If they sold my visions in a bottle, I would blow someone right now to get it. I think this is how crack babies are born. Instead, I am on my second jumbo mug of coffee letting the stimulants work their magic. This entry has been started many times. Since I found love and beat the nine to five, it has been hard to write anything. I am going to start working on a voice. It just won't be one of those train wreck ones that is an octave too high and scratchy around the edges.
Looking at this journal is like looking down from a dangling rope attached somewhere above; the older I get, the further down it goes, and the less there is to climb. There is more to regret, more to remember, more to think about. Somewhere up there, I will reach the end and become irrelevant. Maybe the parts of me that have been scattered through the universe will coalesced into something new. Maybe death is more of a gift. The dead do not want for anything. They exist only in our memories that fade to black as well.
So....here is a long rambling post disguised as a status update...
In response to a reply my large brained friend David wrote about something on my wall, I have written this massive offensive post about how fucked up the system is in a true punk fashion, but then my beautiful furry baby boy Stubs got sick while I was away in Florida. The system can wait. It will still be fucked up whether I complain about it or not. It has become unimportant.
Stubs got a urethral blockage, which is common in male cats. This is something that quickly becomes fatal. If my girl hadn't found him in time, he would be dead. He spent weeks getting flushed out, but nothing worked. Finally he got a PU surgery, which involves a rather drastic change to his anatomy. I hated doing that to him. It is hard to believe that a PU surgery was the best they could do for him. I begged him to get better. “Dude they are going to cut your johnson off,” I pleaded with him. I think in the end, I care more about johnsons than he does. He hated the e-collar he had to wear to keep him from licking his stitches and the antibiotic I had to squirt in his mouth twice a day. He hated me for weeks, but what makes him the best cat in the world was that he finally forgave me. Mostly after I stopped pinning him down and squirting foul liquid in his mouth.
I don't care who you voted for or whether you are happy or sad at the outcome. In the interests of peace, I will tell you that I voted for Satan, so you can all agree that this is a bad thing. What you can't agree on is whether Satan won or lost.
Last week was full contact sparring week in Tae Kwon Do. I think Rob cracked a rib with a rather impressive punch. It only hurts when I breath or cough, or move, or beat off. I do all these things on the regular, so I have decided that it best I just stop breathing. I don't think I can give up beating off.
This week I kick targets that I pretend is an attacker, who runs crying for his mother after each blow.
With each passing week, I get just a little faster, and maybe Rob won't beat my ass next time. Pain can be a good teacher if you listen to it.
The weird thing, the really strange thing, the thing that I have not really felt before is that I am happy. Not just happy, but peaceful. Sure there are days I pray to Jesus that my ex-wife falls down a well covered in semen; but, for the most part, I am happy. I have a good life. I have a wonderful girl, a beautiful girl, a girl that doesn't just pick parts of me to love, but the whole hairy package. She loves my cat, loves my daughters, loves when I fart on her. Okay, maybe she doesn't love everything,, but at least I don't have to hide who I am from her. I am completely inadequate in telling her how crazy wonderful it is having her in my life.
It is like this. Imagine this... You are running up hill for twenty years. Your feet and legs feel like concrete set in glass, and one day...poof... downhill you go, one foot after the other, flying free like a puppy in a field. Yeah, that is how I feel everyday that I look at her.
A few weeks ago I was required to go to a SPARE class. It is a class for parents in a divided household. I was a bit angry at first. . Making me go to a parenting class after taking away my ability to be a parent is a kick in the balls. At least my daughter is now talking to me. The distance is closing somewhat. She seems a lot less angry. When I took my ex to court, I had a few demands. I wanted overnight visitation, a chance to take her to a psychologist for joint counseling, and back visitation. A few grand later, I realized that the court will give me nothing. It was pointless. The court appointed Ad litem has met with my ex and just about refuses to meet with me. She is integral in approving overnight visitation, so I need her. Maybe I can persuade her to at least let my daughter have just a little bit of a dad in her life.
So imagine this. My ex bad mouths me enough to my daughter so that she no longer wants to see me. I take my ex to court, and here is what the court does, reduces my rights to overnight visitation, makes me go to a parenting class, and assigns an attorney to review me.
My ex took my daughter to a psychologist because of the issues over the divorce, which according to the class I just too, are issues my ex has caused. They keep sending me bills, and I keep not paying them. I am thinking about calling them. If they tell me nothing about what they are doing for my daughter, I will continue not paying them. I think I could keep not paying them longer than they will want the money, but we will see.
We discovered yesterday that my Ex's douche bag e-mailed my girl over Facebook. Apparently, Facebook has this other folder where e-mails are put from people that are not listed as a friend. So far he has e-mailed me a dozen times, mostly for dick comparisons, my girl's ex-husband, and now my girl. We wanted to e-mail him back to tell him what a complete and utter scumbag loser he is, but we didn't. Too much time has passed and my ex-wife has been reasonably nice lately. It is sooo hard to be an adult sometimes. Still I would like for the rest of you to know that he is a lying douche bag of douches, a fetid bag of testicle pus, an anal polyp on the ass end of a cancerous pustule.
Well, you get the point.
I think this entry has reached then of it's rope. Looking back at it, I can't say that it is not unflawed or even correct about everything. Still, I have a certain fondness for the ugly reaching up towards the light. I hope that you do too.
Goodnight all...I will be back soon.