Dispatches from the Ledge

Land of light and shadow.

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Mon, 18 May 2015 16:05:00 +0000

There’s a lot I could be doing right now. In fact, there's I lot I NEED to be doing and yet I'm sitting here typing. It happens like that sometimes. I can start the day full of promise, hope and energy, only to have it drain suddenly, almost inexplicably away. My mood crashes, leaving me cranky, unfocused, devoid of drive or enthusiasm, or sometimes, practically immobilized.

By the same token. The opposite happens as well. I can start the day glowering at the world through desolate and exhausted eyes, only to have a mid-day turn around, with a rush of enthusiasm and energy, and finish the day in high spirits.

Depending on the environment, my moods can change in a chameleon-like manner, ebbing and flowing like an emotional tide while I try to maintain an outer appearance of equilibrium. Most of the time, it works.

Fortunately, I have the day off so I don't even have to bother about keeping up appearances for customers and co-workers. Of course, at one point today, I know that I have to go to the dentist, and then pick up a new shower faucet, (That is, if I want to take a shower later on) but aside from that, I think I'll just stay here, pace back and forth, type a sentence or so, and go back to pacing.

The shades are drawn, and I am here, in the shadows, where I will wait until my inner lights switches back on.

(Un)Settling in

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Thu, 07 May 2015 03:18:00 +0000

For me, the year 2014 ended the same way it began; With a quick, unplanned move, to a new location, that gave very little time in which to acquire housing, and even less for the logistics of the thing. It was almost serendipitous that I was able to stumble across this quiet quiet little 55 and older, mobile home park and the small, cheap place that I eventually moved into. I jumped on it, as soon as I saw it, and within just a few days of sighting it, I was packed up and moved in. I found the place on December 26th and completely ensconced by January 1st, 2015.

This sort of thing has happened before. In fact, I have moved five times In the past ten years, and in spite of the work, expense and inconvenience involved with it, I have always managed to settle into the new routine very quickly and pick up where I left off in my new environment. That is, until this time.

This last move has left me feeling rather unsettled, even after being here for almost five months. This feeling was, at first, very difficult for me to quantify. If I had to call it anything, I think that transient comes closest. It's almost like living in a house of cards, that is trembling in the stuff breeze of reality, ready collapse at any moment. I mentioned it in an email to a friend, and she suggested that as I put work, and effort into my new place, making it it my own, that I would feel better about it. She is right, of course, and yet there is more to it than that.

After thinking on it for awhile, the thing has begun to crystallize in my mind. It is finally hitting home that I have more of my life behind me, than in front of me. Perhaps this is, in part, related to my new environment, because being surrounded by so many retirees, (I hate to think of them as old) I have become acutely aware of the onward press of time. I used to think of the future in stretches of 20 years, and it all seemed to be so far away. Now, I can easily remember things from 20 or more years ago as fairly recent events, and have discovered that the space two decades is really a frightfully short period of time. I am no longer looking to the future. This *IS* the future, and It feels to me like time is growing short.

In addition, whereas other moves have always seemed like I was on my to some new adventure, (even when circumstances spoke to the contrary) this one feels like a move of retrenchment... A reduction in living standards in order to help someone, who is in real need of assistance. After all the years of hard work, this is the position that I find myself in; With retirement age looming and working just as hard as I ever have, there is so little to show for the effort, all the while, staring into the black chasm of an uncertain future. It has become a time of lowered expectations and increasingly limited options.

It was even suggested to me, by one friend, that the best thing to get me "over the hump" would be to "drop everything, party, find a young girl, and fuck like a bunny... ". However, I somehow managed to find that to be a bit of completely worthless "advice". This has nothing to do with recapturing my youth, proving that I "still have it", (not that I ever thought I did) or any other such thing. If anything, just the opposite is happening. I am turning inward and feeling a lot less inclined to want to socialize.

My friends, in the kink community, know me as being a submissive, but the way things sit at the moment even the thought of starting any type of relationship is just not on the table right now.

I fully intend to keep working, planning, and looking at how to best move forward into the future. I'll keep on making the best of what I've got, while grabbing for those little jewels of happiness that I find along the path. As always, I will adapt and try to think of this as yet another new beginning, rather than a last stand.

Submissive thinking – Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Fri, 31 Oct 2014 21:39:00 +0000

I squirmed involuntarily as the flogger slammed down on my back. It wasn't the heavy impact, (I rather liked the weight of it... The way it almost reverberated in my lungs) but when the lashes would reach around and leave a stinging kiss on the soft flesh round my ribs and thighs, I would grunt and shudder a bit. Still, even though not a masochist, I can't say that it was an unpleasant experience.

Having never been to a play party before, I was invited to a one, by a very sweet and considerate Domme, in order to get a taste of what it was like. There were two Dommes and three subs, (including me) there. The company was grand! There was fun and lively conversation among us and a dinner, prepared, served, and cleaned up after by us subs. I couldn't have hoped for a better evening and even though I was given permission to skip out on any of the play that I didn't wish to participate in, I chose not to. I really liked the bondage part a lot but found the bound and blindfolded part a bit scary. A light touch provided more of a start than I thought it would, as I never knew where it was coming from. I won't go into detail here but suffice it to say that I had a good time.

It took a few days for me to really internalize the evening, and in spite of having a good time, and meeting some real nice people, in the end, I decided that what I'd just done was not submission.

In retrospect, the biggest missing element was the lack of any emotional involvement, or investment. The overall effect was as though I was simply playing a role in an elaborate parody of a femdom porn movie. The after dinner play went on for an hour or so and at no time did I feel anything more than interested detachment. It was a cool experiment but nothing more.

For me, submission is not defined be kink, or acts of service. Rather, it is a romantic relationship where the Domme is the one who leads. Quite a simple idea, yet probably much harder than I make it sound. My “job”, so to speak, would be to do those things that would make her happy. Taken to a higher level, it would be to get to know her well enough that I would be able to anticipate her needs in advance and fill them before being asked to do so. I was at a munch a few weeks after that play night and I overheard a very young Domme saying how much she liked to “order boys around”. I could hardly think of a more dismal existence than having a committed relationship with someone who would order me about because it's what she likes to do.

As a submissive, I want to be able to do things that make her smile, laugh, swoon, and feel loved, safe and secure. I want be a reliable a partner who will do her bidding and be the wind beneath her wings. I want to celebrate with her when she's happy, encourage her dreams and aspirations, and comfort her when she is in need. If she has an interest in kink, or desires certain types of service, so be it, and while I do have hard limits, (blood, needles, feces, and such) I would be willing to discuss various types of play and try to push outside of my comfort zone.I can't say that I even have any particular kink list due to having very limited experience with it.

I know that kink plays an important role in many in D/s relationships, but for me it is not essential... Fun perhaps, but nothing to base a relationship on. For me, random play just doesn't do it. Kink, and/or service, of and by themselves, do not mean submission to me. They are tools to be employed as needed, in order to make someone that I am deeply committed to, happy.

In a moment

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Wed, 20 Aug 2014 02:27:00 +0000

February 1974: It happened so fast. Looking back on it now, I suppose I should have seen it coming, but I didn't. That's what happens when you don't know your own mind as well as you should and it only took a moment to make a bad decision.

It was late on a frigid winter night when I dropped my girlfriend off and started the drive back home. I was driving down a long, wide, tree lined boulevard and it was during one of those times when I was in the depths of a deep and dark depression. I couldn't really point to an exact reason why. It's just something that happens from time to time, and it was on that street, at that very moment, that I was moved to act.

I punched the accelerator to the floor, and spun the steering wheel to the left, taking aim at a clump of oak trees that were just down the road a bit. The car lunged forward as the rear wheels dug in for traction. However, just before impact, the car hit a patch of ice and began to slide sideways. The loss of both traction and control scrubbed off speed and made me miss my intended target. Instead, I slid past, just missing it, hit a glancing blow off a snow bank, and slammed into a tree just beyond where I had been aiming.

I just sat there for a while, bleeding from the nose and forehead, staring through the shattered windshield, at the smashed frond end of my car, with the steam billowing out and curling up into the night sky. It took a little while to come to the realization of what had just happened and I remembered my shock at how I could have done such an impulsive thing on a whim. Naturally, I made up a bullshit excuse of how I “lost control” of the car because I didn't want anyone to know that I had tried to do myself in and even worse, failed miserably in the attempt. In time, my private humiliation passed and I put the thing behind me, rarely thinking about it anymore.

It was the tragic and untimely death of Robin Williams that got me to thinking about it again. While no one will ever know what was going through his mind in those last few moments of life, I can understand how such a thing can happen.

Depression is about feeling isolated and hopeless, but it does not necessarily mean that you feel unloved, alone, or unwanted. You can be in a room full of loving friends and family yet, when the fog of depression falls like an impenetrable shroud, you can no longer see them. Depression is a deceptive thing that has you believing things that simply are not so. It also brings into sharp focus all of the hurts and failures of the past and catastrophizes the future, while leaving the present as just another long day that must be plodded through on the road to nowhere. Depression can feed on itself, resulting in a downward spiral that will leave life dangling by the delicate thread known as the human survival instinct.

That's when it happens. Something (and it could be anything from a bad medical diagnosis to a relatively minor frustration) comes along and finally snaps that last thread. Everything that has happened in the past leads up to that final moment, when the cool quiet of oblivion seems preferable to being alive. It's that moment when isolation and hopelessness have overcome the will to survive and the rope is stretched, the wheel is turned, the trigger is pulled. It could be a completely spontaneous act, done in the heat of the moment, because the consequences no longer matter. It brings to mind the words of a Lyle Lovett song:

"You can make just one mistake,
And it can take you to your grave, honey
One bad move can turn your world upside down
It's such a shame 'cause you've been so good up to now"

I *HAVE* been good since that one time so long ago, but still have to fight the impulse more than I'd like to admit to myself. Fortunately, I know my mind a lot better than I did back then but still, when I read about the suicide of one so prominent, I am reminded of how vulnerable I am and that I need to carefully guard my own mind. Someone reading this may read it and simply not be able to understand how such things can happen. That's OK because I really don't understand it myself.

Notes on a crush

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Sun, 27 Jul 2014 01:29:00 +0000

I can hardly believe it's been almost five years. My crushes usually last only a few weeks or months at most, so you know this one is highly unusual, and at least to me, very special.

If she sees this, I'm fairly certain she will know that it's about her. She knows about how I feel so it's not a big thing and I'm pretty sure she's OK with it too. Of course, she also has a bad memory so may not remember that I told her.

What first attracted me was her words. Her ability to put her thoughts down with such clarity, cleverness, intelligence, and wisdom had me hooked right away and the better I got to know her the more impressed I have become. She is also as attractive physically as she is mentally.

She makes me feel smarter, younger, better looking, and sexier that I really am and I find myself not wanting to disappoint her. I enjoy even the most mundane communications from her. She has always been open, honest and encouraging. I love the attention.

She doesn't crush on me the way I do on her and that's just fine. If she did, it would be a relationship, as opposed to a mere crush and it would have most likely ended a long time ago. I am quite content the way things are right now.

Naturally, having never lived with her before, there are many things I don't know about her and so my imagination must fill in the blank spots. I choose to fill them in with good things, and so while it may not be entirely realistic, It's what I choose to do... Hey! It's MY crush!

I had a friend tell me that a long distance crush is a waste of time and that it could keep me from “finding someone”. I disagree. First of all, our interactions make me happy. She has been a very welcome addition to my life. Secondly, as far as not “finding someone” goes. Of course I keep looking, and if I ever do, meet that someone special, she will be one of the first I tell, and she'll be happy for me. Above all things, we've become friends.

I've blogged about the before, and I have no problem with being in the “Friend Zone”. Truth be told, think it's a wonderful thing for a crush to mellow into a long term and mutually beneficial friendship. That is just how I see this one going.

(Not) At her service

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Mon, 28 Apr 2014 16:27:00 +0000

I was reading this blog post by Dumb Domme, in which she makes a very salient point on the difference between “domestic servitude”, and “housework”. I won't recapitulate the article here, as I think you would be better served by reading it yourself, (Really, you should do that... Go ahead, I'll wait) but it did give me pause to think of how, if at all it applies to my present circumstance. Here I am, a submissive man with a female room mate, and I do the vast majority of the housework. I do most of the cooking, cleaning, pay the bills and car maintenance on both vehicles in addition to working full time so at first glance, it might look as though I am trying to be a “good domestic servant”. The reality of the situation however, is far different

Back story

I used to live with the person who is now my room mate, in a very vanilla and quite conventional relationship. We both worked full time, so it was only natural that we split the mundane business of “housework” between us and it stayed that way for most of the 13 years we were together. Neither of us considered it to be a labor of service to each other. Love didn't mean having a clean toilet, nor did either of us do it in order to make each other happy. It was just shit that had to be done. Of course, that wasn't all we did together. In fact, when we weren't working, we spent practically every waking moment together. It was suggested by more than a couple of friends that were were co-dependent and perhaps it was so. We had completely build out lives around each other, but it wasn't until the relationship had entered it's terminal phase that I started learning about D/s and discovered my submissive side so it was never a factor.

The New Normal

Now, after having been pushed back into the same living space by circumstances, I can say without equivocation that there is nothing whatsoever submissive about my doing of the “invisible labor”. I'm not doing it to make her happy, nor am I hoping to get any favors, sexual or otherwise from her. I have no need to win favor or earn rewards, nor do I consider her to be in any way to be in a superior position.

Rather, it is my way of establishing my own independence and maintaining a measure of distance between us. We are no longer the co-dependent team we once were and I have no desire to go back to the time when we were. In the years since I've been on my own, I have developed my own way of doing things and see no reason to change them. This is not to say that there is no compromise, or that I don't welcome both suggestions or help, but it is my intention that she heal, regain her independence and eventually move on.

When I think of submissive service, I don't think about cooking, and cleaning, (Although I would happily do it if asked) but I think about doing sweet, unexpected, and romantic things. I would not expect to be praised or in any way rewarded to doing regular household maintenance. If I was no longer working and had a full time live-in agreement with a Domme, it would be fulfilling an agreed upon role.

For what it's worth, after being back on my own, again I'm not in any rush to live with anyone again. Not only that, but I am used to working and taking care of my own basic needs and it would take a great deal of trust for me to put my financial and personal security into the hands of someone else. Circumstances can always change and I am always open to new ideas, but at least for now, and for the foreseeable future, I will be doing all my own "invisible labor".

Confessions of a bad guy

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Tue, 15 Apr 2014 21:16:00 +0000

I think it's only natural that most of us like to consider ourselves to be basically good people. Sure, we may make mistakes from time to time, but we are still on the side of the angels. Since breaking my ankle a couple of weeks ago, I've been stuck in my apartment, with nothing but time to think about stuff like that.

I was remembering all of those times when I'd been disabled or had to visit the emergency room for one reason or another and there have been quite a few. In trying to put them in the proper historical perspective, I also stared thinking about other life events that were happening at the same time as those things. After mulling it over for a while, I've come to the conclusion that I have not been nearly as close to the angels as I have always thought I was.

You see, I have this opportunistic streak and after getting into a tight spot, I've been known to use extra legal means to extricate myself from it. Not that I would prey on little old ladies or steal from family and friends, (or even strangers, for that matter) but I still would do whatever I had to do in order to get my needs met. Because I didn't hold a gun, and rob people, I didn't think it was so bad. It was just stuff that had come from big warehouses, or was grown in somebodies “garden” so I thought of it as a sort of victimless criminality where nobody got hurt. Don't get me wrong, I always felt terrible afterward and swore that “this would be the last time” but that last time never seemed to come.

It started while still in my late teens, and into my early 20s, after earning the trust of a few guys who lived outside the law, and I was able to earn extra cash, fuel, weed, or whatever in exchange for doing the occasional “favor” for them. It usually involved transporting goods that had “fallen off the truck” somewhere. On occasion, it was marijuana, although I was always real careful not to carry too much at any one time. Even during my years in the cult, I maintained a couple of contacts on the outside because hey, you never know.

After leaving the cult in 1995, (OK, they threw me out) I got arrested after getting into trouble while trying to earn some cash to help a friend save his business. (No, I don't want to share the details)There was not enough evidence so they had to let me go and ever since then, I've been trying my best to remain on the straight and narrow.

The thing is, I don't know that I entirely trust myself to stay that way. Although in my favor, when everything fell apart during the housing crisis in 2008 I worked lots of overtime, paid off who I could, before being forced into bankruptcy, and I didn't fall back on that old “anything goes” pattern. Still, the urge is there and when it gets strong, I need to remind myself that there is no such thing as a victimless crime. Even if I get clean away with stealing a million dollars from someone who will never even know it's gone, there will still be two victims: my character, and self respect. Perhaps, by maintaining that perspective, I'll be able to move a little closer to the angels.

Best of Enemies

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Sun, 09 Mar 2014 04:20:00 +0000

I'm not really sure if you could call what we have a friendship. I'd say it's more like a long term truce... Kinda like Korea, but without all that barbed wire and watch towers. Sure, we have a history that goes back 23 years, but the relationship had quite a few rough patches before it died hard, leaving not only heartache, but financial ruin for both of us in it's wake. It took many months before we we able to start to try to rebuild some sort of relationship and even at that, it was only on account of her becoming disabled after enduring a brutal assault, and subsequent legal problems that we were able to look past the hurt and mistrust.

Now, almost four years since I first moved out, she has had to move back in with me, and although she feels safe here, she makes no bones about the fact that she'd rather not be here at all. After having been on her own, since she was sixteen years old, she has never had to rely on anyone for her survival, so this cuts to the very core of who she is. I can understand that.

In the three months since she's been here, I've come to realize just how different we have become. The conversations that used to flow so freely between us are infrequent, and at times, somewhat forced and I find myself being careful not say something that will stir up the problems that lie dormant just beneath the surface. We are mentally and emotionally in two different places. There is nothing that passes for affection between us and there is the always present danger that a wrong word will reignite the problems of the past. We may share the same place, but we are not close... Just two people, forced by circumstance, that have to learn to live together.

If you've read this far you might think: “Geez, what a terrible way to live”, but I'll tell you something, there's good to be had in such a situation.

There is a basic courtesy and respect for each others' space and needs as well as a familiarity with working together in order to achieve a common goal. That goal is to see to it that she regains her independence and I am pleased to report that she is well on her way. By doing things on a quid pro quo basis, we are both learning the art of negotiation and compromise and are taking real pains to see to it that things go as smoothly as possible. Patience with each other and our circumstances has become the order of the day while we both settle in to what has become the new normal and what we may lack in mutual affection, we make up for in the determination to make this work.

I have always wanted to believe that civilized and intelligent people should be able to put aside personal differences in order to achieve a common goal and you might say that this is sort of an experiment that I hope will reinforce that belief.

I know that issues will arise and there may be some difficult times ahead, but I am hoping for the best possible outcome. Even though we are no longer best of friends, perhaps being best of enemies will be good enough.

A Morning after Story

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Wed, 29 Jan 2014 21:19:00 +0000

A fictional re-accounting of something that I remember from a long time ago

She gradually awakens in the pre-dawn darkness as he stirs slightly, and she smiles as she feels the comforting and familiar weight of him splayed across her, his head nestled under her chin. She reaches up and begins to absently stoke his hair when it hits her like a thunderbolt and she remembers what happened. This is all wrong. This is not HIM. This is not the one she has grown to love and cherish. This is a feeble imposter, and the shallow, shadow of a man, laying here now, has the temerity to think that he could even begin to fill the shoes of the one she would have given almost anything for. She has allowed this fool into her bed and now he lays here sleeping, as though it was his right to do so.

It's not his really fault, she thinks. I was the one who asked him here and it was only at my insistence that he stayed. Sweet, kind, and gentle, he tried his best to “be there” when she called. Fawning on her like a modern day courtier, he tried to assuage the pain of her loss by making her laugh, think, and in his own lopsided way did his best to see to it that everything was “just so”. There was even a brief moment, when they were making love that she considered that there might be a faint spark between them, but his sexual efforts were as inexpert and clumsy, as they were in earnest. Even after he had spent himself, he had tried vainly to please her until they both collapsed in frustrated exhaustion.

Now, in the aftermath of a tumultuous night, the only thing she could focus on was the one who was no longer there. The more she thought about the one she loved, the more she missed him and the pain of that longing sliced knife-like to her very core. With the body of a god, the heart of a lion, and a sharp and inquisitive intellect, he strode head and shoulders above most, and when he slept, it was the deep slumber of victory. It was the restful sleep of one who knew neither fear nor boundaries and when he woke, the world would take note. At that very moment, she longed for nothing more than to be bound up in his embrace. By comparison,this one with her now seems timid and weak. Like a child too eager to please, he gropes about looking for approval, never understanding that it is not the things that one does, but rather the person one becomes, that makes him special.

Suddenly repulsed, she tries to slide of of bed without waking him, and she has to shush him soothingly as he fitfully turns over. Once he seems to be sleeping again, she slips into a robe and slippers, and pads off to make coffee. Sitting alone in the kitchen, for what seems like a long while, she stares into her cup, wondering how she could have allowed this to happen. Was she really that lonely, or maybe she just drank too much. Perhaps she just wanted a measure of revenge against the one who had hurt her and this was the quickest way of doing so. Whatever, she thought, the trick now is to get this imposter out of here and move on with the day.

He appears suddenly in the doorway, fully dressed and far too awake and chipper for the hour. The conversation that follows over coffee and breakfast, is lively and engaging, and she begins to remember a bit of why she had been attracted to him in the first place. Between peals of laughter, she thinks to herself; “I'll give him credit for one thing, he's a funny motherfucker”. Yet, for all the lively banter, they could both see the failure and disappointment reflected in each others' eyes and this was his way of not only leaving in the most gentlemanly way, but as a salve against the sting of rejection.

The final parting went rather quickly. “Well,” she sighed, with a gentle wave of the hand, “I have a ton of stuff I need to do and I suppose I really need to get to it”. After they exchange a few more meaningless pleasantries, she kisses him softly on the lips and giggles at him ”Drive carefully now. Remember, that car's not paid for yet”. Trying hard to hide his disappointment, he smiles wanly and slouches away as she closes the door behind him.

Thankful to be by herself again, she looks up at the clock and says, “What the hell am I doing up at this hour? Fuck it! I'm going back to sleep” and with her bed, now pleasantly devoid of anyone save her, she falls asleep, and dreams.

Looking forward while looking back

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Tue, 31 Dec 2013 22:03:00 +0000

I'm sitting outside with my iPad thinking back on all that has happened in this very short period of time, now known forever as the year 2013 and looking back on it, I'd have to call this one a win.

Oh sure, there was the usual shit that happens: Work related stuff, too much month left at the end of the money, the various personal demons that I fight on a daily basis, as well as a few medical issues, and the aggravation of having to move, rather abruptly to another place. On balance though, I came out ahead.

The best thing to happen this year was that I found a whole new group of wonderful and supportive friends, while the same time, deepening my ties to the few that are closest to me. The severely damaged relationship with my ex is slowly but surely being repaired, and even though we are no longer "together" we have rediscovered the friendship that we had more than 20 years ago. Being pushed together by circumstances has enabled both of us to relearn the value of working together to our mutual benefit.

It was a year if discovery and exploration as well. Rather than merely stumbling from day to day, in order to just "get by", I have begun to try to expand my horizons, pushing at the boundaries of my limited comfort zone. It started back in June, when with the encouragement of my lovely friend Ferns, I began going to the gym in the hope of not only becoming stronger and healthier, but enhancing my self image as well. Although this last month has made it impossible to get more than a couple of scattered workouts in, I should be able to get back into it as my work schedule eases up a bit.

I have also taken a renewed interest in photography, something I haven't done in many years, as well as started writing a bit. Not only did I start this blog (something I would not have even considered a year ago) but even entered (and WON in September) the Flash in the Pen short story contest. I intend to keep at it too as I find it easier to summon the courage to express myself.

Overall, 2013 has left me a little more centered, confident, and feeling more in control of my life than. I have felt in a very long time. I was able to stand toe to toe with my personal demons and mostly came out on top, and even though there are still a number of challenges ahead, and a couple of dark clouds looming on the horizon, (things I don't wish to mention here) I think that I am in a much better position to deal with them now than I was a year ago.

To all of you who have come into my life, both new and old, thank you so much for being there, and while I may not express it often enough, you do mean a lot to me and I wish only the best for you. May we all have a wonderful 2014

How socks get lost!... Captured on video!

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Mon, 30 Dec 2013 00:00:00 +0000

Instead of doing apartment cleaning, cooking, and other mundane stuff, I spent the day having fun with a new stop motion app that I got for my iPad... I love stuff like this. Granted, I'll never be another Cecil B DeMille, but it kept me out of trouble for the day.

Have you ever wondered how socks just disappear?.. This is how it happens! I think that the same thing happens to car keys too!

Paradise Postponed: Losing faith but gaining freedom

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Thu, 12 Dec 2013 23:51:00 +0000

Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. I John 2, 15-17

The World... I remember when it was evil. Not the planet, or the people that live on it, but the age itself. At one time, I saw everything around me as the culmination of six thousand years of Satanic misrule that would soon be replaced by the glorious "Kingdom of God", where the righteous would rule with the returned Messiah and the poor, stumbling, and misguided inhabitants of this dying world would be liberated and guided into a new and enlightened way.

From my mid twenties, until I was forty years old, I labored in a cult that held tightly to this conviction and believed that it would come to pass within our lifetimes. Practically everything I did was predicated on this belief and it would effect every aspect of my life.

Even after the church's original founder died, and a new administration took over, I was inclined to continue to follow its precepts. After all, by now, my entire reality and social fabric had been woven from its cloth. This is not to say I didn't have my doubts. I have always been a skeptic at heart but tried my best to fight against doubt, calling it a tool of the devil, because I wanted to believe, with all my heart, that it was true. I loved the security of "knowing" the "true" meaning of life, and threw myself with enthusiasm into spreading the "Good News" of the "Wonderful World Tomorrow".

My life centered around weekly Sabbath services, and bible studies, as well as many hours of personal prayer, study, and meditation. I chose to forgo such things as education, career, plans for retirement, and tried to put as much distance between myself and "worldly" relationships as I could. Instead, I formed relationships that were almost exclusively within the church. They became my true spiritual family, and the very thought of a partnership, or even a casual date, with a non-member was completely unthinkable. I chose instead, to use the first fruits of my labors to advance the cause of righteousness while eschewing most of those things that I considered to be worldly, and therefore sinful. I had willingly confined myself to a cloistered existence where every thought and action was to be filtered through this church and it's interpretation of scripture. Closing myself off from the rest of society, I became a slave of Christ, and I would spend many a year, flailing away with countless amounts of both time and treasure in order to prove myself worthy. However, it was not to last.

The beginning of the end started over a seemingly minor point: The age of the earth. The church taught that the book of Genesis was literally true. (Although they modified that slightly, later on) From their point of view, God had used 7 literal days in which to create the universe and as much as I tried to tell myself it was so, my rational, and skeptical mind eventually HAD to prove it one way or the other. For the first time, I began to look into science and it's relationship to faith in order to try to figure out what was true. The more I studied, the more convinced I became that we'd had it wrong but any attempt to get answers to my questions within the group were rebuffed. Now, with my curiosity piqued, I began to delve into the other tenants that I had held so dear to put them to a similar test. In addition, the church itself had begun to evolve in its beliefs which only further convinced me that I had been wrong all this time. Eventually, I was suspended from the church as a non believer and was finally forced to leave the group all together.

I began to study earnestly and in time, the light of rational thought began to seep in to my mind and I began to think outside of that tiny theocratic box I had been confined to for so long. Dogma was replaced by reason, and the arrogance of absolute certainty by the humility of genuine doubt and questioning. Yet in spite of throwing off the shackles of doctrine, and the precepts of a dead faith, I continued to struggle for more than another decade with these things, while in a marriage to another former cult member that would eventually fail as well.

It's only been in the past three years or so, since I have been completely on my own, that a true awakening has come. For the first time ever, I feel completely free. I am no longer putting off the things of life in order to wait for a paradise that is not coming. I no longer look for signs of the end, but rather for sign posts that point the way to the future. The thick veil of irrationality has been rent asunder and I have broken the chains of ideology. I have been liberated!

As exciting as freedom is, it is also scary. The questions of immortality, the reason for my existence, and the very important question of why things happen the way they do, are all lost upon me now, as I suppose they are for most. I feel as though the many years spent in the church have left me socially maladjusted and intellectually stunted, and there are times when I miss that way of life terribly. There are also those times, when I feel lost and so eternally lonely that I can't even begin to find the words to describe it. Yet in spite of the loneliness, and ambiguity, I would much rather grope uncertainly in the light of reality that walk with assurance through the darkness of superstition.

Abstract: Signature of a Madman

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Sun, 24 Nov 2013 01:25:00 +0000

Someone just laughingly suggested I call this one "Signature of a Madman"... OK, I guess that works :-D

Photographic Evidence

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Fri, 22 Nov 2013 15:02:00 +0000

Back in the day, (high school) I loved dabbling with photography. I would wander around with my borrowed Yashica 360, looking for interesting things to shoot. Then it was off to the darkroom (there was one in my school I could use) to see what I'd come up with. I worked almost exclusively in black and white because it was a LOT easier and cheaper to develop in black and white than color. I've also always liked that moody, “Movie Noir” look of monochrome.

That was then. This is now. A few months ago, a dear friend and I had a short twitter conversation about photography and it reignited my interest. So MUCH so, that I decided to trade my 45 pistol for a Canon DSLR and I'm glad I did. Here are the first couple of things I did with it.... Turns out that I'd rather shoot pictures than people.

I called this one "light Beer"... heh

This was my first attempt at "Light Painting" FUN!

There's a bit of a learning curve here, and I'm sure I'll get better at it as time goes om. The main thing is that I'm having fun with it.

A Bright and Shining Star

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Tue, 19 Nov 2013 16:16:00 +0000

It happened quite unexpectedly. A chance encounter, a quick word or two, and suddenly there was a spark. Something caught her interest and drew her attention. What began as polite greetings and clever banter evolved into conversations and gentle flirts, which in turn became probing questions and the tentative touching of minds. In the initial excitement of that first contact, we discovered fresh new perspectives and found sweetness, until finally, somewhere in the tangle of thoughts and intentions, there came a connection that caused that tiny spark to flicker into a small but steady flame.

At first, nobody but us even noticed that small glint of light, sparkling just above the horizon. It was only after they saw her attention being gradually drawn away that anyone would start to take note and look in my direction. As we reached out for each other, we found common ground and slowly but surely, that small flame would grow ever hotter and brighter. Unwrapping each other like precious gifts, we marveled at what we found within. It was a wondrous time of exploration, where with each new interaction came a fascinating new discovery and we reveled in each others' company.

In the course of time, that which had started out as a tiny spark had finally blossomed into a bright and shining star that held us tightly in it's orbit. We rejoiced in it's light, while it's radiant power fed our hopes and dreams. It was wonderful, lovely, and perfect... It felt like it would last forever.

But stars don't live forever. Some explode in flaming cataclysm, destroying everything around them, while others just grow cold and dark as they quietly burn themselves out, all alone in the night.

I barely noticed that first pinpoint of light, just above the horizon. Even as it grew, stronger and brighter, I paid little heed to it. It was only after her attention had begun to be drawn toward this new, and ever brightening beacon that I really became aware of it, while the same time, I could see our own light starting to dim. The rush of time and the press of events had taken their toll. Our well trodden paths had become ruts, and what was once thought of as new and clever, now seemed like pedantic prattle... Hollow echos from an empty room. Familiarity had bred, if not exactly contempt, at least indifference and I watched with increasing consternation and sadness as the distance between us grew. In spite of all efforts, our flame was dying, even as she was slowly but surely, being drawn into a new orbit. The inevitable happened. Our fire was extinguished... The light had gone out, and as I took a last look back, I saw that a new bright and shining star that had arisen in my place.

It's a time of quiet now. It is time to reconsider, to grow and rethink, and I am content to wait here quietly, until that next unexpected chance encounter and the sudden spark that could happen.

Working Late

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Fri, 08 Nov 2013 13:49:00 +0000

It's a little past midnight, and I've been on the road for more than thirteen long, frustrating hours. It's been a typical frantic day and now I'm completely exhausted. After finishing up my last call here, in this big box retail store, I just want to go home, get something to eat and go to bed. I grab my tool kit, along with an armload of used parts and head toward the door.

Sure enough, before I get too far, one of the night crew's customer service agents, flutters up to me. like a little pixie, and with a bright, shiny grin, and in a chipper little voice she says: “You like tired!”. I can already feel where this is headed. “I am”, I mumble in affirmation, as I shuffle past. Sure enough, she falls into step beside me, and asks: “Well, can I ask you something?”. I stop, while inwardly rolling my eyes reply, “Sure, what's up?”. With far too much enthusiasm for the late hour she squeaks out, “It's lane eleven... It's not working. We tried everything and I was going to call it in tomorrow, but we really NEED that lane open right now!”. I put everything down on a counter top and turn around to go back to check, but I can already plainly see that lane eleven is in use. I am watching as a cashier laconically slides items across in scanner, into shopping bags. Just as I begin to point out the obvious fact that the lane is operational, she quickly stammers out, “Well, it wasn't working before. I can shut it down so you can take a look at it.” Trying not to show my irritation, I tell her that I'd check it out, when I come back tomorrow if it stops working again. At that, I turn back around, pick up my stuff, and continue my trudge toward the front door.

I didn't get very much further before one of the cashiers scuttles up to me and practically shouts, “BOY, am I glad to see YOU! What about lane 45? That's why I thought you were here! That lady over there says it's running too slowly!”. Now my irritation is starting to show. “Look, I've been I've been at it since this morning, and the lane is up and running... I will look at it when I come back in the morning”. Still not satisfied, she turns directly to whining: “What am I supposed to say to this customer?... She's getting upset”. Without missing a beat, I turn to her and say, with a grin,” Tell her that suicide is always an option... See you tomorrow.” With a startled gasp of laughter, she rubs me gently on the back and assures me that she'll relay that message while telling me that"Don't worry about it. This lady is a regular pain in the ass, every time she comes in here anyway".

While quickening my pace in order to avoid further delay, I lose control of one of my boxes, sending a motherboard skittering across the floor. A kindly older gentlemen collects if for me and as I put my things down to put it back in the box, he asks me,"Do you do side work? I stay down here during the winter and can use a good computer guy."I quickly wave him off while explaining, "Uh, no sir, I don't. I have more than enough to keep me busy during the day... Thanks for your help." After another moment or two of pleasantries, I bid him goodby and continue on my way.

I almost make it to the exit, when I run into the assistant manager coming back from break. She seems genuinely surprised to see me and exclaims, in an excitement tinged voice, “WOW!, you're here late, tonight!... Let me ask you something...”

Asylum

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Sun, 27 Oct 2013 17:14:00 +0000

There are two definitions of the word "asylum" that come immediately to my mind:

asylum - a shelter from danger or hardship
asylum - a hospital for mentally unbalanced persons

In a few weeks, my apartment is destined to become one, or perhaps both of those things because, due to financial and other considerations, my ex will be moving back in with me for a time. To be certain, this is neither a reconciliation, nor a (re)marriage of convenience, but rather a backup plan that was to be used in the event all else failed. Unfortunately, all else has failed.

When we parted, some three and a half years ago, we thought it would be for the best if we each go our separate ways while maintaining a friendship. We figured that we would offer mutual assistance and make the parting as amicable as we could. After all, why throw away a 20 plus year relationship because the marriage failed.

Of course, things didn't work out quite that way. (Do they ever?) While I was able to make a fairly clean break, after a period of intense emotional turmoil, it hasn't worked out so well for her. She has since been diagnosed with Bipolar disorder as well as Complex PTSD, both of which are long standing issues from her distant past, that have become debilitating due to being left undiagnosed and untreated for such a long time. In addition, there is the battle against alcohol abuse that we both fight on a daily basis, and finally, she suffered back and knee injuries, after being physically assaulted in 2011, leaving her physically, as well as mentally partially disabled. She is doing her best to overcome some terrible circumstances in order to regain her independence, however she still needs my help... A LOT. We are waiting for her to get disability benefits so she can get back to living on her own, but it's taking forever and we have had to hire a lawyer to help us. We are hoping for a positive outcome by year's end.

I will confess to being a little nervous about doing this. Even though she is doing very well with medication, and counseling, and we have known each other for over 20 years, there are still the memories of how it ended the last time. There are also the outstanding issues that broke us up to begin with, and perhaps a bit of left over hurt. (We have been trying our best to tread softly around those things) Not only that, but we will be moving into a new and more expensive apartment in order to make enough room for both of us, and that alone will be kind of a big thing.

In spite of being somewhat anxious, I think I'm doing the right thing. It's one thing to talk about “being there” for someone, and another thing to actually “BE” there when they are running out of options. Let's face it, friendship is easy when things are going well, but the true test of any relationship happens when things go wrong, and even though I am making myself vulnerable by opening my door, she is likewise making herself vulnerable by trusting that her time with me will be peaceful, and secure.

We have been talking things through and even though neither of us thinks that this is an ideal solution, we are both willing to try to make it work. Only time will tell if we've made the right choice.

The day I almost went sailing... or... Down to the sea in Schtick

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 22:36:00 +0000

I'm trying to add new things to my life, so when I was offered an opportunity by my ex, who lives on a 27 foot sailboat to learn how to sail, I jumped at the chance. Well, it was really more of a half-hearted hop, but I said OK, and was eventually even able to work up a bit of enthusiasm for it. Of course, my ex knows nothing about sailing either, (she only lives there) but has a friend who was perfectly willing to teach us, so we all decided to make a day of it.

Now, when I use the expression “learned to sail” I'm using it very loosely. There was indeed a boat with sails on it, a teacher guy who was more than willing to show us what to do, and two eager students, but any resemblance to the actual unfurling of sails, wind and spray in the face, or hoisting the mizzen mast and the doing of other such nautical stuff, stops right there. That's not to say that I didn't enjoy myself, or that I didn't learn anything, it just didn't happen as planned

When I arrived at the marina early that afternoon, my ex and Rick our instructor, were already there preparing for the day. Apparently, there's a bit of prep work that needs to be done before heading out. It's not like jumping into the car to go to the store. You have to DO stuff first. Preparation seems to entail a lot of tugging and pulling on ropes and cables “securing” stuff, and saying “Mmm Hmm” a lot. There's also a fair amount of profanity involved as boats also appear to have a lot of tight, dark and wet places that are full of sharp and pointy things. I can now understand why sailors have a reputation for swearing like, well... sailors.

Among the things checked was the “bilge pump”. As it turns out, a boat really needs one of these because, as Rick so seriously intoned, “All boats leak”, and as I watched water pouring out of a hole in the back, I could see that this boat is a particularly good example of that. I've heard boats described as “Holes in the water that you fill with money”, and now I can better understand the analogy. If the bilge pump should ever stop working, nature which abhors a vacuum, will proceed to quickly fill that hole up for you, leaving behind nothing BUT water... Really bad if you want to go sailing, and even worse if you happen to live in said former hole in the water.

… And all this time, I thought that a bilge pump was just for when you flushed the toilet and that was what removed the physical evidence. Little did I know that the “Head” is nothing more that a bucket with a toilet seat on it and (so I was told) the one who filled it up, was the one who had to empty it (A process that I'll not describe here) Needless to say, this was one lottery that I refused to win... I held out all afternoon!

As is turned out, we never did get the chance to go because Rick cancelled the whole thing. He said it was because “the engine won't stay running”, and I was like, “Huh?... wha?” It's possible that I might have been missing something here but I thought that the main thing about sailing was, you know... wind. If you need a motor, what are sails for? Maybe the object is to drive out into the bay and hoist the sails so you can say “HEY everybody... LOOK! I've got a SAILBOAT!”. Anyway, I didn't bother asking because I didn't want him to go all Captain Hook on me or something, because by now, he was chest deep in possibly gator infested waters (Well, that's what the sign said) trying to fix the engine.

Here is where more of that sailor type swearing comes in. I've worked on cars for years and I know that when you drop a tool, or part, it falls down and rolls underneath to the furthest, and dirtiest place that it can, but at least, your can crawl under and get it. Not so in the water, if you drop something there, that son of a bitch is gone and you ain't never gonna see it again. The only thing left to do is to drive down to the marine store (no engine, remember?) and get a new bolt, or tool, or whole new framis, or whatever the fuck that thing was. Not only that, but by the time you get back, you know that goddamn alligator is liable to be around there somewhere. By now, he looked about ready to take swearing to a whole new level. I thought he might confront the Almighty directly. I could have just seen him looking up to heaven, in quivering rage, with raised fists and screaming “Bring it motherfucker!!! Show me what you got!!!, but since yelling, swearing and parts fetching was not only too much work, it was also potentially very expensive. We decided to get beer and food instead.

So now, with the motor now declared temporarily dead, we just sort of hung out, and enjoyed each other's company on a really nice day. It didn't bother me at all that we never left the dock. It was a beautiful day, the company was good, there was beer and food, and I didn't have to shit in a bucket.

This puts me in mind of a similar thing that happened a long time ago. It was the time that I went “flying” with my uncle. Only this was up north, where I stood out in teeth chattering cold all day while he swore, and struggled to bring his recalcitrant Cessna 195 to life. (Sailors and Pilots seem to possess the same basic blasphemous vocabulary) By the time he was finally able to coax the plane out of it's winter coma, the weather had become even colder, and there was a storm coming in so we called it a day... And, as everyone knows: “It's better to be on the ground, wishing you were in the air, than in the air, wishing you were on the ground.” (I read that somewhere)

That last bit had nothing to do with sailing, did it? Anyway, we will try heading out again as soon as the engine is running. He said by next weekend, although I think that's about as likely as seeing Jesus in boxing gloves.

Quiet Carnage

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Mon, 14 Oct 2013 16:30:00 +0000

I was cleaning my apartment over the weekend and could hardy believe how bad the place had gotten in just a little over a week. Considering my work schedule, in combination with general laziness, it's little wonder that the place went from a reasonably comfortable living space to total wreckage. All it takes is a little neglect or lack of focus, and before you know it, you turn around and the place is almost uninhabitable.

It's the same with life. It's easy to fall into a pattern of neglect and complacency until one day, you take a long hard look, and you can clearly see the carnage. All of those things left undone, opportunities missed, wrong turns, failure to plan properly and time wasted... probably that most of all. It takes years to get that way, and it happens quietly, with the rot slowly and insidiously settling in almost unnoticed. Initiative, imagination, and creativity can dissipate over time, leaving dreams and plans in hollow ruins, while papering them over with the false and brittle facade of contentment.

The realization may come slowly, like the morning sun burning through fog, or it may fall suddenly, with sleep depriving ferocity, like some dark epiphany in the middle of the night. No matter how it manifests itself, be it a still small voice or clap of thunder, it is a message that must be acted upon.

I have had my moment of enlightenment and in a sense, it's one reason for this blog. It is tacit acknowledgment that things are not as they should be and it's time to move in a different direction. By putting things down in writing and in plain sight, It becomes a daily reminder to myself to move forward. In addition, a blog will help me to develop my writing ability, and give me the chance to explore a different way of communicating, while hopefully opening the door to new interactions.

I am trying to incorporate new and different ideas into my daily life in order to jump start creativity and initiative while at the same time, trying to break some of those bad habits that I have allowed to linger and cause damage. I am also slowly but surely attempting to do new things that will stretch the very limited boundaries of my comfort zone.

John F. Kennedy once said: “Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future.”

It is time to start looking to the future again.

Friend Zone

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Wed, 09 Oct 2013 03:31:00 +0000

I think you know how it goes. There's a special someone that you've been crushing on for like, EVER. We're talking here, about a someone who is smart, funny, has a great personality, and sexy as hell to boot. Not only that, but there's actual communication between you. You can banter back and forth, make each other laugh, share inside jokes and secrets, and may even flirt a little bit from time to time. Still, no matter how close you become, it never manages to get past that platonic phase. Deep down, you know that the two of you will never be more than "just" friends. You may even consult with your besties about your unrequited love but all they can do it look at you, with pity in their eyes, and announce in death's own voice; “Whoa, dude... You've been FRIEND ZONED!” (Cue the scary music)

What to do? I mean, it's a disaster, right?... Or is it? Could it be that rather than being the end of something, it could be the start of something else? I personally think it can. Let me explain.

I've been there. I've been “friend zoned” a few times now and I'm OK with it. Being just friends might not have all the fun and thrills of a romantic encounter, but now I have the chance at something that to me is just as substantive and perhaps longer lasting.

When I start to crush on someone, I do so for a reason. She is attractive to me and has qualities that I want to be around. She is someone that I can look up to for her mind, personality, cleverness, and just overall wonderfulness. I love hearing from her, and enjoy spending time with her. Even though she doesn't see me through romantic eyes, I still enjoy doing those little things that can make her day a little brighter or picking her up when she's feeling a bit down. I love it when I can make her smile, laugh, or just feel a little more special than she did before.

So, you may be wondering, what's in it for me? A lot! First of all, having an amazing friend makes me feel better about who I am. (I know, sounds selfish, right?) Her very presence in my life makes it brighter. Having this very special, crush worthy friend, who appreciates me for who I am, values my input, and cares enough to share her thoughts and time with me, makes me feel better, smarter, sexier, and more clever than I really am and I revel in it.

Secondly, I can learn from her. I see those admirable traits, that I find so lovely, and I find myself wanting to become more like that myself. In addition, I am drinking in different ideas and perspectives, and learning new ways of interacting with the world. Over time, I believe that my relationship with her will make both of our lives, a richer, and more varied experience.

I have been friend zoned by several marvelous women over the years and I have discovered that, as much as I may have wanted it, I didn't need to have a romantic relationship in order to care deeply and I came away with what I hope will be warm and loving friendships that will last for a long time.

Life Noir

noreply@blogger.com (slapshot) — Tue, 01 Oct 2013 00:49:00 +0000

It's a little before sunset as I pull up to my apartment in a driving rain. Despite the torrent, the afternoon remains oppressively hot, but the soaking I get on the way to my front door leaves me somewhat more refreshed. I shiver slightly upon entering the cool darkness of my place but I'm not ready to slip out of my wet clothes just yet. I find the novelty of actually being cold quite refreshing. After fumbling in the semi-darkness for a moment or two, I walk over to the sliding glass door, (the only “window” in the place) reach behind the vertical blinds and open it wide so I can hear the rain. I love listening to the rain. I find it to be a very comforting sound that never fails to ease my jangled nerves and believe me, after a day like this one, I could use a whole hurricane.

I'm not going to bother with the lights yet either. Like the sound of the rain, I find that the darkness helps to tamp down the free floating anxiety that follows me throughout the day and I take comfort in having the only source of illumination being the late afternoon light that splashes itself, like a brilliant puddle in the gloom, across a section of floor and the edge of the coffee table.

Walking to the refrigerator, I can sense, rather than see or hear the cat that scurries beneath my feet. Doubtless, it's looking for food. The parrot's cage is also quiet for the moment. (Another benefit, albeit temporary, of the darkness) After slapping a dollop of canned food into the cat's dish, I reach into the fridge to grab a beer. I pull out a bottle of mineral water instead. As I'm already feeling exhausted and sullen, I don't want to darken my mood any further. The water feels great going down, and my parched and overheated insides feel as wonderfully cool as the rest of me. I just stand there quietly, looking, listening, and thinking.

It was only a few years ago that I was in a completely different place. I was a married homeowner, and with my loving wife, we did all those future building things that couples do. It had taken years to get there, but we'd done it. I really thought it would go on for a lifetime. However, the crash, when it came, was complete and simply swept it all away. I'm not assigning blame here. We were both at fault... I don't know, maybe neither of us were at fault. Maybe, shit just happens that pushes people apart. I really can't say. It seems so long ago that it's almost as if it was a dream.

Now, I feel like I'm like a character in one of those 40s detective movies. You know the ones... I'm the disheveled, slightly seedy looking older single guy, working alone, and often at night, who passes like a phantom through the lives of others. From my dingy, one room apartment, on the wrong side of the tracks, I ply my trade with moderate skill, but I more than make up for any lack with grim determination and a thick veneer of cynicism, built up over a lifetime of seeing too much and having too little power to do anything about it.

I even have a Femme Fatale, of sorts in the form of my ex-wife. She is a sweet, loving, kindly, but very troubled woman who's life always seems to be hanging by threads... Threads that lay upon me like the chains on Jacob Marley's ghost. Not quite together, and not quite apart, we live parallel lives, with all the difficulties and frustrations of married life but without any of the sweetness, cuddles, and loving kindness that goes with it. It is a claustrophobic and off-balance existence where the bright pastel colors of life have been replaced by the dull gray of existence.

So now, here in the new abnormal, I throw myself into the mundane. I busy myself with whatever tasks are immediately at hand in order to avoid thinking about the past, or worrying about the future. I push on fitfully with eyes wide shut, focused on the present, while searching for whatever bright and shiny moments I may find along the way. I intend to make the most of it until I run out of moments.

The rain has stopped now, and the bird cage is resonating with the sounds hunger and impatience, and I suddenly find it needful to move on with the evening. There will be more than enough to keep my busy. I think I'll have that beer now.