Johnny and I are hanging out, but I am the only one drinking and that is ok, he is dead and I am…not.
Mom says when I was around two I sometimes got so angry I slammed my head against the ground and that the pain of doing so only made me angrier and that sometimes I would do it again.
Wasn’t particularly smart but I have learned not to repeat that particular mistake, but whatever piece or part of me that thought that was smart lives in the depths and so I adapted.
By that I mean that when I feel the hole that dad’s departure left I go searching for the root of the pain and dig around in the ashes, shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knows I dance in the fire.
It does make question whether having a high threshold for pain is a useful tool or if the way I use it makes me the useful tool
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I had wanted to use the original but Mr. Dylan doesn’t seem to have it online so I am stuck with Axel and company…which isn’t bad but has a different feel than I wanted.
Been thinking on and off about the old man the last few days and am frustrated because I can’t discuss particular topics with anyone else the way I could with him.
That is not a knock against mom, my sisters or any other family members, it is just a father/son connection and my own son isn’t old enough to really understand.
And even if he were older I am not sure it would matter because there are life events he didn’t share, like picking up grandpa and going with him and dad to watch the fights. It is different now, but that is life in general.
Reminds me of the days when we said we’ll do it when we are 50 and debated about whether it would or wouldn’t happen.
Sing Along Continued
Still hanging with Johnny and Bob, thinking about possibilities and how to write a song that tells a story. Mulling over whether I ought to take another snort of Scotch or just let it be.
Put my time in at the gym but it won’t be enough to cover the Indian buffet lunch or Thai food dinner, both of which were tasty and both of which consisted of my being cognizant of consumption.
So we turn on Harvest Moon and do our silent dance thinking about a huge moon outside and move onto singing Jim with more thinking about writing and the stories that come with 50 years of life.
Been one of those weeks I tell the kids we all have, grind it out hour by hour and day by day with the hope that you’ll be surprised by how much easier it feels on the other side.
Still not sure if I got there, but even if I didn’t I turned possibility into opportunity and now I have to see what happens. Only requires a small push for it to move into the win column and that one win could snowball…maybe.
Makes me think of my old apartment and ideas about the Liberator, but that is only tangentially related so we’ll save it.
Just know if you can’t relate to that Whitman quote you are missing out.
