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how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

Ever miss your twenties? Talk to a 20-something.

"Steve. It's been a while since I've seen you and I guess you heard I'm dating a woman with a kid. I'm not really into it, but listen to me. She has NFL Network so I can watch any Rams game I want. And I can pause and replay. And she's on assistance and expects me to help her raise my kid. I met her through my cousin who said she wanted something casual. Then the first time I meet her kid, he's in his bedroom screaming and she goes 'I need you to talk to him. I gotta get out of here' and leaves the house! So I offered him some Butterfingers because when I was a kid, a Butterfinger made me feel better. But he just THREW THEM AT ME. So I guess that doesn't work. I'm 26, she's 25 and the kid is 6 and I don't need this. My cousin is in shit with me because she definitely wants someone to help her raise her kid and I shouldn't be in this. But, the NFL season just started. And it's $300 and I think she got the service for me."

"Dude. I'm totally going to blog this."

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

I'm having recall issues. I hope I'm not forgetting. I mean, there's a lot of shit in there, but it's not coming out at will. For instance, I can't remember that delicious cylinder-shaped mollusc. Not abalone, the other one. I can google it, but that's not the point. My brain won't release it.

I'm not tired, or distracted. Well, I'm always tired and distracted but today isn't notable.

UPDATE

I went crazy and looked it up. Scallops. But now I'm worried because even after I saw the word, it didn't feel right. I was thinking there was an O in there and a D. I dunno, it's really bothering me.

If I ever forget you: remember how much I loved you.

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

danger: whinging about my first marriage

People who haven't known me for long probably don't know I was married before Dr C. In fact, today is the 20th anniversary. I remember it well. Two step kids. Good times. We held it in the backyard. Despite the threats for rain, it completely missed us.

I also remember at nearly the 5 year mark, she declared it was over. We were at a nearby park.

"I don't know how to say it"

"Just be blunt"

She had on mirrored sunglasses. I had to stare at myself as she said she'd been unhappy for a long time, stopped loving me and was no longer attracted to me.

Because I'd been expecting a serious talk for 2 days, I took with calmness. I made some entreaties. References to positive moments in the past. She said there was no point to counseling. She tried counseling and separations before and she knows when it's over. At some point, I said this gives a bad message to the kids. She said it would be worse for them to be dishonest.

I said I didn't want to be where I wasn't loved and I should move out while they're at the Florida dance competition the following month.

I made some monologue about how she made me feel like a stranger in my own home, which was never mine and though they'll forget me within a year, I'll never forget this. "Have a happy fucking life" and walked back to the house. Her brother pedaled up to me on his new bicycle to say hi.

"Hey Steverino. Just trying out my new bike."
"Monique just dumped me. She's at the park."
"Oh shit. What? I'm really sorry Steve. She's at the park?"

I saw him comforting her at the side of the road. She was sobbing in his arms.

I then went into the back yard and threw all the furniture against the fence. Resin chairs explode in a pleasurable way, PS. I then pulled a log out of the fire pit I made and somehow it made all the sense in the world to throw it at the picnic table her ex made until it was splinters. The picnic table sitting on the spot where we exchanged vows. I barely gouged that fucker before I got tired and lost interest.

I left and visited my sister who threw a kitten in my hand "Hold TJ! You can't be unhappy while holding a kitten". I watched Mulan with my niece and nephew.

M and I had agreed to tell the kids together. She broke that promise, too.

First, I wanted to remember the details. Then I realized that that gave me no solace.

So I tried to forget and then I felt guilty for forgetting. If someone doesn't remember, what's the point to anything? It's just the awful unresolved feeling. Like not enough was done. Something was missed. If I had been a better person everything would work.

Christmas was Hell. I had called the kids to see if they wanted to meet. I could feel their discomfort over the whole thing. Who am I to them? How can I be a part of their lives?
It was then that I decided to see a therapist. I'd bent enough ears. Plus, everyone had mixed opinions.

I dated someone a year later. She was so sweet but it was impossible and she ended things when she needed to. And it hurt so bad. Hurt more than with M. Hurt because of M. I know because I was talking to my therapist about the recent break-up when I somehow transitioned to "and I begged and pleaded and I said all I wanted her to do was hold me and tell me she loves me and she said she couldn't!" and my heart broke like it had never broken before and I sobbed and sobbed. But I felt better. I mean, 15 years later, I'm still hurt and angry. But honestly, it wasn't until then that it *finally* dawned on me that what *I* want has zero effect on the world.

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

mom mom issues are everyone else's mom issues

If you don't want to rub me the wrong way, don't project your mother issues on my mother. My mom is a nice lady. Non-confrontational. I love my mom. I don't call her enough. And yet, I seem to attract people with shitty mom issues and they want to provoke me. I don't take the bait but it fucking annoys me.

The worst was a previous girlfriend. She'd rattle on about how all her terrible exes had mom issues and she'd troll me all the time and I knew if I said a word she'd label me as "yet again a guy with mom issues"

So I'd get:

Me: "I just found out my mom was afraid of thunderstorms. She said she didn't mind my sister and I hiding in the bed because she's always had problems with them"
Her: "Oh? I didn't realize your mom was a COWARD"
Me: "..."

Exceptionally, my first wife didn't do this. She liked my mom and found my parents foibles endearing (even when they bothered me). C is no exception. It would be impolite to discuss her stuff, but she's got issues. And she's put off by my mother. Really, they're just both hypersensitive and probably think they hate each other. If we lived in a sitcom, I'd trick them and lock them in a room and let them become best friends. However, I like to think they're all adults who should be treated as such.

In truth, C adores the mom of her ex. She'll go on and on about how much she misses this lady -- how she wishes she was her mother. She'd rather never see her ex again, but when she waxes historic she'll go on and on how the only reason they worked as a couple was his supportive family. I think that's sweet but C has nothing to do with my mother.

"Look at me being all nostalgic, tonight. You really don't like it when I go on about J's mom, do you?"
"It's 11pm. I'm gonna go to bed"
"Oh. ok"

The whole thing makes me tetchy. I can't have a mature conversation because I can still see my ex baiting me. Waiting to strike. "just say one nice thing about your mom, and I'm gonna proove you're a creepy creep!"

The injustice of the thing just peeves me.

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

metaphors

You know that feeling when you have to go out in the rain? Imagine you have to drive to the grocery store and it's pouring. Getting in the car, driving vigilantly, parking. Others don't see/respect the lines. You have to get your bins from the trunk and it makes everything wet. You walk in the rain. You could hold the bin over your head but you would just feel foolish. So you go in and you're wet. Your clothes don't hang right. Your hair is flat. You can't see out of your glasses. Every movement is a reminder your wet clothes are advertising every curve in the most unflattering way. Your shoes rub the wrong way. Your empty bins in the cart sound louder than the thunder outside. In the store, you see someone you know. They avoid you. You see someone else. Is that smirk about you? Whatever. You get your stuff and go home. You forgot 3 things, including the cat food. You go back out and return their hero. You pet the cats and the fur sticks to your wet hand. One of them eats too fast and pukes on the carpet.


Now imagine that feeling before, during, and after every single thing you do YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE. Oh, but you're surrounded by people who love the rain, implying "what's wrong with you?"

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

errata

I've been looking at some of the things I have in storage. I tossed a lot of old crap with the flood, but much survived. And it's a cringe fest.

I forgot how much of a smart-ass misogynist edge-lord I was in HS, especially since I was friends with women. Thankfully, I grew out of it. I only wish more men did. I was a delayed bloomer. And I learned a lot of confusing messages. None of my male or female friends were in couples. I actually wrote an anti-woman ode for a He-Man Women Haters Club. It was ironically sexist. And I'm ashamed of the whole thing.

I know where some of that comes from: any time a guy bullied me, or tried to cut me down, it was usually in front of a woman, and she laughed along, or acted like it was OK. But in retrospect, did I always stand up when someone was bullied or laugh nervously with the group? Probably not.

I remember one time I stood up for a bullied person and I ended up with my glasses broken. I ended up just being annoyed with the original victim (and a contempt for the bully which lingers to today and he is a customer and he is still an asshole and his wife is an asshole) and I learned to just vanish, while at the same time be bitter I wasn't noticed.

---

I found a two-page university newspaper article about getting over a boyfriend -- written by my ex. I saved it because I was the topic of someone's art -- even if it was full of pot-shots. A little bit of anger goes a long way. I was a muse! I was the original Dave Coulier! And she was funny. She talks about she likes to paint to get over someone. First time, she painted the house. The next time? A room. To get past me? She did her nails. See? Hahaha.

---

Anyway, how do I let go of the few shitty things I've ever done or said? It's not me, now.

And, yikes! I sure hope I didn't say or do anything that anyone else is holding a 30 year grudge for.

I'll just focus on becoming an avatar of kindness and love.

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

Also, I think the testosterone is working. I'm not losing weight, but that's probably diet. I need to exercise. My treadmill is in a construction zone. And I don't have any shirts I can wear while exercising in public.

However, my prescription is almost over and I gotta figure out how to renew it. Waiting on hold to make an appointment to see my doc is a PITA.

It's a controlled substance, so I don't think the pharmacist can request it, and I needed to use a written prescription (and not the fancy electronic method). But I may have to go that route. Or I'll have to start all over again. Plus, I'm late on my blood work. Time is just flying.

It's all my fault.

---

They started on the drywall in my basement. I still need to work on my items claim. I don't remember the value of anything.

Also, I am still bothered there are people in my home right now. The cats have been fine in my bedroom. They spend most of their time sleeping on my bed, anyway. The first day, it took hours for Oliver to come out from under the bed. Yesterday, they both pushed out as soon as I opened the door.

---

Puppers is still alive. She's walking a little better. Turns out she has Cushings Syndrome (too much cortisol). She's had the symptoms for years, except not the big belly. She's been doing ok on the treatment. She's eating more and having fewer accidents (Cushings makes dogs drink a lot). So, good?

---

Finally talked to doctor. Well, the receptionist. She thinks it won't be a problem to renew the testosterone. I almost cried on the phone. What's wrong with me? The other day, there was a news article about the Orangeville 3 year old boy who was washed away from his mom's hands during the February flood and they just found his body. It was just a fact from the news reader. No reporting. And yet I'm sobbing in my car. Where's my objective detachment? I'm turning into a doughy softie. Fucking feelings and shit.

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

Holding her close I consider how nice this moment is. That everything that has happened in my life has lead to this moment. Every decision she and I have made have lead to this.

Then I think, would I be the same person if I was born at a different time? Would I be a dove or a hawk during WW2? You know everyone likes to think they would have been the one to try to stop the Holocaust, yet do nothing to stop the oh so many atrocities in the world. Would I have the customs/racism of someone at that time? There's no way to tell, as I'd be a different person. So at what point am I a different person? Born from my parents, I assume.

But what if I was born a week earlier, or a week later. Would I be the same? Probably not. The adventure would have started different. Would that guy be a better or worse person? Sadly, no one would miss me because there WAS a Paul Steven Perrault born. Or maybe the other me would have a different name. A week earlier, my grandparents would have held it at Paul. A week later, my mother might have have dug in more and called me Michael. Does my name make me? What makes me me? How close in time do these ersatz Paul/Steve/Mikes need to be born at the same time as me to be me? It's impossible. So narrow that to just the moments before and after I was actually born, the limit me, do I even actually exist?

"What are you thinking about?"

"You."

"Aw. That's sweet."

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

I'm still having trouble with my insurance claim. It's just the listing of items to submit. And describing them and their value. One item after another.

I woefully underestimated the time involved and the value of my stuff. And I took shit photos with my phone.

I lost 43 records. I thought it was just a couple dozen. I don't know now to value them, or anything else I own. And the whole thing just upsets me. I've avoided it too long, but man, I don't want to do this...

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

Review - "A Futile and Stupid Gesture"

Watched the documentary on National Lampoon's Doug Kenney, "A Futile and Stupid Gesture". I can't complain about the weird pace, because I spent more much time reading Wikipedia entries while pausing than enjoying the darn film. Kenney is the co-creator of the Lampoon and co-wrote Animal House and Caddyshack before dying.

There were a few moments where I thought "hey, that was clever" and then a lot of "Argh! I hate coke-heads."

It's hard to grasp the nostalgia for the 70's -- a decade I barely remember. I guess I'll have to focus on Ready Player One.

One thing of note: Thomas Lennon as Michael O'Donoghue was wonderful. I'd love to see a film of just him.