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

pomposity is when you always think you're right...

arrogance is when you know.

i didn't begin to live until i began to love: myself, my wife, my kids. as i think of the times before this, it seems as if i was wandering back and forth, trying to find myself with maps poorly drawn in smudgy pencil.

there are instants when i look at my children, and i see the men they will become. they are handsome, and smart, and funny, and respectful and respected.

in these moments i am open to god, who, oddly enough, still loves me. he and my father are side by side, smiling, proud of me; and i am proud, not of me (i will never not feel like i am faking it and soon someone will out me), but of my incredible children, who make me feel both immense and small at the same time.

today was, barring unforseen complications, no. 2's last day of physical therapy. his occupational therapy will most likely soon draw to a close.

he's been seeing his pt for well over two years. of course, it's business as usual for him, but i've no doubt she went to her office to have a moment, and i know that the only thing keeping me from smiling and bawling at the same time was the public nature of the venue.

i am happy. my kids are getting bigger, growing up. this is so very bittersweet for me. i am so happy, but it hurts so much. why does each one of these little hurdles crossed open me up like a flower to the very nature of god and life and everything so tiny and yet so magnificient and gorgeous and wonderful.

i can still remember sitting in a tiny room at a ronald mcdonald house in albuquerque and staring at the ceiling and telling god we simply couldn't handle another day of bad news. and i remember his reply.

and today, as no. 1 was in his speech therapy, and no. two played with the spiderman swimming goggles his pt had bought him and drank his chocolate milk in the front seat of our car, god poured the sun down on me, and the leaves were greener, and the breeze fresher.

i am amazed: at my kids, but most importantly, with myself. each time i think i've fucked the whole rig up, and should quit while i'm ahead, i am reminded of the bigger picture.

and this bigger picture is a beautiful fucking masterpiece, o my patient and sympathetic non-existant readers, with the sun shining, and kids playing with a ball in the background, and somewhere in there, i am sitting; crying and laughing at the same time, and smirking my silly smirk, and cocking my eyebrow, and my kids are sitting with me, but fully grown at the same time, and with kids of their own who are also handsome, and smart, and funny, and respectful and respected.

and all the stupid shit that seems so fucking important in the moment melts away like a monet background and only beauty and happiness and love remain for eternity.

daddy, why you crying?

how odd, then, to answer, "cause daddy is so happy, buddy."

darth sardonic

oh my god i miss my wife...

a package arrived in the mail today. inside was a mini dvd of my wife reading the boys two stories.

there was my wife, illuminated on the comuter screen, absofuckinglutely radiant despite having her hair pulled back and being clad in her pt gear.

o my dear, patient, long-suffering non-existant reader, this was, quite simply, gorgeousness and gorgeosity as of the finest spun heavenmetal. the kind of moment that is so awesome and brilliant in its expansiveness that the human body can almost not contain it. i watched, entranced, as she began one story, mesmerized by her eyes and her mouth. i wanted to fall deep into those orbs and never climb free.

the boys sat on my lap and watched and laughed and interacted as if their mommy was seated right there in front of them, shouting "yup!" when she said she hoped they were having fun with daddy.

as you might guess, i alternated between wanting to pull her from the screen and bury her with kisses, and gulping back impending sobs.

when the fourteen-minute movie was over, my boys gave me hugs (as they had been instructed by their mom from afar) and went back to playing games.

and i broke down, and logged in here, and broke down some more. i'm still breaking down in waves as i write this (which is getting increasingly harder and harder through the veil of tears), and snot is dripping out of my nose unchecked.

i might need a fucking shower once i have posted this. hell, i might need a shower and a drink. shit, i might need a shower, a drink, and a long nap in which i will dream about holding my wife's body against mine without ever letting her go again...

-------------------------------------

i'm better. sort of. i keep telling myself that i am not going to rewatch the dvd after the kids go to bed, but i think we all know that i will.

i realize that this is the job. i realize that thousands, maybe millions, of people do this, and not just in this country, but many others as well. i realize that some wife in afghanistan or iraq is watching her husband leave the house and wondering if he is ever coming back. i realize a spouse in another part of the world is aching for his or her significant other. i realize that my friend a's hubby's company lost two soldiers just two weeks ago in an incident that was widely publicized on the news here. i realize that my wife is so far from any danger as to almost not even feel it. none of this changes the very real fact that i am sitting here awash in a yearn to feel my wife and hear her laugh and touch her skin that i can actually feel in the pit of my stomach like a hot knife, o my droogs and only friends.

but let me have this moment of pain, and emptiness, and ache, and lust, and yearning, and bawling, and then i will be alright, and ready to again tackle the day-to-day with my sarcastic wit and aplomb, smirking like the motherfucker i am, and quirking my eyebrow in that way that lets you know i am thinking things i oughtn't to be, and no, i won't share those thoughts with you. heh heh.

-------------------------------------

and to sorta answer your question (and at the same time, artfully dodge the details of the full answer), wuastc, usually i tell people when they ask why i was in argentina that i was on a student exchange. not because i am ashamed of going to argentina, nor of what i did there, but because the man i was when i went to buenos aires is so different from the man i am today, and yet, at the same time, so alike. so in all fairness to you, the non-existant readers, and because i doubt highly that any of you will buy some bullshit line, i offer you the truth:

at the time i boarded a plane to fly to south america, i was very active in the religion to which i belong. i believed very strongly that its tenets could help everyone. i wanted to share this with anyone who wanted to hear.

i don't regret that decision, even now, when i haven't been to church in years, and (clearly) no longer even attempt to follow the specific teachings thereof. and maybe someday, i will post as to the reasons and events that led to me abruptly switching the course of my life. for the sake of brevity (too late), suffice to say, i am much happier now than i ever was before, except when i was in argentina.

the reasons i am glad that i went to do missionary work in argentina are completely selfish: i learned so much about who i was, how i viewed the world, and what was really, truly important to me, than i ever would have if i had stayed home. argentina taught me so much more than i ever taught it, or its people.

so the reason i don't usually give the real reason i was there is not because i am ashamed, either of the choice to go or of having gone, or even of where my life is now, but because the two would appear to be on opposite ends of the spectrum, and i wouldn't want one to cloud or mar or skew the other.

but, again, bucket of contradictions, hahahaha.

and so my biggest, darkest secret is out. i could say here that i was gay, or once killed a man in cold blood, or that i have alien eggs incubating in the back yard, and in my head that would be a fraction of the deep, dark secret that the real reason i went to buenos aires is.

hopefully, that doesn't change anyone's opinion of me. actually, i don't really care, hahaha.

thanks for playing along though.

darth sardonic

ps. holy shit, the corrections i had to make to this post once my eyes cleared. and a side note: i am not gay, i have never killed anyone in cold blood (except some wasps, and sundry other nasty bugs, a few garter snakes, and a toad. i cried heavily for the snakes and toad when i got a little older and realized just how unnaturally cruel i had been. they told me to quit fucking worrying about it.), and i do not have alien eggs incubating in the back yard (that's my story, and i am sticking to it, heh heh).

ds

it's time to wake up...

am i alone in here?

so our friend a calls me about 5ish and says she is going stir crazy (her bf is also gone for a bit), and what am i doing.

and, of course, we all know the answer to that. i curve my index finger, bend my thumb, place the two tips together, and splay my other three fingers. as we used to say in buenos aires, huevo.

so plans are hastily made to lay hands on some gin and some tonic, and the fixin's for grilled cheese and tomato soup are amassed. and we play phase 10 and drink and bitch about work and stupid people and our significant others being gone. my wife actually calls while a is there, and we put her on speaker, and in an odd sort of way, it was like before she left.

comme ce, comme ca, o my patient and easy-going non-existant readers, it supplied me with the energy to perk myself up and have a better attitude for the weekend.

but at the same time, while i was hanging out, chatting a bit before going to bed, i was listening to music. the kinds of songs that keep my energy up: alkaline trio, deftones, casualties, on and on.

but without even knowing it, i started a slight glacial shift towards songs that might make me sad: looking back on today, by the ataris, one lonely visitor, by chevelle. it didn't make me cry, maybe because i was so perky as to almost be annoying, and most definitely tipsy.

but i'm feeling it a bit this morning. in the back of my head, like. like i ought to listen to the songs again and get it out of my system before i venture out and enjoy my weekend. like i might actually be able to relax more and have more fun for having done it.

worry not, o fearless non-existants: i get sad, i get depressed, i cry, i rail against god and dubya, and anyone else i think i can get away with blaming, and then i fucking smack myself, tell myself to lay off the fucking moaning, pick myself up, dust myself off, and right back at it.

cause that is just the way i am (said with eyebrow acock, and smirk on full alert).

darth sardonic