P.S. please if you get a chanse put some flowrs on Algernons grave in the bak yard.

written yesterday after finishing my book, in microsoft word (which fixes some of my capitalization "errors" for me) while my internet was on the blink.

the fucking book made me cry. oh, I knew it would, o my beloved non-existant readers. I suspected before I even checked it out of the library that at some point Charlie gordon’s struggle would drop on me like a weight from the sky and I would find myself a blubbering mass.

I had no idea how hard it would hit me.

and god knows I needed it o my droogs n only friends. I needed it to crash across me in waves, battering me, receding for a moment, only to smash my chest again with renewed force only a minute later.

I’ve no idea how long it has been since I have bawled my eyes out and simultaneously purged the demons and cleared my head and opened up myself to the beauties of the universe.

I’ve no idea how long I have been stressed. stressed about work, stressed about school (I am returning to school in jan, inspired as I have been by my current job and my need to not do it, or jobs like it, for the rest of my life), stressed about no. 1, who seems better able to focus now that he is on the adhd meds, but who now has no ability to control his emotions and shouts things like “I’m not a sardonic anymore!” (and I only use sardonic as a replacement for our real last name, which he suddenly eschews when he is angry at me or mommy for chastising him when he misbehaves. so much anger and disenchantment he spews when he is mad that I worry that I have myself a future serial killer on my hands), stressed about the lack of time my wife and I have together (my full-time job, her full-time job, her part-time school, and soon to be mine as well), stressed about selling our house in new mexico, stressed about getting our bills paid off so more of our money can go to fun, stressed about my apparent lack of ability to write anything worth reading for the last several months, stressed about being tired all the time, stressed about being stressed.

and bam! like a wall shattering under the brute strength of a tsunami wave, everything crumbled as Charlie Gordon wrote about being glad that he had the “operashun” because he got to be smart for awhile and he will still try and hold onto that even as he prepares to send himself to a special home for “dumb pepul” and, o my beloved non-existant readers, my droogs and only friends, o thou stalwart and steadfast readers of this shitty little blog where I spill forth the shite that accumulates in my head, you wonderful commiseraters who let me know I am not alone in feeling what I feel and seeing what I see and experiencing what I experience, I cried. I cried so hard I had to stop reading every paragraph while my eyes went to water and my cheeks reddened and wracking sobs shuddered through me. I cried so hard I got dizzy. I bawled and bawled, and when I thought I was done, I read the last line of the book (the title of this post) and bawled some more. then I came downstairs and began bawling again as I asked my wonderful cute and damn near perfect boys to please give me hugs as I really needed them. then bawled some more as we sat cuddled together and watched finding nemo and I thought again how I would battle sharks and swim the entire ocean and wrestle with jellyfish to make sure my kids were safe. then I bawled some more when they told me they loved me. then I bawled some more when I wrote this stupid little post.

oh holy fucking god, my beloveds, I really needed that.

and to end on something funny and pleasant, a while back, I told my kids that about fred at work. recently, my oldest boy told his doctor I have pet alligators. god! he’s fucking cute.

thanks for sticking with me through it all.

darth sardonic