haven’t been writing as much these days.

And it’s true. I haven’t. People ask if everything is ok. And I reply that it’s fine. Because that’s the answer most people want to hear. In our culture of news feeds, it’s easy to find the shit that makes us smile and scroll past the stuff that might not be as cool as flying kittens shooing lazer beams.

I get that.

And to be completely honest…even though things don’t feel completely fine, I don’t really go in to it too much because it leads to the ‘what’s wrong?’ question. And that’s just it. There’s not something that is wrong per se. It’s just not quite right, if that makes any sense. I’m getting wrapped back up in the trappings of the world and it’s harshing my zen.

Or something like that.

And I’m not going to lie…part of it is my daughter’s breakup with her boyfriend. I’m not going to get in to the gory gory here because that’s her busines and her story to tell. But working through the process with her kinda shone the light in the deep crevaces of my soul. I realized that my advice for helping her get through this really wasn’t as relevant as it should have been. I mean the guy who went through two divorces of marriages totalling a combined nearly 20 years should be able to help his daughter navigate the breakup waters of a 2 year relationship, right? Apparently not.

I realized that the love you have for someone at 20 is much MUCH different than the love you have for someone at 40. Which of course calls in to question the kinds of love…and how intensely did I really ever feel it? Which going back even further (because once we’re tumbling down the rabbit hole, why not go ALL the way the fuck down the rabbit hole??). I have cared for every woman I’ve been in a relationship with. I have loved them all. In a fashion. A kind of love. Is it the Hollywood bullshit romance novel love? Don’t know. Was that love reciprocated? Again…it seemed like it was. People say love is hard work. Bullshit. Love is easy. Building a life with someone is hard work. And in this triple lindy down the rabbit hole, it pains me to say that the people in my life that I have had the deepest love for are not the ones with home I vowed to spend the rest of my life. Kind of puts the divorces in to perspective. I cared about my wives. Both of them. I loved them. Part of me loves and cares for them still. But not in the move heaven and earth and I’ll mess up anyone that fucks with you kind of way. And that’s the problem.

Maybe that’s what’s “wrong.” I don’t really have anything in my life that I would fight for. I mean…my daughter. I would move heaven and earth to see her have the best life she can possibly have. But for myself, I’m locked in to the meeting the needs…food..shelter…carnal pleasures…Netflix….delivery pizza…. you know–everything Maslow talked about in his pyramid.

It’s just a funk. I know that. Things are clouded right now by the neck pain. I run at between a 3 and 4 on a scale to 10 of pain on an everpresent basis. Its the point where that’s almost the new baseline. The problem is…the things that used to bring me joy and happiness now have to be amped up to get through that baseline. It’s a constant fog that surrounds me. Keeps me from seeing the obvious things around me.


I feel adriift. And it’s not really any one thing. Awww fuck it. I’ll figure it out. Lunch is over and I need to get back to my day. I feel a little bad that I dumped this crap on you guys.. I don’t call…I don’t write..and when I do, it’s this melancholy malaise sandwhich. Ain’t nobody got time for that bullshit.


Back to the book(s).


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