Archive for November, 2013

This will be the last time

Posted in Uncategorized on November 17, 2013 by oldmandub

This captain’s log idea was fucking stupid. 

And I must be much more stupid than I tell myself.

There’s no way I can be honest here about everything. I can’t let the emotional and personal bile that gurgles in the pits within me spill out. That sort of disgusting, putrid, vile shit doesn’t belong anywhere but stuck inside me.

That’s the kind of emotional heft that I need to keep inside me. Stuff I don’t want to let go. The kind of hatred, bitterness, and resentment can be useful if nurtured correctly. It can be a little ball of dark light burning inside my chest. Like Tony Stark, it’s two fold purpose will be to keep the metal shards from sinking into my heart and killing me, and also serve as a tiny nuclear generator to power my iron suit which I will use to accomplish my goals. My fuel to destroy the opposition. 

This is a good thing, my brothers and sisters. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gv4pARHf83c

 

Captain’s Log: Hate Date – 11/15/2013

Posted in Uncategorized on November 15, 2013 by oldmandub

My aunt left this morning. Marta, her name. She ran off with her two little pups, Genevieve, some mutt that has brown blurry spots in it’s fur and yaps incessantly when ever I come through the door, and Jack, some Jack Russel – something else mix, the cute, calm and collected of the two, always carrying a dirty tennis ball or a small plastic bone in his mouth. They are Ghost’s, my sensitive and rambunctious yellow lab, best friends. And now Ghost is all alone during the day, and mine and my father (Bob)’s obligation to spend time with my mother has just intensified.

my mom is reaching the end of her 5th year of a catastrophic health situation that started off simple and seemingly smart, but over time became very clear was not the wisest decision. One of those things so obvious now that a George W. Bush quote will satisfyingly sum it up: “Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice, we won’t be fooled again.” Basically, if i had a questionable white blood cell count, but was otherwise totally healthy, I definitely will not be talked into desperate measures such as a bone marrow transplant, or BMT. I don’t want to say the doctors lied to us, but that is exactly what I want to say they did. Either they really had no real grasp of the consequences of Graft vs. Hose Disease, or GVHD, or they were so excited for another opportunity to be a hero-God they didn’t care. Either way, my mom’s life has been destroyed from the effects of the BMT, but her white blood cell count is back to normal. Success? It seems the City of Hope thinks so.

So long story short, my mother, Donna, one of the smartest and kindest people I’ve ever known, is now a bitter and confused woman, seemingly way beyond her 65 years, so much so that Bob gets mistaken as her son often enough. She is suffering from an oscillating fit of dementia, is unable to walk (and unable to understand that she needs physical therapy every day if she wants to come home), unwilling to eat much, forlorn and manipulative, spends most of her days on her back watching cable television, nodding out, at The Californian , a convalescent home in Pasadena mostly inhabited by people at least 20 years older than her. This woman, who read a book a day while successfully leading a full time career as an attorney, who wrote her senior thesis in a single night about the relationship between Alice in Wonderland and the Theory of Relativity and had it passed around the professorial community at her university for it’s brilliance, is now barely able to understand a single sentence she reads. It’s fucked up. And she probably never even needed to go through the procedure that has crippled her mentally and physically. It was elective. And we got hosed. Our lives forever changed, especially her’s. So yeah, if my blood cells ever come up askew, give me some vitamins. I’m going back to work.

Now the point about my aunt. She moved down her to help out with the encumbrance of the situation for me and Bob, but i guess it was too much to bare and she split this morning. Life goes on, right? I hope it will for me.

That sounds melodramatic, but shit, this is ridiculous some times. I’m 30 and i work a day job at an office and live with my dad. I have no real career opportunities. I feel like all I can do is become a great writer and make a living that way. Pretty bold, i know, but it’s what I’m driven to do. And between this increased obligation to make sure my mother isn’t alone too much, and at the same time having to spend more time with Bob who’s obviously affected substantially by this, I’m not left with much time to live MY life.

At least it feels that way and I’m overcome with anxiety and pressure and despair more often than I feel is fair. My brother lives in Portland and hardly checks in, my sister is in another world (more literally than figuratively), my 21 year old niece has pretty much completely cut us off for some reason, and all the eager to help voices that were so ubiquitous when this whole thing started have pretty much silenced. I don’t think people can really comprehend what has happened. I’m asked often how mom is doing. I used to lie, or try to make the person feel good about themselves. “She’s doing better.” “Oh, we went out to a nice lunch yesterday.” “She asked about you.” No. That’s done. Now it’s “pretty shitty. It fucking sucks. She’s not getting better and she’s probably not coming home. Her body doesn’t know if it wants to live or die. It has settled for stasis.” Sorry. If that’s not the answer you wanted to hear then please don’t ask. I don’t like thinking about it, let alone talking about it.

Woe, is me. I just have to focus, compartmentalize my obligations, my goals, and my self. One thing at a time. At least I have fresh water to drink.

My main problem is letting my fucking phone and all it’s glory get in the way of what I want. First thing’s first, get a divorce. I’m eligible for a summary dissolution so that will make things a lot easier. Then I don’t have to deal with a girl freaking out anymore when I tell her I’m married. That’s never fun. It didn’t quite come out as the joke to everyone I thought the marriage would be.

That’s enough for today.

Captain’s Log: Hate Date 11/14/2013

Posted in Uncategorized on November 14, 2013 by oldmandub

I’m going to just start using this as a journal, a captain’s log, like Picard, to keep track of my progress, or lack there of. Like a sport’s journal. 

I remember a Calvin and Hobbes week long or so run where Calvin decides to take up gum chewing as a sport and keep a log to track his progress. That particular concept has stuck with me, and when taking up new things like working out, or, actually practicing my guitar, I would consider the sport’s journal for a moment, that’s all, then go watch the Daily Show or a craft a sandwich with scraps of whatever seemed good or unspoiled in the fridge. 

I’m not sure what exactly i’m going to be tracking here. Anything and everything I suppose. It might just be all in vanity, something for a biographer to use as a primary source after I die or lose my mind. 

I hope he or she is the only one that actually reads this because I’ll probably write really embarrassing stuff for me and other people. I’m going to use names. Intimate, personal, and absolutely mundane things. For instance, I might have  a particularly great shit one day and feel the need to talk about it. I guess the biographer could go through my texts with Ethan Stearns and Jason Bubalo if they really wanted that info. That shit will exist forever, right*? In some NSA storage facility on the moon? It’ll be the future. We’ll have quick and easy moon access by then.

So, right now I’m at work, not working, obviously. Bit of a hangover right now. Had a few whiskeys at the Power House last night in Hollywood. Not too many, though. 3, i think. Plus the two I had at Lisa B’s before going out. So five. Three types of whiskey.

I was hoping to run into some easy sloot but I didn’t even bother to try. I was more interested in texting Izzy and minding my own business. It was waste. I could have, should have, done that from home. But then I’d have nothing to write about today.

But that would be fine because instead of writing texts with useless things like, “show me your tits” I could have been writing my book. Or worked on getting my short stories published. Or began research for my screenplay about a young George Washington who’s a clandestine assassin for the emerging rebellion. Kind of a Lincoln: Vampire Hunter meets Bourne Identity thing. Does that sound good? I think it sounds awesome.

I’ve also decided to get a crack smoking, alcoholic mayor of Toronto Rob Ford with an owl tattoo. I’m thinking this image:Image 

or this one:

 

 

Image 

or this:

Image

 

but i also like the one with the football: Image

But it has to have the owl. My friend, muse, and dream wife Carissa sent me a link with this quote to inspire me to get it, i think: “The owl spirit animal is emblematic of a deep connection with wisdom and intuitive knowledge. If you have the owl as totem or power animal, you’re likely to have the ability to see what’s usually hidden to most. When the spirit of the animal guides you, you can see the true reality and see beyond illusion and deceit. The owl also offers for those who have it a personal totem the inspiration and guidance necessary to deeply explore the unknown and the magic of life.”

 

I’d be stupid not to get the tattoo, right???

I think this was a fair start. 

Good talk.

 

__________________________________________________

Not literally, of course. I’m talking about my texts.