tic-tac-toe

Nothing provokes me like someone trying to tell me what I can or can’t do. And I am not talking about “Eat your vegetables”, “Take out the trash”, "Don't run a red light", "Don't steal shit", or "Don't stick a knife in someone" (well maybe the red light thing, once). That stuff is important and I get that. What I mean is when someone is attempting to assert control over me, primarily for their own gains or because they consider my actions irrelevant, then I am full-on instigated.

In fact, I can be a bit immature when confronted with authority. A holdover from adolescence, I presume. For the most part, because I am an adult I am able to identify when the limitations being placed on me are legitimate and necessary. And I bite my tongue.

But, nothing pleases me more than to shove it in the face of whatever or whoever attempts to assert unnecessary control over me. Tell me I’m too old to do something, to act a certain way, then you can bet I’ll be first in line. Tell me what I say is irrelevant and I’ll carry on until I find an ear. Attempt to limit my behavior because you don’t consider me worthy and I’ll increase my efforts until you are red faced.

What amazes me is that they (those attempting control) do not understand that their assertions invariably expose their hot buttons. See, now I know what pisses you off and I can be an asshole, so there you go. But, like I said, I can be a bit immature.

Also, I find it unnecessary for someone to belittle a person because their opinion does not run parallel to their own. Typically, name calling will get you nowhere. We are each entitled to our own beliefs, and our opinions will undoubtedly run counter to other's. And if I don't agree, I'll let you know. I'll give you my point of view and perhaps some facts that I may have squirreled away for the occasion to back it up.

Usually this works and we can agree to disagree. But, if you are maliciously handing me my head over and over about whatever burns your ass, then I will most likely ignore you.

That works in two ways. First, I don't hear you any longer. I can continue my life knowing that I made an attempt to express my opinion. And hopefully you now realize you are not going to change mine. Second, I don't hear you any longer.

Then later, under my breath, I'll call you an idiot. And let's face it, if after all that you still think you can change my opinion...well now, we don't need to go there. Just for the record, I won't try to change yours, either. Your opinion, that is.

With all that being said, (and feel free to ignore any of it) please keep in mind that I am a bit of a smart ass. And I have been known to dish out a good natured hard-time. If you poke me, I'll poke you back...sometimes I poke first.

I think I read somewhere something along the lines of...we need to be able to best deal with those things that impact us emotionally, and we need to handle them ourselves. As individuals the decisions we make are what we can control. The rest is up to the rest.




p.s. ask yourself.

For old times sake...

Here is a little something I have learned. Or, perhaps it is inherent in my nature.

There is beauty in most every moment...life, and I mean all of it. Seriously, that is not to say that I can find a silver lining in the beating of an old man for his wallet, or the rape of a young girl. But, some of my more elegant words arrive from the ugliest of times, and I suppose the inverse is true, as well. Anyway, I think they are.




There was a ball, a strike, a kiss, and some much needed sleep.

We awoke to a quiet house that, after a few short hours, would be alarmed by uncertainty.

The phone call and waiting cleared my head. All I could consider was what I would miss if I was met with the loss of such a good friend. Those other things, my schedule, would wait. And, the wait was endless. I was anxious because I could not be there to hear firsthand the explanation, the reassurance. But I knew, I already knew why and how. What I needed to hear was that it had been fixed.

And it was. You are fine and I still have you to call when I need a laugh, to shoot the shit, or to find reason in things that make sense only to friends that have been there from the depths. We will have our once every chance we can get (which is not often enough) visits.

I will tell you again that you are my friend.

Still, I can’t let go of the feeling I had when I thought you were gone. In those few hours I was bombarded with memories built on some ten years time. I thought how fortunate I was to have had my life filled with your energy, your support, and all the trust I could ever imagine.

I paced while waiting to hear the news, and as I circled the floors over and again the strangest thought came to me; I would be okay. I have come a long way and I have you to thank for some of that. You give a good kick in the ass. And, there is something amazing in that.

Let's not forget the flood, the funk, the summers, and that high speed departure.




p.s. wherever he is, he’s all over the place.

HOLIDAY

My bizarre take on a strange holiday tradition has produced magical dancing light.




p.s. may all of yours be merry and bright.

What can I give her that she doesn't already have?

I recently received a text message from a very good friend:

“You watch grinch? What the fuck are they singing?”

I replied:

“Been a while: Ah-boo-doe-ray, Ah-boo-doe-ray. Or something like that. But what I really wanna know is why santa is such a dick to rudolph.”

This was my friends reply:

“Donner a dick too.”

And because I can’t let anything go without an overdone, unnecessary, crack-pot analysis, I replied again:

“Yeah, what up with that. Nice message to send kids…youre different and I dont like you, so fuck you until I need you to pull my sleigh. Then I like you. Santa almost push rudolph over the edge.”

My friend was probably thinking "Why did I even ask?"

But, yeah Santa is pretty much a dick to Rudolph. I believe he says something to the effect of "Pity, and he had potential, too.” And my friend was right, Donner was a dick. Desperate to prove himself a worthy sperm donor, he makes Rudolph cover up his depreciatory genetic mutation. Explaining to his son that there are more important things in life than comfort, like self-respect.

The message: If you don't fit in, you aren't worth shit. So suck it up until you either fit in or someone needs you for something.

And then everyone tries to take it back and pin the "reindeer of the year" award on Rudolph. Kids have to see through that.

(Clarice knew what was up, though. Right from the beginning she knew Rudolph was the shit.)

So, I say to Santa and the rest of the fuckers in this world...just because someone doesn’t fit your image of what “a something” should be you think that they are incapable? Not worthy? Without feelings?

"Just wait, and watch your back."





And, of course I had to look that shit up, so here it is:

Welcome Christmas

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas,
Come this way!

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas,
Christmas Day.

Welcome, Welcome
Fah who rah-moose
Welcome, Welcome
Dah who dah-moose
Christmas day is in our grasp
So long as we have hands to clasp

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome, welcome Christmas
Welcome, welcome Christmas
Day


Copyright © 1957, Dr. Seuss.
http://www.seuss.org/seuss/welcome.xmas.html




p.s. a lifetime supply of it.



(poke)

What would you have me say?

Ah, the extraordinary from which I glean substance.



Aviva

In two months time, they had already taken half of your leg. And, your decision to give your eyes had been made, all the arrangements confirmed.

Your veins carried the bits and pieces of your death. Broken off from the center of your gut and pumped through your body by your two-timing heart. The debris collected in the narrows to strangle your extremities. Passageways filled and clogged. Backing up, they would finally find their way to your heart which, by that time, would be too exhausted to push any further.

You were one minute shivering with cold, the next ripping with heat. The cold hand towel placed on your forehead and the morphine on demand were your only physical relief. But the tricks that chemical played on your mind, bringing ghosts to your bedside, became your greatest emotional comfort. You claimed “She’s standing right there.” Obviously, no one else could see her she had been dead for ten years. But eavesdropping on your conversations provided insight into your fear.

"I just want to know why."

"I know, but I'm just not ready yet and I don’t want to be afraid."

"Because I don't want it to end."

While in reality, he stood tirelessly by your side. Always ready for whatever you needed, and there was never a hint of frustration, never a moment that could have been construed as forced. He was in no way put out as he took over some of the nurse’s duties relieving you of any more embarrassment. All for the things he already knew. It was his most selfless act, but at the same time provided him relief from deadful thoughts. Without question or consideration, he cared for you, cleaned you, changed your clothes, your catheter, the colostomy.

Because it was all he could do.

Along with that came the visitors, myself included, each lost in their attempts to find meaning in what seemed incomprehensible. They stumbled to find the right words to reply to your pleas of "I don't want to die." Wanting to ease your pain and take your mind off of death, they attempted small talk. When all you really wanted was someone to agree with you, take your hand and say "I know and I don't want you to die, either."

The swift destruction was overwhelming. All the poison they pumped into you, and the painful, awkward experimental treatments, failed. You had been through enough.

Then finally, “Let me bring her home.”

They delivered your hospital bed the day before you died. I know because I was there, for both. It remained by the large bedroom window, unmade and unused, for several weeks. It sat to reinforce the loss.






p.s. there is a time and a place for everything and that is neither.

Well tempered.

“Something with poison in it, but attractive to the eye, and soothing to the smell.”
-Wicked Witch of the West, The Wizard of Oz





Once upon a fork in the road...

In the corner a ratty green sofa sits butted up against a water ring stained end table. There are at least four three inch burn holes in the snagged, stained fabric. Heavy, dark drapes cover the window. The time of day is a complete mystery to anyone who has spent any time here and time is all but spent.

The sofa, the room smells like piss and acid. Pizza boxes, broken plastic forks and unwanted, half-eaten food are surrounded by empty beer bottles and overfilled ash trays. A bent spoon sits on the coffee table.

Around the corner, the kitchen cupboards are bare, the fridge empty. It’s water and anti-acids for dinner; anything else would be a waste.

“Have you seen your family?”

“Well, you should. I know they miss you.”

The visit was brief and I was grateful to have had the opportunity, but for some reason I can’t help but be thankful for decisions I made long ago. I emerged almost unscathed, at least in that respect. I wish there was more I could do.

"Call me if you need anything."

In that dark room past, present and future all at once delivered upon us both, redemption.

"Yeah, I will."






p.s. it is round there aren't any sides.

They said you said what I said to you

Your subtlety lacks finesse. Either it is, or it isn’t.

And, we know it is.

But it is incomplete, isn’t it. What is it that was left out or held back?

Well, let me remind you.

Fear at all hours of the day and night. And, I couldn’t breathe without suggesting abandon, so I suffocated from repression. Then, managing the never ending time spent attempting to quell your irrational needs killed me. It was never enough, the time, the attention, the truth, so I finally caved. Yet, the debate continued. And, you couldn’t stop me or make me change my mind, and that infuriated you. But, instead of pushing so hard you would have been better off just killing time.

But, I relent and you suffer delusion and sometimes it was the other way around.

It was like this; there, assembled from misery, denial and frustration, we produced an alternate reality. Can we just admit that it was unnatural? Not quite forced, but awfully close. If so, then we’ll leave it at that.

In the end, it was finished. I’m surprised we held out as long as we did.

And yes, “it was grand, and we have the pictures to prove it.”

Now it’s just shit and we are both shoveling.





p.s. while hiding beneath the window, crying.