June 19, 2010


For your reading pleasure, we take a look back to my previous attempt at a blog...

Sunday, September 11, 2005

My dad always said, "There's no such thing as a free ride."
But what happens when you feel you've already paid your toll? What happens when you feel like you've given everything you've got only to find out that you're the only one who has paid?

I have no one to blame except myself and even I acknowledge that I probably can't take responsibility for my problem. Hell, no one can. Unless there's a God who insists on fucking with me. Maybe Mother Nature? Fate? Or maybe I should just chalk it up to damn misfortune, like I have been trying to do. Luck of the draw. Short straw. Story of my life. Shitty end of the proverbial stick. It's certainly easier if no one is to blame.

But yet I feel broken. I feel dysfunctional. For some reason, something natural and easy for everyone else is a complete obstacle for me. But I like having a scientific reason. Balanced Robertsonian Transfer. I like the definite, point-to-it reason instead of looking into things I've done or said. We so often try to make sense of things, try to reason them out, but there there are some things that have no reason. They just simply suck.

There is a song by the Indigo Girls that contains the line: "If we ever leave a legacy, it's that we loved each other well." I like that idea. Is legacy the reason why we even choose to have children? We need someone to leave our 1st edition Hemingway to? Or does it go much deeper than that? Or perhaps even shallower? Perhaps we are all just a product of sexual pleasure, a remains to the act that was performed. Kind of like burnout from a tire or steam from a kettle. Just a temporary sign. A really elaborate way to write on the bathroom stall of life: I WAZ HERE.

I wish I knew what caused us to want to have children because then I would turn it off in my own mind. Just when I think I've done a successful job at switching it off, I am thrown to the floor by the force of it. It is my kryptonite.

I am on the floor. There's nothing like six billion examples in front of you showing you so many, many people that could do what you cannot do.

June 02, 2010

I just googled myself.

Okay, I really just used Yahoo, but googled sounds so much cooler.

The most ironic thing about my blog is that the people who would most love to read it probably can't find it. And that is on purpose.

Doing a brief search for myself, I could tell by the Yahoo suggestions that someone is trying to find my old website--or anything connected to me that I may be writing. Why? Well, the person who is (probably) looking has been unable to be part of my life. I should use the word banished because that, too, sounds cooler. Okay. He was banished from my life and the life of my family.

I started a website back in 1995. It was the rudimentary prototype of today's blog. I played around with the html. I wrote various thoughts for years. I let people--anyone who found the site or knew the address--to get a glimpse into my thoughts and feelings. And that was my error. I wrote something very personal and the wrong person read it, exploited it, and the hassle of it caused me to delete the whole thing.

Now I won't do that. Maybe it's because I'm older. Maybe it's because I don't want the drama. Maybe it's both.

But the truth of it is that I don't want the banished to find out anything about my life. Living vicariously through my blog is what he is trying to do. Perhaps he's looking for photos of my daughter. Perhaps he's just obsessed with the possibility that I'll say something--anything--about him. Whatever the case, he's not getting anything from me. Sorry, you're banished.

Not you. You're welcome to read on.