i'm not perfect, but i'm not an asshole...

o beloved non-existent readers, thou stalwart and strong, o tried n true. if you're still coming around this irradiated little bit of rusty tetanus nail in the grainfield of the world wide web, then maybe it is time you stopped.

because the story i have to tell today will not be a happy one. it will probably, in your minds; if i could presume to guess in advance what you might think of me, negate almost everything i have said in the past in this blog. i don't think it does, but i cannot for the life of me imagine that any of you who might still stumble past here on occasion would walk away from today's post thinking anything but "how could he have written all those other things?"

but first, a story. the wife and i are out one night with friends at a local nightclub, and i had been wanting to try a rob roy, so i ordered one, in my inimitable fashion. shortly after ordering, i went to the bathroom, and when i come back, my wife is livid.

turns out, the bartender brought a roy rogers instead of my scotch and sweet vermouth. turns out that in my absence, when my wife discovered the error, she said i was an "asshole" and that i could never order something "normal" n that she was sorry. all this to the bartender. or cocktail waiter. or whatever the fuck he is. the dick who shoulda brought me a fucking rob roy n not coke n grenadine. that guy. turns out, she calls me an asshole to my face a few more times for having ordered a fucking drink at a fucking bar. a place where, if the guy was unsure as to what was involved in a rob roy, he could've looked it up.

of course, i told her in no uncertain terms that i was in fact not an asshole for having ordered a drink in a bar that the waiter fucked up. i questioned her need to make excuses for me to a guy who obviously wasn't very good at his job or at best was having a bad night. a guy we don't know. a guy to whom we owe nothing. her reply was, "i'll just go wait in the car until you're ready to go home."

o my beloved non-existent readers, my droogs and only friends (who, no doubt, will no longer be my readers nor my friends after today), this started me thinking. this set into motion a chain of events that are irreversible and irretrievable.

because this isn't the first time something like this has occurred, and when i started thinking about it, i came to the conclusion that at least 60% of just who i am annoys the fucking shit out of my wife. she tells me all the time, in ways similar to the incident with the bartender.

n the more i thought about it, the more i thought: "i'm not really happy. i'm comfortable. i'm here because i have been here for so long." my wife and i had become like roommates, and, i might point out, roommates where one does all the work n the other complains that more isn't done.

and the fact that i am not home all day to do all the work has also brought all these events to a head. and the final result is that i no longer want to be with her. n i am honestly not sure why she has stayed with me so long either.

i'm not perfect. i can be a tool. i can be a dick. i am a moody fucker. i have a knack for saying something with the best of intentions but in such a way that it appears to have the opposite meaning. but i bust my ass to do my part in a relationship. n yes, i expect some things in return. n i believe i was being made to feel bad for expecting something in return for my hard work. i have a lot to offer. i'm a sweet guy, a good guy, a nice guy.

and i won't be taken for granted.

now, obviously the kids are still the most important thing in my life. my boys. my lego-building, video-game-playing, intelligent and handsome sons, who i frequently feel unworthy to father. it pains me to no end what this decision might do to them. but to be the kind of father i want to be, i need to be able to hold my head up high, i need to be happy. i can only hope someday they will understand that i didn't just do this for me, but for them as well, and that they will always be the most important thing in my life and that i love them dearly. i can only hope that someday they will forgive me of all my shortcomings.

if you feel the need to turn and walk away from this blog without ever looking back, i won't blame a single one of you. if you want to stick around, i've been a spotty poster at best, n i have no idea what the future will hold in terms of suitable writing material and laughs as of old.

darth sardonic

not dead

dear beloved non-existent readers, i am not dead yet, just busy with work n life. soon, i promise, i will write a post worth reading. though i can't imagine why any of you still stumble by this dirty clump of prechewed gum on the highway of the world wide web.

darth sardonic

junk food

yesterday i had a long day at work. patients went long, i fell behind on the peripheral duties, and by the time i had clocked out at the end of the day i had nearly ten hours of being on my feet running around. i was exhausted, mentally and physically.

a half-hour drive home, fighting to stay awake. in the kitchen, i immediately see that no. 2 has been doing sentences. they read, "i will not use leftover money from the book fair to buy junk food at lunch." since no. 2 is in the other room playing, i am guessing he is done writing.

so my wife and i have a talk while i have a drink (she is already halfway down a drink of her own), and apparently, no. 2 was given a ten dollar bill to buy books at the book fair. when my wife asked for his change, he said he didn't have it. he told her he accidentally spent it. she said the only thing he might've "accidentally" spent it on would be junk food at lunch. he said that is what he had spent it on.

as she thinks about just how much sugary shit an 8-year-old boy can buy with five usd, she becomes livid, and makes him write sentences, then tells him he is grounded from games and tv for two weeks. he replies, "am i grounded from legos?" to which she answers, "no, you're not grounded from legos." and he cheerfully says, "well at least i can still play legos." she says, "glad you're seeing an upside to this."

"you need to have a talk with him." she tells me.

i decide i am gonna need a moment to decompress, sip my drink, and get in a calmer frame of mind to deal with the situation.

when i am finally ready, i call no. 2 in to talk with me. he stands in front of me, and i ask him why he blew the five bucks on something like junk food. with the idea of teaching him the value of money, i ask him what he could've spent the five dollars on that he might still have to show.

he looks at me with a strange sort of smile. his eyes are glittery, and his big buck teeth are on display as if they are holding back a laugh. i stare at him, waiting for him to tell me what sorts of things he would spend money on that last longer than a few minutes. he stares deep into my eyes and says, "it's in my pocket!"

and proceeds to pull a neatly-folded bill out of his pocket. "and two pennies!" and places them all carefully in my hand, while still smiling that weird smile.

deranged chuckles begin to pour out of me. i stare at the money in my palm. the chuckles roll in ever-increasing waves out of me. "go play, you're fine no. 2."

"wife!" i shout to her in the other room, "come in here and talk to me!"

we try to figure out why on earth he would willfully lie about buying junk food and then take the ensuing punishment when the key to freedom was in his pocket the entire time. the only solution we can come up with is that he was messing with us in some sort of elaborate and convoluted practical joke that is only funny to himself. all the while, the maniacal chuckles spilling from my frame.

if nothing else, it was the exact amount of the surreal to fix my day.

darth sardonic

ass burgers

so no. 1 has been diagnosed with aspergers. 95% chance, according to the test he took with his therapist.

this means no. 1 isn't very good with feelings and emotions and things that cannot be touched and seen.

it means no. 1 is very logical, and thinks in terms of black and white, right and wrong, yes and no. he doesn't see all the gray areas of life.

it means he is very egotistical. it is what he wants when he wants it, and he has a very hard time empathizing with you, or understanding why you would be upset when he kicks you off the video games so that he can play again.

it completely explains the conversation that he and i had about grandpa lloyd and his passing and where he would be now that he is gone. no. 1 has issues with death and heaven mainly cause they are the nebulous kinds of illogical and faith-bound concepts he would have trouble with. so it now makes perfect sense that he would so intently ask me when we were talking about heaven, "but is it true?!!?" he needs it to be concrete, a place i can point out on a map, an address we can plug into the gps.

it means that no. 1 will know everything and anything about the things that interest him. the video games he plays, the dates man first walked on the moon, biology and science. during the summer, he would come home from his science camp, and from memory tell me all the ingredients of that day's experiment and how to mix them and why those ingredients mixed in that way created the result i was now holding in my hand.

it means the things that are not important to no. 1 do not matter in his world, at all. he is perfectly ok with waking up and heading off to school with ridiculous sid vicious bedhead and a rumpled, misbuttoned shirt. it means he has a low tolerance for other people's curiosities and opinions. his opinions are right, others' aren't. he already understands why something works the way it does, and he can't be bothered to explain it to you if you don't.

it means that much of my "creative" approaches to parenting and attempting to get him to understand why something might be important have been wasted effort. it would be simpler if i just said, "don't do that cause it is bad and wrong if you do." than all my attempts to link it to others' feelings or vague concepts of the future.

no. 1 and i go to his therapies together whenever possible, him to learn how to consider other people's feelings and to remember personal hygiene, and me to learn how to guide him properly into a productive and fulfilling life.

n in some ways it means that my idea of a productive and fulfilling life might not be his ideas of a productive and fulfilling life, n i need to learn to be ok with that.

thanks for playing along, o my beloved non-existent readers.

darth sardonic

very briefly

i promise i will post again. i have been working and getting ready to move to a house off base, and that has consumed much of my time and energy. stick with me though, o thou beloved non-existent readers, and more will follow.

on burnt bridges and sailed ships

it is your choice. it is your choice to continue careening angrily through life like a tarnished errant pinball. it is your choice to snap like a rabid dog at the hands that would help boost you up.

it is your choice to hold grudges like blankets made of tetanus and barbed wire, clutching them close till they disease your blood, and lock your jaw.

it is your choice to pick friends who will tell you what you want to hear over your true friends. friends who worry about you and aren't afraid to tell you that you are maybe making poor choices. it is your choice to leave these true, but sometimes painful, friendships behind like rotting leftovers of savory dishes that you have enjoyed until they no longer served your tastes.

it is your choice to douse the timbers in gasoline and strike the match. it is your choice to stand, hand on hip, the line of your mouth set hard, back turned; on the docks as the cruise line pulls away, blasting its final farewell air horn into the dark, empty night.

darth sardonic

happy birthday/father's day

today i am 40 years old. it feels alot like 39 but with a headache and an icky glenlivet residue in my mouth.

40, n while i feel i have come a long way, i constantly remind myself how much growing i have to do, and how much of that skinny, whiny little twit who thought everybody hates him still resides somewhere inside me.

i'm a lucky motherfucker. i've got amazing kids, a gorgeous, wonderful wife who puts up with my bullshit. sometimes more than her fair share. n yeah, i put up with bullshit from her too, that's the nature of relationships, it all balances out.

i miss my dad today. don't ask me why. i've no idea. but i do, and it hurts.

i thought i had more to say. i guess it just boils down to that.

thanks for playing along, better posts (and my views/thoughts/observations about aspergers) to come.

darth sardonic