Christmas Eve…Eve

On the night before the expected most magical night of the year….I am sulking on the patio. I have no one to cry out to.

My best friend has enough on their plate and I’m not going to shit on their down time.

My only companion out here is a lone owl crying out for another. I hear ya buddy…I hear ya.

I’m falling back into bad habits and patterns of thinking. I’m doing “Divorce Math”….

It’s not so much about money, but what else I will have to sacrifice. What else do I have to let go of…

On the flip side, what am I gaining? Someone who will touch me, love me and not make me feel judged or that they “tolerate” me?

On social media, we are that perfect couple, in-sync, a creative team that could probably have their own HGTV show. She would be the serious planner and I the oldest man-child.

We said for better or for worse…is there any better? Who is at fault?

Does she love me…or the lifestyle and security I provide? Have we grown apart, or just sick of each other’s shit.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year and I’m wondering if this is the last one? I want to make it work until my last two are out on their own. This isn’t their fault. My mother didn’t care what would happen to her 15 year old son who was at that critical age in his life.

So I potentially have a 3-4 year plan.

Do we fix it, or grow even further apart?

The thought of letting it all go is part liberating and part horrifying.

She can make me the bad guy, and I would back that up. We can pretend for a whole year or two and just let it fade in public opinion.

Less pictures and odes to each other, less and less photos of each other together…

Facebook…watching relationships fall apart one post at a time.

…on this 12th day of Christmas..12 vultures circling.

Emotional Intelligence…and being on the wrong side of that fence.

I was reading about “Emotional Intelligence” and I wanted to think I “had it”.
But when I look at the bad column:

• You get stressed easily. ...

• You have difficulty asserting yourself. ...

• You have a limited emotional vocabulary. ...

• You make assumptions quickly and defend them vehemently. ...

• You hold grudges. ...

• You don't let go of mistakes. ...

• You often feel misunderstood. ...

• You don't know your triggers.

I’m like Fuck…

That’s me.

But…at least I am starting to accept that I no longer want to be “The Man” at work.

Now I realize work doesn’t “follow” me home and I’m at peace.

Mostly. 🙂

The 3-Finger Confession

Actually and technically its a “6-finger” confession….2nd glass.

As the bourbon floods my soul, it unearths all my past sins and transgressions. Regret now dominates my soul. How many people have I used? Women I made empty promises to? Am I a Narcist? Or…just desperate? I mentioned I am probably a voodoo doll, or on an altar of hatred….

Do I deserve this guilt and shame? Maybe. But I am only human, lonely and starving for physical contact.

During all those transgressions, I felt alive. Needed, wanted and desired. How can I not justify that? Can I?

Can I play the “only human” card? Or….mid-life crisis card…

I’m afraid of “settling” and not wanting. That seems to be like….death.

Dreamer

I drift off to sleep tangled in the arms of my loved one, I catch the scent of her hair and listen to her quiet rhythmic breathing.

In the dead of night, I am flying and performing heroic feats, visiting those who have been long gone from my life.

We have conversations that were cut short and unfinished.

Closure.

It is a deep sleep, like a newborn child who is exhausted from seeing everything with fresh eyes.

I relive the echoes of my youth, running through the corn fields and endless woods….during Summers that seemed to last for years.

I see shadows of key moments that changed the course of my life, sometimes I live in an alternate universe where I turned right instead of left.

I hear my Mother’s laughter fill the house as the aroma of her cooking calls me to the table.

My favorite pet from long ago rests on my lap once again to be stroked and cuddled.

The story of my life compressed into one night with so many chapters I hope to finish tomorrow night.

The Sunrise closes that book once again and I am back in my older and tired body.  Wondering what aches and pains will flare up as I leave the warm embrace of the bed covers.

I make a silent promise to continue my nightly journey when I close my eyes again.

Hopefully.

You can find me, buried in there somewhere

“I don’t want you to get to know me, I want you to believe my version.” -William Shatner

Our bodies shed both organic and mental dead cells. Our minds may become hoarded nightmares waiting for a purging fire, flood or deep cleaning.

I lost count of which version I am at this point in my life. How many times have I died and regenerated? Where is my favorite version hiding?

Am I only hearing the echo of him? The shadow or ashes from my favorite life are all that’s left?

I gaze over the last cliff I climbed only to find a frayed rope.

Have I grown, matured…learned anything? Or am I on this never ending loop repeating the same mistakes in new and creative ways?

Maybe tomorrow….I will pick up the trail again.

Maybe.

Fake Christmas Trees

Maybe one of the reasons the Holidays are so depressing is that we are “expected” to be happy and festive. We Force feed lights and decorations upon ourselves and the “magic” happens.

We are obsessed with buying the perfect gift and such. So let’s just keep making it stressful.

We have to untangle half-working lights, locate all the boxes of decorations, and pray everyone doesn’t lose their shit getting into the Spirit.

If you are in a warm Southern climate, it’s a joke to hang lights in shorts sweating.

Fake trees guarantee no bad spots, and green 24/7. But it seems like a cheat and typical modern shortcut.

I think somewhere in the midst of the Holidays, when it’s quiet and you have good stiff egg nog in your hand, the Spirit…literally sinks into your heart and you warm to it.

Status Quo Coward

Earlier I mentioned my “practiced speech” to and from work. But life interrupts my timing at home and it gets shelved. Tonight was no different. We are in the process of remodeling/redecorating/upgrading minor things that have worn and yellowed over time.

The Collaboration went smoothly. I threw myself into the tasks and accepted any and all recommendations from her. Which I had to work on. I had and do have issues with that. (I am not an innocent and abused spouse) Let’s call it one of my favorite legal terms from college: Contributory Negligence.

The night grew dark early and the project went perfect. I wasn’t waiting for an “opening”….I knew this was not the time. Anything else would have been out of left field and open-handed. I’m not always a kill-joy. Coward? Maybe. Okay maybe sometimes.

To clarify “The Speech” or “The Talk”….it’s nothing Earth shattering. My best friend told me it needed to happen, if only to prevent animosity to build-up like it did years ago and I sought comfort elsewhere. (Which blew up in my well deserved face) The Talk is more like a quarterly or annual “Status Report”, a sanity check….or…”What am I doing wrong?” talk.

Now that we lost our church, I’m afraid of slipping back into that mindset. Although the instant gratification was almost worst the fallout. (Sex, fast and furious with no strings fixes everything) Not really, but it helps justify it in my selfish mind. Which is my Superhero power.

Sometimes it feels like Marriage. Other times Co-Habitation…other times Roommates who are maybe plotting the murder of the other one. (Just kidding, maybe a mild food poisoning)

Maybe this is what marriage is.

Compromise, Sacrifice, one-sided at times, lopsided, empty victories for stupid arguments, white lies to keep the balance and peace. Major Lies to avoid being killed in one’s sleep. (Again, kidding. I hope)

In my twenty’s it was “God!!! Why ME?!?!?” In my Post-40’s….”Oh….I definitely deserved this.”

I poured a 3-finger Jim Beam and Honey for this latest post. I feel warm, reflective and today’s internal battle is over. I have succumbed to it and that it sometimes wears me down. I found my temporary hole and the shooting has stopped. I can see the stars above and it’s quiet.

An addendum I just thought to add to “The Talk”…is: What happens when the last of our children finish school and move out? Where do we go from there?

Do we grow more distant? Or do we re-discover us? ….or there is the much delayed Crime-scene tape around the bedroom?

My parents gave up just when I was hitting my middle teenage years. A horrendous divorce that felt like it never ended. Only until both of my parents were in Nursing Homes, did I breathe a sigh of….calmness.

My life could have turned out in so many ways. I made some fateful decisions at the right time and they led me to being a productive and…..somewhat stable human, parent, husband.

Until I wasn’t.

A famous College Football coach once said something that could fit Marriage:

“It’s not the victory that matters, it’s magnificence of the struggle.”

Same Roof, Different Rooms

Marriage is fickle. At least mine is.

Outwards we appear happy, in-unison and all that marital Jazz.

Inside, I’m dying for intimacy. To hold her, to cuddle.

Maybe we are burned out. Maybe we got lost in our own interests. Maybe we quit talking about deeper things. We assume it’s okay.

On the way to and from work I rehearse my discussion with her.

But tasks and errands flood the few hours of home time. She also gets in a mood or I do and the window to talk heart to heart is impossible.

There was a time when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I obsessed thinking about her and anticipated being with her.

We met before the internet and cell phones. I courted her, asked for her hand in marriage.

I broke our vow and maybe she is punishing me for it. Maybe she has forgiven but not…forgotten.

Does she still love me remotely like she use to? All I have to do is ask.

I need human touch and intimacy. To feel flesh against mine. To hear whispers and moans. Cries of joy and gasps when I touch or kiss the right spot.

The options frighten me. The answer I may get even more so. Let’s pretend for another day. Which turns into more years that blur together.

The women in my life I want, are just out of reach, off limits, or indifferent.

Maybe this is my punishment. Again, the alternatives worry me. A fate worse than death.

Loneliness.

The Silent Battle of Me

On the outside I smile, carry an air of confidence. Inside there is a quiet trench warfare in the dead of night.

Some days the Armistice holds and all is good. But then when my confidence is low the barrage of what-ifs and should-haves rains down upon me.

Every year my Allies are either picked off, or I inadvertently betray them, or…they choose the other side. I feel outnumbered, alone and trapped.

My chemical warfare keeps the other side at bay. But sometimes I press the Front too far and step on those proverbial mines. Other times I unleash a buried toxin and release it into the air. The wind always blows it into my own lungs.

Sometimes my skirmishes spill into the outside world and cause my closest friends to retreat as far away as possible.

The worst part is, I have no idea who or what fired the first shot.

There is no flag to capture and the only objective that matters is that I make it until sunrise.

Conversations we never had

On dark wet road, late at night in early October, decades ago, you died.

You were the first big loss in my young life.

You were my closest sister and confidant. You taught me so many of life’s basics.

Two decades later, our brother would leave this world too.

I wasn’t mature enough to carry on a deep conversation, not until years later. Which was too late.

As the hole left in my life grew bigger and deeper, so did all those lost moments. The ripple effect has no end. Will I truly see you again?

Do you hear me when I whisper “I miss you”? Do you know when you are in my dreams? Maybe that is you actually being “here”.

Do you see the life I created? Do you see what I’m passionate about? Do you see my fears and mistakes? Do you see that one friend who has helped me in your place?

As my own children grow older I try to give them a brief history of You.

There is so much to say, to share. To cry out for. All those laughs and tears kept inside. Faith in above tries to tell me maybe you were avoiding a worse fate and life.

My own greedy selfishness doesn’t see it. Or comprehend that possibility. The Great Excuse to help me move on.

All I can do is remember and try to live for both of us.