The Cycle

Paul is 18.  He lives with Mom and Dad.
 
Paul needs to be told to do things several times before he does them.  This, of course, refers to anything that he doesn't want to do.  He remembers things he wants to do.  And this is, pretty much, how all humans work: most often, we remember the things we want to do and forget (or need reminders about) the things we don't want to do.  Yes, as we get older it gets easier to remember the stuff that we don't want to do.  And yes, it's still harder to remember those things than to remember, say, buying and eating a chocolate cake for your birthday.  So Paul wasn't any different from anyone else on the planet.
 
This is Paul and Mom's "Cycle":
Mom will tell Paul to mow the lawn/take out the trash/feed the cats/clean the bathroom.
Paul will not do it.
One day will pass.
Mom will remind Paul that he needs to perform the action she told him about yesterday.  On good days, Paul will not respond to Mom.  On bad days, Paul will ask Mom, "Why do I have to do that thing?"  And no matter how she tries to explain it to him, he will claim that he doesn't understand.  He might not understand.  He might understand.  Either way, he will say that he doesn't understand why he needs to do the explained action, no matter what Mom tells him.  And Mom will try her best to explain it to him.  At some point, Mom will either stop trying to explain to Paul, or Paul will say he understands.
One day will pass.
Mom will remind Paul that he needs to perform the action she told him about two days ago and reminded him about/re-explained to him one day ago, and he needs to do it now.  Paul will fight doing the action with words and frustrations.  Mom will be pushed to a point where she will lose her temper, saying that Paul was told to do the action two days ago.  Paul will say something hurtful.  Mom will lose her temper.  Paul and Mom will go their separate ways for a moment.  Then they will reconnect, Paul will apologize, Mom will apologize and re-explain things to him, and Paul will do the action that was asked of him two days ago.
 
This is the typical Mom/Paul Cycle, or MPC, not to be confused with the character from Tron called "MCP" which stands for Master Control Program.
 
Sometimes, Paul involves Dad by texting him and telling him about the ridiculous things Mom is telling him to do.  Dad, who gets mad hearing that Paul is being disrespectful to his Mom, will gently tell Paul that Paul needs to ship-the-fuck-up or else he can fucking-well-find-a-different-roof-to-live-under and don't-you-ever-fucking-say-those-things-about-your-mother-again-or-you'll-reap-consequences-so-severe-you'll-wish-you-had-never-been-born.  Of course, Dad doesn't say these things out loud to anyone.  He thinks them.  And then tries to find more effective ways of communicating with Paul, like saying "You're free to make your own decisions.  You're 18.  And you're free to experience the consequences of all your decisions."  Dad, typically, feels that what he says doesn't adequately express the quantity or quality of the rage which boils inside him.  However, his rage probably needn't be expressed to the 18 year old dumbass child.  However, Dad is always impressed that his son is willing to tell him the truth about what has happened between he and Mom, and doesn't lie about anything, and is willing to admit to having the sense talked into him.  This doesn't make the rage any less, but it does give Dad something to focus on to help pull him out of the rage, and reminds him that his son is growing up well, despite the poor choices he makes upon occasion. 
 
Sometimes, Mom involves Dad by telling him what has happened.  She, too, will tell Dad the truth without embellishment.  Dad will get less rageful at these times, because he feels like his wife is talking things through with him, which he feels is a good way for her to take care of herself and their kid.  Dad will feel defensive of Mom, and fights feeling overly-defensive which causes him to offer solutions when he is only being asked to listen.  He also fights flying off the handle at Paul while talking to Mom, making Mom feel defensive of Paul.  Dad walks a fine line during these times, and has found that, when he's able, having an open ear and mind while calming the adrenaline and emotions is best for everyone involved.  When Mom and Dad are in the same physical place, Mom will often tell Dad about what has gone on and then punctuate her visit with him by violently kissing Dad on the lips, as if she's taking out part of her aggression on Dad's lips.  Dad likes those times and finds Mom very sexy then.  He is turned on.
 
This is all part of the Cycle.
It happens often, minimally once a month.
And, to some degree, I think it's natural, albeit uncomfortable.
 
What I would like to do is find something that could help Mom deal with Paul, so that she doesn't lose her temper or get mad.  I wish I could think of something that would prevent her from getting that frustrated.

Maybe there isn't anything.  Maybe the best I can do is be there for her on the other end of the phone, or on the other side of the bed.  Maybe the best thing I can do is nothing. 

I wish, though, that I could fix it all.
And then Mom and Dad could go back to that kissing part.  That's the good part.

On A Positive Note...

We were able to find a good home for our puppy.
I was sad when she drove off with the kind girls who adopted her from us.  And I cried.  For maybe 20 seconds.  Maybe a little more.  But not much.  There were a few more moments when I cried.  But not many.  And the more time we spent in our house without our puppy, the more I felt like we had made a good, good decision.  And thinking about how nice the girls were who came to adopt our puppy, and how I imagined they would take very good care of her, I felt very good not just for us, but also for our puppy. 
It's good to make a good decision that works out well.

Treading Water

My wife agreed to see her 13-year-old on a very limited schedule.  She went from seeing him every week for seven days, to seeing him every other week for a weekend (3 nights, 2 days).

The last weekend he was with us, he came to our house extremely late in the evening (around 10), because he was at a party with friends.  Saturday, he spent the day with us at an aquarium celebrating his brother's 18th birthday.  Sunday, he went to church in the morning, then went to band practice in the afternoon.  I feel like he did something in the evening, also, but I can't remember.  We didn't see him much that weekend.  That was the first weekend of this limited schedule.  My wife had a hard time with that.  But she pushed through.  That's kinda how she does.

On Monday, she went to his middle school and took our 13-year-old out for lunch.  She had a good lunch with him, a little less than an hour, and I could see her relax a little as she told me about their time.  It wasn't much, but it was really important to her.

Later that day, or maybe it was later that week, she received a text from our 13-year-old.  She stated that it didn't seem like it was from him, as it used punctuation, words and greetings that he never used, and said things atypical of his tone and style.  This might not be an issue of much consideration, except that his phone is routinely accessed by his father, and it's used and altered by his father and step-mother, according to our 13-year-old.  His father, of course, refuses to say anything.  Won't respond to the question except to say he doesn't need to respond to the question and it's none of my wife's business.  So the 13-year-old's text to her said that if he was going to go have lunch with her in the future during school, permission would need to be asked of his father.  My wife responded saying that she figured he had asked his father for permission, then asked if there was a problem going to lunch with his mother.  He responded no, and the texting ended for that day.

Last night, around 10pm, he texted again.  He stated that his cousin (his father's sister's son) had broken his collar bone, and his aunt and cousin were moving into a different house on Saturday, and they would need his help.  My wife asked why he needed to go help, and he responded that his older male cousin had broken his collarbone, his younger female cousin had broken her wrist, and they needed his help to move.  My wife responded that she wanted to see him during his extremely limited time with us.  He responded, "I know.  But I want to."  To which, my wife responded that she would talk about it with him when he got to our house on Friday.  Neither my wife nor I believe that these texts were sent by him ("...or if they were, he was being told what to say," said my wife last night).

I imagine that I'm my wife.  What would I do?
Well, I'm not supposed to speak poorly of his father, so I can't tell him not to listen to his father because he's manipulative and abusive.  I can't prove abuse because, when asked, the 13-year-old will say what the father tells him to say because he's afraid of "the fallout" (his words, describing what would happen if the 13-year-old were to leave the father's house to sit inside a vehicle his mother was test driving and thinking about buying, and wanted to see if her very tall 13-year-old son would fit comfortably in it... causing the 13-year-old to lie and tell us he wasn't at home and couldn't come sit in the car... because he didn't want to deal with "the fallout" from his father "and stepmother", who was also telling him to ignore the texts and not go outside to his mother). 
He doesn't see this as a problem, as he's doing what his parent tells him to do, which is what he's supposed to do.
My initial response seems really, really incorrect: I would let him go.  I wouldn't fight anything at all.  And in doing so, I would most certainly lose my son to his father who wants nothing more than to forget I exist, paint me as a horrible person and mother, and make everyone hate me as much as he does. 

[side note: my wife's mother came over recently to bring gifts from her trip to Colorado.  Her boyfriend stayed in the car as she made multiple trips into the house with food.  This is the same boyfriend who sprained my wife's wrist and elbow the first time he met her by shaking her hand violently.  He applied the same pressure to my arm and hand, and I squeezed back, which is probably the main reason I didn't sustain injury.  He was obviously hostile to us when he met us.  This kind of behavior is typical for my wife's family.  Her ex-husband has said something which makes everybody hate us prior to having met us.  Whatever gets said also makes people not want to talk with us, check out the veracity of the stories they've been told, or watch how we behave so that they might check to see if we're as horrible as we're being painted to be.  What in the world is being said to turn all those people against us?  And can you imagine how it tinges our attitude when we're introduced to somebody new who might know my wife's mother and who might already have a heated, hateful opinion of us without knowing it's us?  Really, really makes us not want to meet anyone new around this part of the world.]

How am I supposed to be a mother to my son when he's doing what his father is telling him to do, which is cut out his mother from his life?  Am I supposed to punish him for being obedient to his father?  I can't rightly tell him to simply ignore his father.  And there are moments when he says things like, "I don't like how mean dad is to you."  He also noticed when his stepmother and aunt stood up and shouted at mother and stepfather at a football game, and he didn't know why they had behaved in such an embarrassing way.  Those moments make me feel like he sees what's going on.  But with his father limiting contact with mother, father and stepmother can say anything they want and present it as truth, because there's nothing else to go on. 

And, now back to being me, I get uptight.  I feel myself get angry.  Last night, as this texting was going on, I kept suggesting to my wife that she tell him that they would talk about it when he came home.  She didn't want to do that, because she wanted to end it then and not think about it.  It didn't take her long to realize it wasn't going to end and she wasn't going to be able to not think about it, and she told him that they would talk about it when he arrived.  In my head, that would help for several reasons.  Texting is a really imperfect way of communicating.  In stressful situations, texting doesn't help anyone or anything.  Plus, the main reason, if our 13-year-old is being coerced or his texts weren't being sent by him, talking about it when he arrived would alleviate this issue entirely. 

And there's a part of me that wants to put this into the Parenting Teenagers category.  But it's different.  Parenting Teenagers is tough.  Parenting Teenagers who do what their abusive, manipulative father tells them to do is dangerous.

I am just like my wife.
I want it to stop.
I remember when I was taking swimming lessons, and we would be forced to swim long distances, followed by treading water.  It was exhausting, and there were times when I didn't think I could go on without resting.  There was absolutely no resting.  It was constant movement, expenditure of energy, and my body was crying out for some kind of break.  I feel and have felt the same way with this situation.  For a week, about, my wife and I have been resting.  Recovering.  And we believe we will need A LOT of recovery time.  But then it starts up even before the 13-year-old arrives, and the tension returns, and we both start treading water.

Treading Water.
Good analogy.
We're not going anywhere.  We're not doing anything.
But we have to keep expending energy just to stay above water.
Meanwhile, just about everyone around us is trying to push us under.
Absolutely exhausting.

Fuck everything now.

And now my wife is texting me, asking me if I'm okay.
I'm ignoring it, because if I answer, I will tell her I'm not okay.
And I don't want to tell her about this.
She doesn't need to deal with me and her son and her ex-husband.
It will make her tense and angry and mad and stupid.
Just like me. 

Fuck.

Erased It All

I wrote this really long, long, really long piece about commercials and how immoral they are and stupid and how they're just an acceptable form of stealing without consequences. 

But I erased it all. Nobody cares about my ravings. And I even bored myself with it. It's the same story I've told over and over again. And nobody listens. And nobody cares.

Last night, my wife asked if I would do an American Express commercial if they wanted to pay me a lot of money.  I said I would.

And I'm mad about that.

I'm mad that there's this thing-- money-- that I need in order to live life, and I don't have enough of it to live comfortably.  And I work a full time job.  And if I want to be comfortable, I need to make myself uncomfortable.  So I continually have to juggle my discomfort, and decide if I'm less uncomfortable without money or without time and energy.

Commercials don't care.  They are big, huge liars.  Acceptable lies.  Huge, acceptable lies. 

We don't even think about the shit we do in this life anymore.

So fucking sad.

Stupid, Stupid Midas

I was working, and I was at my job.

These two things don't normally occur together.

I was actually focused.

Then...

...from behind me, there was a noise.

I blocked it out.

But it was getting louder.

I tried turning the music in my earphones up.

The music was hurting me it was so loud.

So I turned it down, and could hear the people behind me talking.

Loudly.

Very.

Very.

Loudly.

"No, I didn't vote for Dumbo," says Dr. Midas (not his real name).  His doctor colleagues laugh at his joke.  Dr. Midas continues,  "See, I was born and raised in Chicago."  He was cut off by one of his doctor buddies.
"You were not, you were raised in Skokie." 
"It's Cook County.  It's all Cook County," says Dr. Midas. 

Skokie has less than 65,000 residents, promotes itself with the slogan "World's Largest Village" and in October 2013, was rated #71 on Americas top 100 places to live on the livability.com website.  In comparison, Chicago is the third most populous city in the nation, has about 2.7 million residents, was the stomping ground of Al Capone, arguably the World's Most Notorious Organized Crime Boss, and cannot be found on livability.com's top 100 list of best cities to live because it's not there.  But, yeah, it's all Cook County, so it must all be the same.  Kinda like all white men have small dicks and don't know how to fuck, right Dr. Midas?

"And when you're in Cook County, you have to register Democrat."  Which, again, is inaccurate.  No one is forced to register with any specific party at any time in their lives.  I would think a white doctor would know that.  He continues.  "So ever since that time, I have been a member of the Communist party."  His white, old doctor friends laugh at his "joke".  I, however, wonder if he knows what Communism is, knows what the tenants of the Communist party are, knows what the differences are between the Communist Party and the Democratic Party, or if he's just interested in making his friends laugh because he can't make his wife cum.  The loud conversation continues with one of his friends.  "Didn't you think about changing your political party at some point?"  Dr. Midas snorts.  "I thought about changing my political party, but you see, living here, the lines for my party are so much shorter on election day.  It makes it easier to get in and out."  At this point, I Walter Mitty on this fuck, and pull out my automatic weapon and riddle his office with white-hot lead, killing him and his old-balls friends.  All of them die.  Then I run outside and start killing everybody.  EVERYBODY!  Hahahahaha!!

But that doesn't happen.  That's a fantasy I have about stupid people.  Intolerant people.  LOUD people who don't know how to keep their voices down.

And it rides on the back of information I just got about the police in Ferguson, MO, who, before releasing the name of the cop who shot unarmed teenager Michael Brown to death, released a video which supposedly shows Michael Brown committing armed robbery.  Which is completely beside the point, and a stupid, ignorant distraction to make by more white men who haven't been able to find their cocks since 1947.  Jesus, I fucking hate people sometimes!!

Full Scuba Gear and a Mac Truck

From what I can tell, our security team is here in the building for a limited number of reasons:
1. to sleep
2. to wave at us when we're coming into or going out of the building, if they aren't sleeping or flirting
3. to tell us when it's raining so we can roll up our windows

I sure am glad they're wearing guns for their jobs.  Guns are needed for sleeping, waving, flirting, and making announcements about rain and windows.

In the spirit of Useless Tools, I wonder if The Government will issue me full scuba gear and a Mac truck.  You know, as tools for my job.  When asked why my job would require full scuba gear and a Mac truck, I will tell them that I am in as dire need of full scuba gear and a Mac truck as our security officers are in need of their guns.  Then I will time how long it takes for the smoke to stop rising out of The Government's ears.

cry

today is the second day in a row that i've gotten to work and just want to break down crying.

i don't know why.

i don't like it at all.

i just wanna be home.  under covers.  with wife.  hidden.  without responsibility.  with all the bad gone.

Wife Kisses

I don't have a release for my anger right now.
I used to do the "happy corner" with my band.  I used to scream and rail and get it all out.  Public emo-vomit. 
I think that was my release.  I did that once a week.
Maybe I didn't need a release then. 
But now, I have been beaten, repeatedly, by the mediocrity of humanity.
I have been beaten by how dumb, insensitive, morally bankrupt people are.
I have been soothed by few, and repeatedly beaten by most.
I can't seem to rest enough to heal from the beatings.
And so I keep compounding my hurt.

I don't know what it is that I want.
I don't think I want to perform.
But that may just be because I'm so terribly dissatisfied with people in my state.  I'm convinced they won't understand, or that they are too stupid or ignorant to know that it's not okay to be a racist. 
Maybe I'm just scared that I wasn't really what I thought I was.
I'm not very eager to analyze it.  But I don't think I want to perform.
I sing wrong notes.  I don't sing with confidence anymore.

When I think about what I want to do, I think of filmed sketch comedy. 
Something short.  Minimal cast to screw things up with schedules that conflict.
No audience to throw in racist or stupid suggestions. 
Control over where I show it, which kinda allows control over the people I show it to.  Control over the edit.  Control over the filming. 
More seclusion.  More control over who can and cannot voice their negative opinions.

I want my 18-year-old to feel celebrated.  I don't really know how to do that well.
He wants to shoot guns.  I really don't believe in guns... even though I had fun shooting guns when I was younger.
He wants to smoke cigars.  I really don't want him to smoke.  I was a smoker.  My mother worried about me smoking.  I worry about him smoking.
I used to fantasize about getting a beer with him someday. 
Now I'm starting to feel protective, like maybe I could drink a beer and he could drink a milk.  With calcium.  And vitamin D.  To stay healthy.  Stupid, huh? 

Why am I feeling like keeping him safe?  And my wife, too?  I just want to protect them both.  Like Marlon in Finding Nemo.  And what's the lesson behind Nemo?  "Go have an adventure!" Marlon shouts to his son as he leaves for school. 

I want my kid and wife to have adventures.
I want them to stay safe, too.
My mother wanted to go para-sailing once.
I was scared she was going to die and it would be my fault.

Jesus, I probably am a prime candidate for psychotropic medications.
Maybe a little therapy where a professional can help me to fucking relax a little.

I am resistant to letting my roots grow where I am, because I'm fairly certain that, within the next 6 or so years, I'm going to want to move.  Far, far away.  Forever.
There has been so much hurt here.
And I'm just coming to it on the back end.
My wife and kids have been living it for 18 years.

My mother used to get frustrated with me when she would ask me what I wanted for Christmas or birthdays, and I would say "a movie contract".  My wife gets frustrated with me when she asks what I want for birthdays or Christmas and I say something like, "a job I don't hate".  I know they're not frustrated at my answer, they're frustrated because they want to get me what I want, and that isn't something they can give.  Nobody can.  I gotta go out and get it myself.

I recently sent out an email.  The subject was "German Shepherd/Lab puppy".  I got a response today.  "I've looked at so many dogs recently, I have forgotten what breed(s) your dog is??"  I wanted to punch that person in her punch hole.  Really hard. 

Someday, somebody's gonna punch me in my punch hole, and I'm not gonna know why, and I'm gonna look around and I won't see my little piece of idiocy that caused me to get punched by the puncher at the end of his wits.

I'm not keen on being at the end of my wits.




Here's what I like:
my wife has lovely, soft lips and kisses really, really, really good.
Really good kisses.

Maybe that's all I like right now.
But that's pretty good.
Honestly.
Just thinking about wife kisses right now kinda makes everything drip and melt away.
That's kinda nice.
That hasn't happened in a while.
Cool.
Wife kisses are medicinal.

I also like the Mexican style lasagna we ate last night.
I like wife kisses much, much, much, much more.
Nerver.

Yeah.
Wife kisses.
That thought might actually get me through my day today.
Thank you, wife, for having wife kisses that rock.
Mmmmmm.
Wife kisses.