Today I Know.

Today I'm going to pull out $20 from my bank account.
Today I'm going to buy a ticket for the Powerball lottery drawing on Saturday.
On Saturday, I'm going to bring home the $187 million jackpot.

Today is Sunday.
I'm looking back on these events.
They have already happened.
I already have my winning ticket.
I already have the jackpot.
Today I feel relief.
Today I feel good.
Today I know.
Like I know the back of my hand.
Today I will sleep and actually rest.
Today I know.
And TODAY I know.

Shitty Stuff Email

I check my email every ten minutes, looking for something from you.

And then I get something. And it's talking about all the shit in our lives right now.

And even though it's a shitty email, it feels so good to be talking to you. I just want to be talking to you, and I think that's why things are so shitty right now: neither of us feel like we can talk to each other.

But it sure does feel good to get an email from you. Even an email about shitty stuff.

My Fucking Boss

My fucking boss came to my cube today. She calls me "Money Man" now. It makes me sick.
She asked how my work was coming and if I had found any more "money" today. I told her that I was hunting down "money" and trying to "make it submit". She laughed and left my cube.
I hate that woman. She's a fuck. And I hate being "Money Man".
And I hate that I can make my fucker boss laugh but I can't make my wife laugh anymore.

And I hate the music on my iPod right now. It fucking sucks ass chunks.

We

We didn't used to fight at all.
Now, it seems like that's all we do.
I don't feel listened to.
You feel attacked.
And it makes me really, really sad.
I feel like my best friend is gone and I don't know when I'll see her again.
I just want it to stop and get my best friend back.
But I don't know how to do that.

You're Not An Artist!

Artists get a bad rap because everybody in the world claims that they're an artist. And then they try to prove it by painting something or drawing something or playing the riff from "Smoke On The Water" for you, as if to say, "See, I'm a true guitar player."

All these people suck and they make me sick. You're a tourist, alleging to live in the city you're visiting. You're a fake and a liar and trying to make yourself bigger than you are because you know that being an artist makes you deep and unique and individual, but you're too goddam gutless to actually try it, so you go to your fucking day job and you work to collect people's overdue phone bills and then, at night, you slink away to your home that looks like everybody elses home and you try to play guitar and you give yourself a goddam boner because you're able to play a passable passage from a rock song. You're worse than shit. I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire.

And quit sending me your poser shit in my email of the stupid BBQ sandwich that is supposed to cheer me up and make me happy that I'm going to the stupid break room to eat your stupid BBQ sandwich! I hate BBQ sandwich and I hate you!

0

People suck.

And so you're all alone surrounded by people.

Stuck In The Snow

There was this dude who got his car stuck in the snow.

He couldn't move forward or backward. He tried rocking the car, like all the driver's ed classes say you should do, but it didn't do any good. He tried slowly accelerating, and that didn't do any good. He tried jamming on the go pedal. Nope, no good. He had tried to get out and push the car. Still no good. He was stuck.

He didn't really panic, though. The other cars on the road were zipping by him without difficulty, and he didn't feel like he was in tremendous danger. And even though he knew he would get hungry and cold and lonely if he stayed in the car for a really long time, right now, he was okay. It would be okay to take a moment and not try to move the car. It didn't feel great to take a break like this, but everything else he had tried wasn't working. You can't continue to do the same things and expect different results, so he thought he would try something different: he would take a break. Perhaps the snow would be different when he tried again-- a little more or a little less whatever he needed to get unstuck. Maybe it would different in a little bit.

That's me now. I'm sitting in the car. I'm stuck. Everything I know to try hasn't gotten me unstuck yet. So I'm taking a break in the car, waiting for whatever might happen to happen to help me get unstuck. I'm not terribly patient right now. I want to be unstuck. But I don't know what else to do, so I'm not going to continue to try the same things and expect a different result.

So I'm stuck in the snow now. Which sucks, because nobody else is dealing with snow right now at the end of March.

Sexy-Ass Wife

Once upon a time there was this Sexy-Ass Wife. Her husband was totally devoted to her and loved her a lot. Especially when she was naked. They did it a lot.

One day, the husband went a little crazy. He had a mild sickness that made his head really busy sometimes, and he got trapped in his head and couldn't find a way out.

So his Sexy-Ass Wife said, "I know what to do!"

And she took off all her clothes and jumped into his head through his ears. And she swam around in his head for a long time. She couldn't see the sickness in his head, but she didn't have to. She battled the sickness in her husband's head and he got all better because of her. And she was naked, which was his preferred state for his Sexy-Ass Wife, which makes everything better. And then they did it.

But Sexy-Ass Wife was tired after battling her husband's sickness. Life didn't stop for anyone while Sexy-Ass Wife was inside her husband's head, and she discovered that she was tired and overwhelmed with life. Her husband saw this, and scratched her back and massaged her neck and feeted her on their love seat and couch and snuggled into her knee pits when they went to sleep. And he whispered to her:

I'm here. I love you. I'm never going away.

And then, in a moment of levity (because Sexy-Ass Wife's husband believes that levity is one of the greatest aspects of being alive), he added:

I promise I will never die.

And Sexy-Ass Wife laughed and smiled and kissed her husband and he kissed her. And then they did it again.

The next day they did it again, because they really like each other. And they're really good at doing it!

When I Get Home

When I get home, I'm going to love on you
I'm going to grab you when I walk in the door
I'm gonna squeeze you and smell your neck
I'm gonna hug you up and down
I'm gonna smile and breathe you in to me
I'm gonna feel your hair and listen to you say words that I'm not really hearing
As I get more lost in you.

When I get home I'm gonna hold you
I'm gonna play with your face
And stroke your skin
And laugh as you present your arm
That you know I'm going to scratch
And I'm gonna watch your perfect lips move
Around your perfect teeth
As your perfect tongue
Dances in your perfect mouth
And your perfect eyes
Sparkle on your perfect cheeks
On your perfect face.

When I get home, I'm gonna spend a whole weekend with you.
And we might do something.
And we might do nothing.
And it will be wonderful.
Because I'm gonna be with you.

Good Stuff

I love How To Train Your Dragon. It's so good. And I got to watch it last night while snuggled up with my wife. That made it even better. And we drank some Prairie Dogs before and during the movie. How splendid is that?!


My mother is coming with Schlotzki's for lunch today. She even texted me and asked me if I wanted anything special for lunch, and normally I wouldn't care, but today, Schlotzki's felt really good. One of the best things about Schlotzki's, to me, is how excited my wife gets when we go eat there. She loves Schlotzki's, and we don't eat out very often, so when we remember that we have a Schlotzki's in town, she gets all excited and the biggest smile in the world explodes on her face and she claps her hands and does this really quick breathing thing that can be best described as a rapid pant. That reaction is priceless, and one of the many things I love about that woman.


I've been listening to some good music today: How To Train Your Dragon soundtrack and Candy Girl by New Edition. I've gone back and am re-listening to the How To Train Your Dragon soundtrack, because it's really hitting the spot today.


I only had one can of diet Mountain Dew Code Red in the fridge this morning, and normally I would take two with me to work, but, so far, I've made the one can last all morning. Sure, I've had to sip it and nurse it, but I still have some left. I love that soda.


I bought a lottery ticket yesterday with nickles and dimes. I was very happy that I have enough wealth and abundance to buy a lottery ticket. Because I KNOW that I am going to win the lottery jackpot. I just know it. And, although there's probably a way to win the lottery without buying a ticket, the easiest way to win the lottery is by buying a ticket. So in that way, I'm attracting that which is already mine. I have wealth. I have abundance. The lottery jackpot is mine.


I like working on my telekinesis. It makes my head hurt most of the time, but if it gets too bad, I stop, so that's not a huge drawback. I like it because it feels like I'm doing something. I'm stepping forward into my adventure, rather than sitting on the sidelines. And when my abilities are actualized, it's gonna blow my mind. And then I'm going to show my wife, and it's not going to work. But then I'm going to perfect it, and then I'm going to show my wife, and it will work, and she'll shit herself. For real.


I have a Transformers toy that my wife got at McDonald's sitting on my desk. I like it because it reminds me of the time that she was here and we ate McDonald's together and it was fun.


I guess that's all for now. I like stuff sometimes. It's good to put that out there, cuz people should hear the good stuff more often.

Lists

LOVE:

my wife
my marriage
my boys
diet Mountain Dew Code Red
Labatt Blue draft
Eminem
sleeping late
waking up late on a weekend day without an alarm clock
the smell of cold
my huge surround sound
my huge television
my rad Civic
married sex

prime rib from Outback Steak House

sushi

soft cookies that have frosting on them

green bean casserole that gets served a lot at Thanksgiving

George Carlin

The Cosby Show

Jon Stewart

freedom

love

HATE:

divorce

exes

jobs

having no money

mother-in-laws

lawyers

taxes

going to the bathroom

fights

war

politicians

liars

fear

closed-minded people

nose pimples

ingrown hair

loose hair

traffic

bosses

insurance companies

being interrupted

paper cuts

vomiting

beets

death metal

gas pains

having to go to the bathroom but not feeling comfortable to go to the bathroom (like in a public place)

Business language ("partner with")

GADGETS:

iPod

cell phone/smart phone

PDA/Palm Pilot

pager/beeper

laptop

wifi

laser pointer

Flobee

Roomba

calculator wrist watch

Friendster/Myspace/Facebook/Twitter/Apps

NEWS:

Japanese tsunami

Government budget stalls

Tea Party=Will of the People

Football/Basketball/Baseball/Hockey anyone?

CHARACTERS:

Censored Dad-- when he curses, he just mouths the words and doesn't say them

Political Spin Doctor

Radio DJ

Boss conducting a meeting where gadgets continue to make it impossible to understand the meeting topics (television picture shuts off, and Xeroxed copies are too dark to read; sound is distorted with white noise; presenter is too shy to be heard, even with a microphone; the presenter has an accent that is unintelligible)

Public Speaker who is bleeding from his nose/head and can't stop but continues with the meeting

terrorist

No Sense Of Humor Man

World's Greatest Lover... although this has been done quite a bit, so it would have to be a new spin

Rocker

Athlete

Janitor

The guy at your office who has a ridiculous hypothetical situation for every new piece of information that is given out during meetings (Jacob)

I'm Sailing Into The Unknown

So I'm working on my telekinetic abilities.

Yup, I have telekinetic abilities.

I just haven't figured out how to make them work yet.

In my head, it's kinda like sailing into the unknown. People take it for granted, almost, that we have boats around. But think about before we had boats and complex maps and compasses and magnetic fields. We didn't know anything except there was a big body of water. We didn't know how to make boat. We didn't know what a boat was. We just knew that we could float on the water.

I'll bet there were a whole bunch of people who said, "Float on water?! You must be a dumbass! Now get back in here and eat this rancid rat carcass that your father found outside the cave!" And that young explorer ate his rancid rat carcass and died. But other cave people didn't eat the rancid rat carcass. And they did a whole bunch of experiments to figure out how to float on the water. And after a while, they made inner tubes, then rafts, and finally, cruise ships. And now we don't even think about it.

The people who discovered how to fly weren't just The "Right" Brothers, they knew they could do it. And Chuck Yeager didn't break the sound barrier by listening to all the people who told him to get back into his cave and eat his rancid rat carcass.

I'm like them. I'm the Right Yeager. That's what I'm doing. I'm discovering how to use my telekinetic powers. And when I do, I might be able to tell others how to use theirs. And pretty soon, we'll have no need for remote controls anymore. Think of it: a world sans remote controls. Pretty amazing, huh?

Here's the difficult part, though. I don't really know what might work and what is a dead end. I don't know if I'm unable to move the pen across my desk because I'm not doing the right thing or if it's because I'm not practiced enough in doing the right thing. Like a baby failing to walk, he might think that putting your foot in front of the other is the wrong way to walk, because every time he does it, he falls over. The biggest difference: that baby looks around and sees other people doing it. AND he doesn't have a day job that takes away massive amounts of research time. I have a day job... but I'm able to not shit myself... so I guess I'm tied with the baby.

In any case, I continue to try to manifest my telekinetic powers. Here are some things that I've tried so far:
Picture the object going to where you are willing it to go.
Picture the object already in the place where you want it to end up.
Picture the space between you and the object you're trying to move folding on itself so that there is no more space and you're able to actually touch the object and move it as you would like to.
Focus not on the emptiness between you and the object, but focus, rather, on how you and the object are connected by the molecules in the air and will them to attract the object to you.
Will the molecules in the air to repel the object.
Find different places in your brain to try to stimulate with thoughts of moving the object.

These haven't worked yet.

But I KNOW I will find it.
I know I have telekinetic abilities.
I know I have control over them.
Now I work to get to the time when I can actualize those thoughts.

I Have The Lottery Jackpot

I like cottage cheese.
It's good and good for me.
I like it best, as I've just rediscovered, with nothing on it.
Just plain.
No salt.
No pepper.
Just cottage cheese.
No need to dress up something that's fine without a dress on at all.
I like cottage cheese.
It tastes good and makes me feel good.

I have wealth.
I have abundance.
I have the Lottery Jackpot.

I can feel my wealth.
I can feel my abundance.
I can feel my Lottery Jackpot.

I can see the large, novelty ticket.
I can see my picture on the website.
I can feel my wife's hand on my shoulder as she poses for a picture with me. That might be the best part. And I hear her laugh as we feel silly and all we want to do is get away from this papparazi frenzy (which really isn't a frenzy at all, just a simple press photo op... but to us, it feels like a papparazi frenzy!).
And I can see the flashes going off.
I hear the buzz of people talking and cameras clicking.

And then I jump forward and see the letter.
I turn it around.
Open the flap.
And pull out the check.
Printed by a printer, not by hand.
$244,000,000.00 is in the box on the right.
"Two hundred forty four million and no/100" is on the line below my name, which is also printed by the same computer.
It's amazing how something so valuable can be so light weight and small.
So bendy. Yet crisp.
Very few hands have touched this slip of paper.
Which is mine.
Which has been mine for... always, I suppose.
It's simply that the time is now.

I have wealth
I have abundance
I have the Lottery Jackpot

Jerry's Question

Sanderson lay on his back in the sun. He had taken off his shirt and pants and was enjoying the freedom of solitude. There was no one to offend with his nudity. And feeling the wind blow between his legs unfettered by pants or underwear or swim suit was new to him, something he had never felt before. He liked it. He had lain down close enough to the water so that the tide came up over his feet and ankles, but not much further, and then went away. He was enjoying the feeling of the sun almost drying his feet before another cool wave washed over him and returned him to wetness. Sanderson smiled.




Voices. Jerry heard voices and opened his eyes. He saw no shoes. Just the door before him, large and metallic, slimy and green. Were the voices outside the door? Or were they coming from above him? He couldn't understand them. They were muffled, as if they were far away. Sometimes the board on his back made the voices sound muffled that way. Sometimes, he heard a ringing in his ears, low and soft, which muffled sounds outside of his body. He was pretty sure the voices were speaking English, and Jerry could understand English. But he couldn't quite understand what the voices were speaking about. One of them was higher in pitch than the other one. Jerry recognized this as the timbre and cadence of Black Shoes. The other voice was lower, steadier, more deliberate. Jerry thought this voice should have a face with a white beard attached to it's chin. This was the voice of Brown Shoes. The voice of Brown Shoes was slidy and sounded friendly. Black Shoes had a voice that was more choppy and sent a chill along Jerry's back whenever he heard it. It was a voice Jerry wanted to avoid.

The door opened, and the small damp illumination of light that almost isn't oozed across the threshold. Brown Shoes and Black Shoes stepped closer to Jerry. They spoke. Jerry knew they were speaking in English. He understood the words, but some where between his ears and his brain they got all jumbled, like playing cards being shot into the air and landing randomly on the floor. It didn't make sense. Brown Shoes was slidily saying something to Jerry now. It was patient. Something about "your rhine". Jerry made a grunt, trying to let Brown Shoes know that he could hear him and he wanted to respond, but he didn't understand. Brown Shoes inched closer, and his slidy voice slowed down a little. "You. Rhine? Ohm. Ya. Face?" Jerry jumped a little as he put the pieces together. Brown Shoes was asking if there had been urine in his face! Jerry hadn't noticed Brown Shoes having an accent before now, but he was so happy that he understood what was happening that he almost was unable to get his words out. "Yes, yes, there was urine in my face!" Brown Shoes turned to Black Shoes. There was silence, and Jerry wondered if that was the right answer. He thought he understood the question, but maybe he hadn't. Brown Shoes said something to Black Shoes, and Black Shoes turned away from Jerry, and his voice became a little more quiet, but Jerry could still hear the muffled voice say something like "lion" and "typo beer son tuba leave." Jerry worked hard to put that together. Could Black Shoes be saying that he was a liar? And not the type of person to believe? That didn't really make sense, either. Before Jerry could figure it out, the door opened and Brown Shoes lead Black Shoes away. There was a moment where Jerry could see the wetness of the light that almost wasn't, before the door closed and stopped the oozing from entering. Lion typo beer son tuba leave? This hurt Jerry's brain. He could feel the effort of thought and that didn't do him any good at all.

Sanderson relaxed into the beach, and it felt as if any pain that he held in his head melted away, as he sunk into the receptive earth. He might have worried about getting sand in hard to wash places when he wasn't on the island, but he figured he would be able to go into the ocean for a moment and it would all be washed away, almost without effort. This was truly a place for Sanderson to let all of his worries dissipate into a calm and deep sky. They weren't his worries anymore. They belonged to some one else who no longer existed.

Jerry's Friends

Jerry's neck had been placed in a brace, forcing his head to look up, relative to his body. It was a series of rods which extended from a shoulder plate up to his chin, forcing his head to jut forward and his face to look away from his body. It was cold and metallic, and sometimes Jerry thought he could taste it, even though it wasn't really close to his mouth. This brace made his chin the only place his face touched the floor. He was able to see people's shoes this way, which was nice. He named his guards based on their shoes. There was Black Shoes, Scuffs, and Brown Shoes. Once he had seen Sneakers, but that was so long ago he was starting to wonder if it had actually happened. He knew, somewhere in a cave in his head, that these shoes had people attached to them, but he never got to see those people, so the Shoes became his only visitors. It was kinda like God: you know he's up in Heaven, looking down on you, but you can't see him. You only know he's there because you see Shoes, so there has to be a person wearing the Shoes, right? It made good sense to Jerry. The Shoes were not only his friends, they were proof that God existed, which felt nice. But today, Black Shoes was with Jerry, and Black Shoes was putting the weight on the board. Black Shoes didn't like Jerry, which was proven every time he put the angry bricks on the board. Slam! Slam! Then a small, throaty giggle that sounded like it was grabbing onto stray tendrils of phlegm as it bubbled out into the world. It was like the sound of glee made by the body of somebody who had only known paranoia and repression. It was an ugly giggle. Jerry wondered if Black Shoe's mother liked his giggle or if she winced like Jerry did when he heard it. Jerry tapped on the floor.



Sanderson heard the tapping again, gentle water tap against the broken hull, which brought him back to the island, away from the creaking in his bones, his muscles. There was a warm breeze that blew against his face. Ahhh, the warmth was fulfilling. The warmth deserved a pause. Sanderson breathed the warmth and felt it fill his entire being. The warmth seemed to not only fill his nose and throat and lungs, but it radiated out of him into any aura that Sanderson emitted. Sanderson didn't believe in aura's until that moment, when he felt the warmth fill a space around his body that he had not been aware of previously. A thought rushed through Sanderson's brain, pulling him away from the warmth: what had happened? He opened his eyes and looked around. Where was he? There was sand on the beach. And the beach stretched on until it curved back into itself and created an island with green overgrowth, palm trees and shadows. Sanderson looked at the busted boat. He knew that boat. It was his. He had traveled in the boat, but he had lost consciousness and here he was. Sanderson was struck, now, with another interesting thought: I am calm. Sanderson thought he should feel frightened. It would seem that he had been in an accident of some kind and that his only means of transportation from this place had been destroyed. Words like Cast Away and Swiss Family Robinson raced through his mind, and he knew that he was supposed to be scared for his life. But he remained easy without effort. "Hey," he spoke to the Thoughts Racing Through His Head, "you interrupted me!" And the Thoughts looked at him, surprised, and then lowered their heads. "We're sorry," said the thoughts. "Thank you," said Sanderson to the Thoughts. Sanderson closed his eyes, smiled, and took another long breath of warmth into his entirety.



Jerry felt splashing. He stopped tapping his finger, something he did almost without thinking anymore, and realized the splashing in his eyes and mouth was warm and smelled like urine. Through the thin stream of water before his eyes, he could see Black Shoes, standing in front of him. Black Shoes was peeing on him, and Jerry tried to close his nose and mouth as best he could. The nose was the worst hole. There was no good way to close your nose, so urine always splashed up it. At least with his mouth, Jerry knew that he would be able to spit out the urine. And his eyes he could close, and then blink away any of the liquid waste that dripped and stung. But his nose was open. Exposed and could not be protected from the urine that came more and more frequently. Jerry had tried to imagine Black Shoes drinking something nice, like herbal tea or chocolate milk. Something that would feel nicer when it was expelled onto him. But usually, the urine smelled and tasted like salt, beer and anger. Black Shoes made everything angry. The cinder block bricks were angry, and the urine was angry. Hey, thought Jerry, at least it's warm! And if he hadn't had to close his mouth to prevent urine from splashing into it, he would have smiled.

Jerry

They were putting the board on Jerry's back again. It was a piece of plywood, or so it felt, splintery and heavy. It felt like there were little spines that stuck out of the board into Jerry's back. Like the heads of nails. The board was big enough to cover Jerry completely, driving metal spine tips into his back and head, butt and calves, anywhere the board actually touched him. Jerry wondered if his body was going to become flat on the backside from the repetition of the spine board being placed on his back. How long had it been? Well, it had to have been longer than 15 years, right? Or was it 20 years? It was so hard to remember, as there was nothing to mark the time. It was the same thing everyday, which makes it difficult to separate. A while ago, Jerry thought, I was brought here and they put me in the brick room. Face down, on the slimy, wet-green stone floor. They spread his arms and legs, so that he made a large human X on the floor, and then they chained him there. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He lay there, staring at the wet-green floor, with nothing but his thoughts. No, that was too much. Sometimes he would tap his fingers and he would listen to the echo in the room. Sometimes he could hear the tapping as a drum beat to a song that he was trying to write. Sometimes the tapping was some creature under the floor digging around for a bit of food. Sometimes it was the water on the shore, softly beating against the wrecked hull of the ship that had been carrying Sanderson.




The first thing Sanderson realized was that he was lying face down in wet sand and it was going up his nose. He tried to raise his head, but the shooting pain in his neck made him stop. The pain radiated out and down, telling his body that it had to move much more slowly than he was used to. Creeping his knees toward his head until they were under his body, Sanderson found his way to his knees. The sleeves of his long-sleeve white shirt were tattered and sandy, and he noticed the thighs of his pants were ripped and wet. There was sand under his hands. And the tapping, gentle tapping, of the water on the shore, softly beating against the wrecked hull of the ship that had been carrying him. The water was beautifully blue. A color that Sanderson had never seen before. A color that, really, couldn't exist in a man-made world. The color of calm crystal liquid cream. His back hurt.




They were placing the weight on the board again. This made the spines go just a little further into Jerry's back. The weights felt like bricks, those big cinder block bricks that they use on construction sites. Jerry had tried to pick up some of those bricks when he was a child, and they were heavy and cut into his hands. He didn't like them. They were angry bricks. Maybe that's why the weight felt like cinder block bricks: cinder block bricks were angry and the weight being placed on the board on Jerry's back was angry. A brick was dropped at the base of Jerry's skull, and he heard the small pop of flesh being punctured. In a second, he hoped, he would feel the warmth of blood from the new hole. It was cold on the wet-green floor, a cold that never went away and had managed to cling to his bones, and Jerry enjoyed any extra warmth he could find. Even as painful as the board was, it was able to provide some warmth, and that was a good thought for him. And the blood, when it came, was warm. He felt this warmth trickle down the back of his neck, and it gave him a small shiver as this tiny river of warm relief carved a random path on his flesh. That's kinda nice, he thought. He always tried to look at the positive things in life. If you don't look at the good things in life, you will miss them, and you might never get them back. Plus, you don't want to be consumed by the ugliness. So think about positive things. Today, one of his positive thoughts would be the warmth from this blood river.

I'm Going To Be Huge

Here's something crazy-cakes: I know I'm going to be huge.

I don't quite know what that means, but I know that's what I'm built for. I've known it since I was a child, like you know you're going to take another breath or you know your keys will hit the ground when you drop them. I know that my life is going to be something big and important.

When I was a child, I thought I was going to be the next Jesus. This idea seemed to follow me until I was 33. At that point, I hadn't amassed a group of disciples, walked on water or been crucified, so I kinda let go of thinking that I was Jesus 2: Electric Boogaloo.

But I continued to feel like my life was on a path for greatness. Something really big. And even though I hadn't achieved what I thought I was going to, I was only down-hearted for a moment. "Well, I guess I wasn't intended for something huge." But there was this voice inside me. Something more significant than a voice. A presence inside that said, "No, you're still going to be huge. You just don't know how yet." And once that momentary speed bump had been traversed, I continued with my eyes up, head forward, open and ready for how I'm going to be huge.

I still don't know how it's going to happen. But I know it will. Something massive. Something mind blowing. I've got a lot of ideas that I'm working on, and any one of them might be the next big thing. I'm built to be a performer, so perhaps I'm going to be an enormous movie star or musician. Even though I'm not a full-time actor anymore, I've got a movie that's being shown for the first time this month. And I'm making a movie. It still could be that I'm going to be huge in the performing arts.

And I've bought a lottery ticket. I've been following the laws of attraction more with this ticket than any other ticket in my life. I've been seeing myself winning the jackpot, standing on a stage with one of those huge novelty checks that you see those big winners holding. I'm shaking hands with the lottery commissioner and my wife is behind me, hand on my shoulder, as the flashbulbs go off. I feel the tension in my stomach release. I feel the warmth of the tears in my eyes as I see myself giving away large amounts of money to people who are important to me, that I want to gift with this large paycheck. It feels great. I am able to do what I want to do-- makes movies, write songs, spend time with my family without worrying about taking time away from them to support us all. My shoulders relax into this warmness of thought. And I feel even stronger and better when I remember the words of the dramatic-but-cute bald man from "The Secret": Thoughts. Become. Things.

Tonight is the lottery drawing. When I bought my ticket, it was estimated at $172 million. That's $172,000,000. Today as I passed the billboard that updates the lottery amount, it said it was up to $201,000,000. I'm ready to accept this from the universe. I'm prepared for my mind to be blown. Because I *know* that I'm going to be huge.

I'm still not certain how I'm going to be huge. It might not be with the lottery. It's not really my job to figure out how I'm going to end up. It's my job to ask for what I want, feel and know that it is and will be, and be receptive to all that comes my way, all that I attract. According to "The Secret". That sounds like a lot of hoity-toidy stuff.

Here's the simple part: I KNOW I will be huge.

For Posterity

Fuck-stained-maggot-scrote.

I just used this phrase as a frustration-borne descriptor of a person in my life right now. My wife wanted me to write it down, as it's "one of [my] more magnificent expressions." So there it is.

beaten

beaten

beaten down
beaten down for so long
gotta look up to see ground
which gets me
beaten
beaten down
beaten down without stop
no voice, no sound

beaten
beaten still
beaten still though i'm gone
chased and hunted down
beaten
beaten still
beaten still without a fight
the lashing lost any reason

circus freaks gather round
to watch the bloody show
they laugh and cheer for more
doesn't anybody help
doesn't anybody see

spotlight the indecency
and the freaks applaud
they cheer and spur the spurning
doesn't anybody see
doesn't anybody see

how much longer for this raining down
paying the wrongs i've never done
will this raining never fade
and the abuser struts to the backs of his crowd

biting
scratching
punch right through
slam into
bathe in mists
spouting from the wounds
from biting
scratching
raging
stomping
smash down
rivers
demise is not enough

the justice isn't enough
if there were
the justice isn't enough

Fred

Fred sat in his room as a child.
"This room is too small," he sighed.
Fred told his parents that his room was too small. His parents told him that was the best they could do. He insisted that he had too many toys, clothing, books and other stuff to fit in such a tiny room. His parents told him that there was no way they could make his room bigger. Fred sighed. "It's not fair. This sucks."

Fred went to school.
"This textbook is damaged," he griped.
His teacher heard him griping. She told him that, if he wanted, he could have his pick of all of the remaining textbooks to see if they were any more to his liking. He looked at them all. Some had pages that were folded over on themselves, some had corners that were a little smushed. None of them were pristine. He sighed, as he resigned himself to his original, damaged textbook. "Why do I always get all the crappy textbooks?" he asked nobody. And nobody answered.

Fred got an apartment.
"It's not in the right neighborhood," he complained.
He went to the better neighborhoods and looked for an apartment. But all the really good neighborhoods only had houses. He looked for apartments in good neighborhoods, where people know you're a person of influence and means, but he could not find any. He had to remain in his simple apartment in a simple neighborhood.
"I'm never going to go anyplace with this ridiculous apartment."

Fred got a car.
It was not brilliant red, like he had wanted.
The paint didn't reflect the sun into his eyes and blind him.
It didn't go as fast as the salesman told him it would go.
It didn't garner him the respect of his peers the way the advertisement said it would.
"This car is shit."

Fred got married.
"She's too fat."

Fred had kids.
"They're too obnoxious and they drool. Now I have to clean up drool."

Fred got a job.
"It's not what I really want to do."
"It doesn't pay me what I'm worth."
"It's boring."
"My boss is an idiot."
"I hate this stupid job."

Fred frowned.
Nothing, literally nothing, ever went right for Fred.

Fred worked with Buddy.
Buddy walked by Fred's office sometimes, to look at Fred's key ring, laying on his desk.
Buddy had always wanted a key ring.
If he had a key ring, that would mean that he had keys.
Keys to an apartment.
Keys to a car.
Keys to a good life.
Buddy longed for that key ring.

But Buddy didn't have a key ring.
Buddy finished his daily work and walked to the nearby shelter where he slept at night.
Buddy's mother and father had been killed when Buddy was young.
Buddy had been taken from his room.
Buddy had been taken from his school.
Buddy had never had an apartment or a job.
Buddy sighed as he walked into the shelter, wishing he had a key ring.

Buddy walked past Allen, who lived on the street.
Allen wanted nothing more than to sleep in the shelter where Buddy was going.
But the shelter was full, and they didn't have room for Allen.
Allen pulled a box over his head, and thought about how great it would be to live in that shelter.

And it was a good thing that Allen pulled that box over his head when he did, because no sooner had he covered himself completely than a red car came zipping along at blinding speed, dashing through a puddle and sloshing gutter water over Allen's box top.

Fred was zipping too fast to notice that he had splashed somebody.
He just noticed that he had splashed water all over his car. He punched the steering wheel with frustration.
"Goddamit! Now this piece of shit is even dirtier and shittier! Why doesn't anything good ever fucking happen to me?!"

Good Things for Today

Here are 3 good things for this day:

1. My wife loves me.
2. My mother loves me.
3. My step-father loves me.

Lessons

I'm supposed to teach my children how to be good people. I'm supposed to teach them how to take care of themselves. And being a bully isn't a positive way to be, in my opinion, so I should teach them how to live their lives without being bullies. Right? I think so.

I'm also supposed to teach them how to live without being bullied. If there is a bully, they should be able to live their lives without being picked on. They should be able to go to a teacher and say that so-and-so is picking on me and the teacher should stop the bullying. Right? That's the way it's supposed to work.

I never had to deal with much bullying in my school days, but apparently, for my kids, bullying has been a big deal. Apparently, they have gone to teachers who haven't stopped the bullying. I don't get that. Even if the teachers believe that my kids are creating the trouble, shouldn't they stop the harassment somehow so that it doesn't continue? That's the way we want to teach our kids to behave, isn't it? I think so.

So I don't know what I'm supposed to teach them now. Their father is bullying them, my wife and me. We have gone to the court once, and it's continued. We've gone to two attorneys and one guardian ad litem, somebody who is supposed to be speaking in their best interests, and the bullying continues. In fact, it has been supported by the very person who was supposed to look out for them and stop the bullying.

What lesson do I teach them now? That I can't deal with my anger? That they just have to live being picked on and that's the way of the world? That no one will help them, even if they do speak up? That they aren't deserving of help or a good life without hardships being brought upon them by their father?

I want to beat up their father. I want to tear him to shreds. More than ever, I want to bathe in his blood and giggle as he scratches at my face, trying to inflict some kind of retaliatory damage against me, but it's no good. I want him to feel pain. I see myself attacking him when he steps in my house. I can actually feel my muscles tighten as I imagine physical violence of all kinds against him. Because he is supposed to be looking out for those kids, too, but he doesn't care. And that's the lesson they will learn. Their voice doesn't matter. Their feelings aren't valid. As long as they do what their father wants them to do, they will be taken care of. Mom and me aren't here for you and we can't help.

I've never felt this helpless before. I don't know how to look them in the eye anymore. I'm ashamed that I can't do anything more for them. I'm ashamed of myself. I have failed them. They must continue to live like this because I can't find a way out of it. And because of my failure, they are learning those other lessons about themselves and about their mother. I have brought them to this.

If I had never come into their lives, what would their lives be like, I wonder. Better than now? If I hadn't come into their lives, let's assume that their father would have tried to prevent them from seeing their mother, just like he is doing now. And let's assume that she would have fought just as hard as she is now. Except she would have to do it alone. She might have found that three-bedroom house for them to live in. That might be where they would still be. She wouldn't have found our attorney, because our attorney came to us through my mother, so she would have to find another attorney and a way to pay for that attorney. I don't know that she would have gone that far. So, if I hadn't been around, this wouldn't have gone to trial. The boys would still be seeing their mother 4 days a month. And they would be angry at their father for not letting him see her more than they do. But they wouldn't feel like nobody listens to them. And my wife would continue to feel like nobody listens to her, but she wouldn't have it proven to her, yet again, as it has been so many times before.

And neither boy would have gone through a weekend where their step-father stayed in the bedroom all weekend, except for the moment that he came out, yelled at them, made everyone feel stupid and unloved, and then went back to his room. Horrible person, I am.

At this moment, I believe that my family would have been better off without me. I can't stop their father from being vindictive and malicious towards them. I can't hire somebody to stop him from being vindictive and malicious towards them. I can't hire somebody to listen to them. I can't be loving to them when they need it.

The remains of a cookie cake was sitting on the stove this morning. Sometime this weekend, they got a cookie cake. They are capable of having fun without me. They can tune me out if they need to. Why am I making them work harder to feel good? Shouldn't I be helping them? Goddam, I fucking suck the life out of my family. I'm worse than their father, because I wasn't needed in this equation. I'm just making things worse. I'm not helping. That's my lesson: I'm not helping.

I've Been Thrown Out Of Family Day

I'm furious and I can't hide it nor can I deal with it.
I can't vent. I have no one to talk to. I have nothing to beat up. It's trapped, my fury.
And it's bubbling over onto everybody here.

Today is supposed to be "Family Day".
My wife came up with it as a day when we can all be together and enjoy each other.
Yesterday, my anger was so great that I stayed in bed all day. Literally. I didn't come out at all. I was brought food by my wife, but not until the evening. I felt like my anger had completely pushed any hunger out of my body.
Today, my wife asked me if I was going to join them. She told me how much the boys wanted to spend some time with me.

Now, I find myself not only angry with the situation, but also with them. And my anger with them isn't great. It's just there. I can't ask them what they told the guardian ad litem. I can't ask them what they tell their father. All I know is that they told us that they were unhappy living with their father, they were more comfortable living with us, the 14-year-old told his therapist that he would be happier living with us. But the guardian ad litem doesn't believe the father has done anything wrong and so the custody and visitation schedule should stay the way it is.

So what am I to believe? I haven't been listened to, my wife hasn't been listened to. Either the therapist hasn't been listened to or she's lied to me. Either my 14-year-old hasn't been listened to or he's lied to me. And the day that the guardian ad litem released her report stating that the boys' visitation schedule shouldn't be altered, the boys' father bought them over $100 in gifts. "As a treat." And the 14-year-old even said, "My father bought me this for some reason, and I don't care what it was because it's cool."

So here I am furious.
I feel like the boys and their father went out and celebrated a victory over me and my wife. They celebrated. And there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing my wife or I can say when the 14-year-old threatens to kill himself. Nothing we can say when the 10-year-old is prescribed medication-- that we don't know about-- and he doesn't tell us about it and their father doesn't tell us about it. There's nothing we can do to keep these boys safe.

And I am furious.
But I know they want to spend time with me.
So I try to go out there. I can't take it and I turn around and go back into the room.
But I forced myself out there.
But I don't want to be out there. I don't want to talk to anybody, because all I'm doing is suppressing rage. I have this desire to tear down everything around me. I want to breath fire on everything and watch it consume everything. Including myself. I want fire.
But I'm trying to be with my family.
It doesn't work.
I can't talk, I can't string together anymore than a few words in a sentence. 14-year-old is fighting his mother about doing his homework. Homework, that is, that should have been done while he was with his father. Homework that isn't being done so that his father can tell the guardian ad litem, "Yes, my relationship with my 14-year-old is getting better and it's getting worse with his mother." Which is true. Because his mother makes him do his homework. Even the stuff that he hasn't done while he was with his father. Probably because she's trying to help him. But they're fighting. And the 10-year-old gets to hear them fighting, and he was the one quoted in the guardian ad litem's report saying that the relationship between the 14-year-old and his mother was getting worse because of homework. And I hear this fight going on, and I think that the 14-year-old should fail. That's what he's fighting for. He's fighting to not work, which will lead to failure. And his relationship with the one parent who cares about him is getting worse because she doesn't want him to fail. Everybody else is comfortable with his failure. All I can do is stare out the window. I can barely relate to any of them.
So then the 10-year-old asks me what I want to do. I tell him I don't know. And I hate that question anyway. If I want to do something, I will tell you. I don't need prompting. I don't need you to continue to ask me. In fact, I'm a laid back kind of guy, you tell me you want to do something, I'm probably going to say sure, I'll do whatever you want to do. But if I want to do something, I'll either tell you or I'll just do it. So he asks everybody what they want to do, and nobody knows what they want to do. And I know that they're all taking their cues off me. I'm unhappy and so they're unhappy. My anger is affecting all of them, even my wife. So the 10-year-old asks everybody again what they want to do, and I ask him, "What do YOU want to do?" Quit putting the pressure on everybody else to fill your life with activities. If nobody is doing anything, assume that they are doing what they want to do. Asking them what they want to do isn't going to prompt them into doing something else. So he asks everybody again, and he gets to me.
"What do you want to do?" And I spun on him.
"I want you to figure out what you want to do and stop asking me what I want to do."
It was harsh. And it wasn't his fault.
And the 14-year-old tells me that I should go back to my bed until I feel better. And the 10-year-old tells me the same thing. I ask them if that's what they want. And they say that maybe I should until I'm feeling better. Then, at the same time that I announce I'm going back to bed, my wife pulls me into the room and cries and tells me that I should stay in the room until I can interact with the boys without making them feel like it's their fault that nobody listened to them or her. I told her I would stay in the room.

I continue to be angry.
I feel as if it will never go away.
And I don't want to interact with them, because I know that I will avoid being interacted with until they force me to interact with them, and then I will say a harsh sentence.
This whole fucking things goddam sucks.
And I'm fucking furious.
And I don't know how to make it go away.
And I'm certain that my wife will ask me how I can make it go away, because it's taking me away from them.
And I will say I don't know, because I don't.
And she'll feel upset.
And I will feel upset.
Or she'll tell me how she had three days to do nothing and get over it and I haven't had any days to get over it. But that doesn't make me feel good when it's family day and I'm told that people are wanting me to come and be with them during family day. I'm just going to make it all suck.

I know it's not the boys' fault.
My anger with them is something I can deal with.
But when there is so much more anger, it gets balled up with that other anger.
I'm overwhelmingly angry at life.
Just a little angry with the boys. Not even as angry with them as I've been with them about other things.
I'm probably not angry with them anymore. Just typing has released that.
But I'm still furious that, on Thursday, their father will come over and pick them up for the night and then we will pick them up on Friday. And on Thursday, they will be happy to go back over there because I will have been angry this whole week. They will be eager to get away from me. And I'll be my wife will be eager to get away from me, as well.
And they will get gifts when they go to their father's house. And they will love their gifts. And then they will begrudgingly come back over here on Friday for a week's worth of horror with their awful step-father who ruins life with his uncontrollable anger issues.
I'm staying in the room for the rest of the month.

We Care

airplanes crash into the side of the stuff

like, oh my god i don't know what to say

maybe "united we stand", or "patriot"

or "don't let the evil doers win the day"

send our boys to go and kill someone

don't care who, someone must pay

feel so bad that they will die

don't know what i can do or say

rubber band bracelet!

sticker or ribbon!

gotta, gotta, gotta fly my flag!

i'll support you

by buying things

and saying stuff and fly my flag!

children dying and cops get shot

and wars in countries that i can't find

i don't know what the bearded guy did

but i saw him hanged on YouTube, didn't he die?

i'll get a rubber band bracelet!

ribbony hair!

put on camo so you know i care

i'll buy more stuff

so people know i'm empa-

thetic, ooh, and there's a giant soft pretzel!

jobless man sitting there on the corner

family died and he's got no one left

nowhere to go and no one to help him

nothing to eat, no place to rest

Magic Rubber Band Bracelet!

Bumper Sticker Fairy!

Cell Phone Covers In The Shape Of A Job!

It Looks Really Good

Kinda Like You Could Work There

OMG, and look at all these Apps!

OMG, and look at All... These... Apps!!!

George Carlin

I've got George Carlin playing in my ears right now. I've got the iPod turned way up, far beyond the volume that would allow me to hear my work phone ringing or my boss calling my name. His words are soothing to me now. Words I've heard over and over again. Words that I listened to so much as a child, pre-teen and teenager. Words that sat in my brain and refused to fall out. Words that turned into ideas and thoughts and beliefs that meant something to me. That made me feel good, like I had found somebody who was speaking directly to me. And when the crowd cheers and laughs at George's jokes, I feel even more included, because those people who are applauding him are actualizing what I wish I could have done.

I'm repeating his words, like singing along with one of your favorite songs. I'm fascinated that I'm able to repeat his words in time with him, because there's no drum beat or audible rhythm for me to keep time with so that I'll be able to hear when he's about to deliver the punchline. There are no visual or audio clues which help me synchronize with George. I can do it because I've heard it so much. I've studied it. I KNOW it. And it makes me feel good.

I'm crying now. And that's hard to do at work. People could see you and ask questions, and then I'll have to tell conservatives that I'm feeling gotten by a dead comedian who verbally bashed and hated most of what you do and think. Awkward. I've already decided that, if asked about my crying, I'll respond that I have allergies. Everybody has allergies. My wife is convinced that I have allergies. I've stopped trying to tell her that I don't. It's more fun to giggle at her insistence and say "yes," and love her for being just as bull-headed and stubborn as me.

Have you ever felt like the only free person in prison? I have.

Here are some of my favorite Georgeisms:

• If you haven't gotten where you're going, you're not there yet.

• Pre-suck my genital situation!

• Have you noticed that you never seem to get laid much on Thanksgiving? I think it's because all the coats are on the bed.

• Go into the dry cleaners and ask the man if he can remove the stains from one pair of pants and put them in another pair of pants. They ought to be able to do that for the same amount of money.

• Got into an argument this morning with my Rice Crispies. I distinctly heard, "Snap! Crackle! Fuck him!" I don't know which one of them said it. I was reaching for the artificial sweetener at the time and was not looking directly into the bowl.

• And now a message from the National Apple Institute: Fuck pears.

• Backwards words say to used I. Again go I there. Shit oh.

Titles of some of the many of George's fictitious books that he never got around to writing:
The Meaning of Corn
Cooking for the Hard of Hearing
Cooking With Heat

He has a story about seeing Bill Cosby playing pinball at the Playboy Mansion with Hugh Hefner. A weird combo of images for me, but he saw it. I got John Lennon's phone number and kept it as a prized possession. He had balls. He had conviction. He had something to say. Something meaningful. And he fought to keep saying it. Even when the only thing standing in his way was himself. He kept fighting for what he wanted. And he was entertaining for so many people. Such a positive force in my life. I have a fond remembrance of sitting in the backseat of my mother's car with my dual cassette deck boom box and putting the earphones on my head and letting George make me laugh. My mother enjoyed listening to me laugh. I felt loved by her and loved by George. And the laughter was wonderful. I still miss George.

finding it hard to concentrate

finding it hard to concentrate.
i keep thinking about Him.
i'm giving Him a lot of power over me.
i don't know how to stop, though.
i don't know if i'm supposed to stop right now.
isn't there some kind of time period that you get where you can feel angry without feeling guilty about giving negative people power in your life?
and if there is, then there must also be a time when i should be allowed to stop feeling angry. right? logic.
so i want these definites.
it would help in terms of taking care of myself.
if my temperature is over 98.6, i know that i'm running a fever and i can take some medicine.
what is the appropriate amount of time to feel angry about shit happening on a legal level regarding the health and well-being of my two boys and my wife, not to mention myself, as i continue to deal with these issues as well. but i don't really count. they have to deal with him. the boys have to live with him still. i just get to pay the bills. buy him christmas gifts. birthday gifts. i work so that his children can buy him shit. and then he can hurt the people i love. something seems so completely wrong with that.
so how long do i have to feel pissed about that? a day? a month? three years? how long until i know that i'm sick and i need to take medicine?
and how long until i get better? you get a fever, they give you medicine, and tell you to call them in the morning. so how long until i should call somebody? a week? a couple fortnights?

seems to me like this is all kinds of fucked up. i don't get to if i'm sick. i don't even really get a guide as to if i'm sick. okay... if you have problems getting up in the morning, caring for personal hygiene, relating with others. these are symptoms of depression. what if the others you relate to are wanting to hurt you, and you know that they are because they write legal documents saying that you shouldn't be allowed as much time with their children because you're too much of a playmate to them (like that's a bad thing???). i guess the conclusion of that thought is that i'm too much of a playmate, and not enough of a father. i guess i figured that they already had a father, but i really shouldn't have figured that. he's only there, taking my money, taking my boys, taking my wife, and then saying that he has issues with his kids being at our house for reasons THAT HE'S NEVER TALKED WITH US ABOUT! if they're such big issues, shouldn't you say something? it leads me to believe, as my wife wonderfully stated, either they're not important enough issues to talk about, or they're fabricated.
but those fabrications continue to be listened to and acted upon!

so when do i get to move on?
and when can i go to a doctor and say, "i need meds." i mean, if i go to a doctor, it is sure to be brought up in court as a weakness. "This man has a mental impairment which requires medication and, therefore, is not a healthy influence for my children." and he will get listened to. or, i don't go to a doctor, which will be brought up as a negative. "This man has refused to care for his mental health issues by seeking professional treatment and, therefore, is not a healthy influence for my children."
there's no escape.
for any of us.

fuck this shit.
there's gotta be a way out. something to hold on to and say, "this, i can look forward to. there is an end to it all."

i used to joke, when the theatre was closing and we were all losing our jobs and none of us knew if the theatre was going to re-open and none of us knew what we were going to do or where we were going to go, i would joke that this period of limbo wasn't so bad. it had a bright side, just like prison rape: at some point, it has to end.
i still think that's funny. not many others do. i think shawn thinks it's funny. dustin might think it's funny. pat thought it was funny. i'm pretty sure those are the only people who thought it was funny. and me. i thought it was funny.
still do. i think it's fucking funny as shit.
except this prison rape doesn't feel like it's going to end.
so, i guess, it's becoming less funny.

She

She wasn't listened to as a kid.
Her brother was troubled and her parents tried to fix his problems rather than dealing with her.
She thought she was being heard when dad took her on a vacation to Arizona, but then used it to ask her why she wasn't working well with her mother.
She wasn't listened to when she told them she didn't want to go to college right away. They told her she would go anyway.
She wasn't listened to when she said she was an artist. They told her she couldn't study art.
She wasn't listened to when she got married to him. He didn't really want to be married to her, and she didn't want to be married to him. They had made a person, so they felt they had to be together. But he didn't listen to her. And they didn't listen to her.
She didn't feel listened to when she got a divorce. She had begged him to get a divorce. He had said no. She finally told him that she was doing it, and then he made the process even longer, talking everything out to the finest detail. She believed that they would have a divorce where they were still friendly with each other. She hadn't gotten an attorney because he wouldn't pay for one. She had stayed at home for 12 years and had no money. He didn't want the divorce to begin with and he wasn't going to pay for two attorneys. She had talked with him. She felt everything had been worked out and he knew that she was going to stay in the boys' lives. They would both parent the boys. They had both talked with his attorney. The attorney knew that they would both parent the boys. The attorney told her that everything looked good and she and he seemed to communicate well with each other.
Then, as he hands her the pen, he tells her that he's not her attorney and he's not representing her and does she understand that. Yes, she thinks. That's okay, because we've talked this all through and everybody is on the level. Yes, this is okay, and it will be all right if I sign this without representation. I feel as if my concerns have been heard and listened to and he, the boys, and I will be taken care of. She signed.
And almost immediately, she is forced to see that she had been tricked and fooled by him and his attorney. He denied visitation to her, allowing her only 4 nights a month. He changed the locks on his house so that she could not come in and take care of the boys in the mutually-agreed upon place. He told the boys that she had abandoned them. He told her parents she had abandoned him and the boys. She had not been listened to by him. She had been duped. Legally duped.
She didn't feel listened to when she tried to talk to him about how this wasn't the agreement they had worked so meticulously on. He changed the locks on his door and refused to let her or their children in the house, even though that was part of the arrangement. He said that he wouldn't let her in his house. He needed his space. He said that he wouldn't let the children stay with her. She only had a one bedroom apartment. She told him this wasn't the arrangement. He didn't listen. She found a three bedroom house and bought it. He said that he wouldn't let her see the boys. It wasn't that he wasn't listening anymore. He was injuring. He was actively hurting. And even though he was trying to hurt her, the boys were being hurt in the process. Being lied to and being told that they couldn't spend time with their mother like they wanted. She tried to tell him that he was hurting the boys. He wouldn't listen.
She continued to try to talk with him, but he wouldn't listen. Refused to talk and refused to listen. When she did talk, he said that she was creating a hostile environment. He wouldn't listen, and she had tried to talk with him, but he continued to hurt her and the boys by refusing to hear anything they said. Again, she wasn't heard.
She had to take him to court, where the court said that he had to give her more visitation time than 8 days a month that he had changed at the last minute, right before the trial. That wasn't the arrangement he had signed and the court forced the visitation to a week for each parent. The court said that the tax credits for the children should be shared once she was working, which was difficult for a non-college educated, ex-full-time-mother who hadn't been in the job market since 1994, and never at a job that she relied on to sustain her financially. Employers want people with experience, or an education, or marketable skills. She couldn't offer them anything they were looking for, and the economy was slowly getting harder for people looking for work. But the court said that, once she was working, she would get a tax credit and she and he would have to work it out. He said that, since she was taking care of the children after school, even during his week, he should have some more time given to him. The court gave him an overnight visit because she was caring for the children after school while he was at work. She was his babysitter. The court said that he and she would have to change that agreement when that arrangement changed.
She found work at Starbucks and couldn't take care of the boys after school during his time. And he didn't listen to her when she said that she would like to change the schedule like he had agreed to do while in court. He said that she would have to take it to court, that he was unwilling to make a decision that big without the court saying it was okay. He was saying that he would not listen to her. If she wanted to be heard, she would have to take legal action.
She didn't feel listened to when she tried to talk to her mother. Her mother had already started spending time with him. Giving him gifts. Acting like he was a long-time friend. He and her mother had not liked each other during the marriage, and now that they were divorced, mother seemed to choose him over her. And her mother was accusing her of not listening to him. Of being confrontational. She hadn't been heard, and then she had been accused of something she hadn't done.
She didn't feel listened to when she tried to get her name in the boys' school directories. She didn't feel listened to when she put her youngest on a waiting list for guitar lessons, and then he and her mother signed him up with somebody they knew. She hadn't been asked or informed of the decision. It had just been made without her knowledge.
She hadn't felt listened to when she asked that he tell her about issues dealing with the boys. She didn't feel listened to because her eldest threatened suicide while with him, and he didn't tell her. Her eldest fell and hit his head, and he didn't tell her. Her youngest was bitten by a dog, and he didn't tell her. Her youngest was put on prescription medication, and he didn't tell her. Her youngest was signed up for football, and he didn't tell her. Her eldest wasn't doing his homework while at his house, and he didn't tell her. Her eldest had a traumatic experience while on vacation with him, and he didn't tell her. He said that he would discuss their allowance situation, not only with her, but with the boys as well. He didn't tell anyone. And she mentioned all of this to him, and he didn't listen.
She watched as her eldest got up the nerve to tell him how he was feeling-- that he wanted to spend more of his time with her. He didn't listen to his eldest. He told his eldest that his mother was brainwashing him into thinking that way.
She didn't feel listened to when she talked with the eldest, his therapist and him regarding the fact that homework wasn't getting done while the eldest was with him. The therapist stated that the homework situation should look at both houses like it does when the eldest is with her. He didn't listen. Her mother didn't listen. None of the acquaintances she had while she was married listened. They all befriended him and seemed to think he was a great guy. They all seemed to turn their backs on her.
Her father didn't listen. Her father asked her what kind of mother abandons her children. Had he not seen that she had gone to court to get those kids from their father who was preventing them from seeing their mother? Why had he not asked her about it? Why had he not said anything to her? Why was he acting like she was not to be listened to, trusted? When he found out that she had been awarded a full week with the boys, why hadn't he realized that had not abandoned her children? Why didn't he say anything about the verdict to her? Why didn't he say he was sorry? Why did her father continue to listen and befriend him: the ex-husband, who was actively hurting her and her boys? Why didn't he listen to her at all? She didn't know why he wouldn't listen to her. And then he died.
Her first lawyer listened. Lawyer, quite easily, got the court to see that she was a good mother and was entitled to more than the father was allowing. That they boys were allowed to more than the father was allowing. But that first lawyer wasn't available when she decided to go back to court because her eldest said that he wanted to live with her most of the time and that his father wasn't listening. She hired a new lawyer. And new lawyer didn't listen, even though that is her job. New lawyer actually told her that she needed to start paying child support to him. Child support that he hadn't asked for and child support that he wasn't entitled to any place in the previous decisions. Child support that he refused when she tried to pay him. New lawyer seemed to take his side almost immediately. Almost before she had said anything, she was feeling like she was not being listened to. Almost before she had said anything, she was feeling like he was being listened to. Again.
New lawyer suggested hiring a lawyer for the boys. A guardian ad litem. This guardian was supposed to work for the boys. This guardian was supposed to listen to them and help make their lives better. Help them feel listened to. Yesterday, this guardian ad litem wrote a report saying that the father hadn't done anything but make decisions in the boys' best interest and custody should not change, visitation times should not change for the eldest except to give him that extra day that was taken from him because his mother used to take care of him after school. That guardian, working for the boys, seemed to listen to him, just like everybody else seems to. Not only that, but in her report, it was quite obvious that she had misrepresented her position. This guardian had not listened to her at all.
She was now paying people to listen to her, and they were listening to him.

It was like being punched in the gut over and over again, and just when your body thinks it's going to be allowed to breathe in the breath that had been knocked out, you get punched again. It's almost too much to withstand. And she had been doing this since 2007.

But she hadn't been heard since birth.

Right now, she's trying to catch her breath. Life continues to move forward, even when you're on the ground grasping your gut trying to breathe. And she's trying to find an answer as to why people haven't listened to her. Ever. She's fighting feeling crazy: feeling like she must not be worth listening to since no one ever has. Her mother, her father, her ex-husband, her ex-husband's attorney, her past friends and family, her boys' lawyer and her own lawyer all seemed to be on one side, not listening to her, actively telling her that she was doing things wrong. And she's trying to figure out why they must be right. She felt like she was doing the best she could, and yet so many people told her she was doing it wrong. And they're not dumb people, so they must know something that she doesn't know. So many people not only told her she was doing it wrong, they made up things about her. They believed lies. How do you fight that many people? Right now, she's trying to figure that out. And right now, she's trying to figure out if she will ever say anything again.