I Give Up...

I know that this blog has become a place of weakness, sadness, and vulnerability; but if you, the truly non-existent reader, knew how many times I laid down on the floor in my tears, declaring, "I give up!" and then, almost as if by magic found myself on my feet again, defiant! You might have the smallest inkling into the battle I fight every day!

Do not fail to fight that fight! And yes, not giving in is a victory! We'd be drug down by our own insecurities if we didn't just say: "All's I gotta do is make it through today" and then make it through today!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!

Darth Sardonic

Eagle Vs Shark

I tried to find you today. I know the name I know isn't the one I should search. I half-remember the name I should search. I know I hurt you. Repeatedly. I know I can't fix that, and it's maybe not even what you want. I get nostalgic, I remember moments. I'm trying to piece together the anomaly that is my on-going self-discovery journey, and occasionally it involves having friendly but possibly short-lived conversations with willing people who knew me when. I can't offer anything beyond an honest conversation.

Swear Words Vs. Hate Words

The boys are getting to the age (13 n 14) where I am going to hear them swear, and as long as we're at home n no one who might be offended is around, I won't even bat an eye. C'mon, it's fucking me we're talking about: my ex and I agreed a long time ago that we needed to accept the fact that our kids would swear.

Occasionally, I overhear them watching YouTube videos or something similar, where words that get designated by their first letter are being used. In my house, "fuck" is fuck. Don't like it? Ask me nicely to refrain when you are around, n if I like ya, I'll do my damnedest. Shit, piss, fuck, twat. Hell, even the "c" word sometimes. But herein begins the distinction: if I use the "c" word to reference an odious woman, it becomes a hate word.

Swear words are simply that: inappropriate, juvenile, irreverent, sometimes downright stupid. They serve their purpose, and sometimes separate a classier individual from the baser members of society. Sure, I walk that razor's edge; and I will pepper my sentences with swear words when I could choose to use words gleaned from thesauruses (thesauri?) that would be more socially acceptable and meet the same needs. But you know what I say to socially acceptable? Fuck that bullshit!

But hate words, O my beloved droogs n only friends, if my kids ever wanted to get my dander up and find themselves at the receiving end of a full-volume tirade, they could use the "n" word, the "f" word, or something that bears thousands of years of hate and degradation in my presence; and at the end of it, they may even find themselves biting a bar of soap.

Because swear words have a place, but hate words never do.

Dearth Sardonic

In the Dark

Will I ever not be the sad little kid who cries in the dark for his failings?

Heaven is a Web that Never Ends

Sometimes, I miss my kids and my Dad simultaneously. Occasionally, I wonder about the lives I have positively affected, and hope they outweigh the lives I have negatively affected. I seriously hope, with an ache that is, in moments, too hard to bear, that there is a fraction of Eternity in which I can let my hate and anger go and then right my wrongs. I don't fully comprehend Eternity, but am prepared to take the sizable chunk of it that I feel would be required to make all the apologies I feel I owe.

O, thou beloved non-existent reader, my dear droogs and only friends; just between you and me, sometimes I wonder if Eternity is really enough time to right all my wrongs.

I still come here, do you?

Darth Sardonic

P.S. In a millisecond that harkens to the old days of this blog, I feel compelled to say: Fuck technology. More specifically, autocorrect and the touchscreen phone. Stick with me, thou stalwart and strong. I am still here.

Foolish Pride

I would've thought, by 44, that I'd be more established and independent. I just had to ask my mother, who is retired, for a loan so that will be able to fly out and spend Spring Break with my sons. Not spending Spring Break with my boys is not even an option. I'll hock my tattered and bedraggled soul before I'll miss a school break with them.

But, O thou longsuffering; my droogs and only friends, if I could somehow convey to you how much it cuts me to the very core and leaves me anguished and bloody to admit to anyone that I am not able to manage things on my own; that I am not handling it myself. If I could express how my eyes fill with scalding hot tears that wet my cheeks at having to humble myself and ask for help from people whom I feel have already done more for me than should be expected.

I should (and do) consider myself blessed that I have these sorts of people in my life. I should (and do) count myself lucky that they never judge me or think of me as weak when I finally wrestle with my feelings, swallow my pride, and present myself as vulnerable to them.

I've said it before in this blog (in happier times), and will say again:

I am the luckiest motherfucker ever to step.

So many happier and more positive things I want to share, my non-existent readers, tales of joy and triumph; so many posts brewing in my head of a style more like the earlier days of this blog. Stop back by, I will make time to share.

Darth Sardonic

Love Is Magic

O Dear, Beloved, Long-Suffering Reader,

Love is Magic. N while I'll never know what prestidigitation was used to bring forth the hare from the chapeau, that doesn't mean that I won't still sit in awed wonder every time it happens.

Be close to your loved ones every chance you get, O thou stalwarts, magic like this is scarce.

Darth Sardonic