It’s A Funny Story… Even If It Isn’t…

Trying something new… Imagine that… I haven’t written anything new outside of poetry and the new story I am working on… Sadly that isn’t for the website… Redoing my next book… well kind of… I had this whole theme I was running through the whole book… I didn’t like it… not the story, but the theme… or the idea… shit happens… so I am overhauling a few things… and none of this matters… 

Recently I have decided that I’m really into board game boards… it is for an art project that I have locked in my head… so I went to my local Goodwill… and picked up any that I found interesting… one of them happened to be the Match Game… or so I thought… what I actually got was some came from the 70’s called The Ungame… yeah I had never heard of it either… more about the history of the game here… well the point of the game is to start a conversation or get you talking… the concept is just lame enough that I am in love with it… we are going to play a little game… 

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The Question

What activity do you engage in that involves all of you: your mind, your body, and your soul?

The most obvious answer for me is writing… I put everything into this… my books… and my projects… so I’m not going to waste your time telling you something you could have guessed…So I am going to have to go with the thing that takes more of me than writing… My daughter… 

Mind… my daughter tests me every day with her three million questions about the same thing… or when she says… “I show you… I show you”… when she wants me to hear her sing… as I am trying to put out a grill fire… life be damned… stop and look at me… or when I have to hear Twinkle Twinkle Litte Star one more damn time… when all I want to do is listen to my favorite song… 

Body… whether she is digging her tiny little feet into me like I don’t exist… or swinging her arms at me like a crazed mad woman when she doesn’t want to leave the park… making me look like a kidnapper or awful person… or screaming into my ear to the point that it rings… because why not… “You’re so funny”… No, I’m so deaf now… 

Soul… because I would give her mine without a second thought… even if it was to add only one more second to hers.. she is one wild crazy ass child… but every moment with her is worth whatever it cost… I don’t think the meaning of life is to create life… but I do believe that she has become my purpose in this world…

Merch… Teespring… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

But I’m Still Right Here…

“As below, so above and beyond, I imagine – drawn beyond the lines of reason. “

Tool, Lateralus

Death

I don’t necessarily fear death. Not in the sense that maybe one should. I know it will happen. I’m even okay with it to a certain extent. Part of life after all. If anything, I fear dying too early. Dying before I’ve done anything at all. My anxiety about the whole thing keeps me up at night. Fuels my own perpetual destruction and decent into madness. I complain about working nights, but the truth is that I have always been up late. One of the reasons I first took the overnight job. Figured if I’m already up I might as well get paid. Stupidity. For those of us who know. There is a difference between staying up all night watching movies and staying up all night killing yourself. Things only got worse from there. Because I let them. I let the fear seep into my soul to the point that I craved it like a drug.

There were nights. There are still nights that I relapse. That my mind digs in deep to the fear and madness. I have nights that I fear that I won’t wake up. Close my eyes and this, that was it. I fear the idea that I won’t be able to see my daughter grow up or that I won’t see my wife ever again. I fear their lose and their pain of not having me there as much as I fear the same for myself. I fear that I’ve wasted too much time doing nothing when I could have been doing more for them. For myself. It is a cycle that some nights I cannot break and because of it I don’t sleep. My fear of death is irrational.

I fear these things because I will miss them. Because I am awake. Because I am here. But I’ll be dead so I won’t even know that I am missing them. I won’t know what or how they feel or what they are doing. It is not as though once I’m dead and gone I will have feeling or thought. But the fear tells me no this is not how it will be. I should be thinking selfishly, but I can’t about this. I know that they will be fine without me. I also know neither would ever say it or at least, I hope. They are two strong and amazing women. They don’t need me but in truth I need them.  This rationalization doesn’t wipe away the fear because what if?  What if I am stuck on the sidelines missing every moment? Missing every chance to tell them I love them once again? What if there is a heaven and a hell?

Personally, I don’t care if either or both of them exist. Either place could only be one in the same with different surroundings. Neither place would contain the things I will miss the most in this world. A fascinating fact that I can’t out run, can’t find comfort in, but only dread. Stoking the flames of my fears. There could be something else beyond life but it would only torture me with the thought that I am missing so much once again. That all of this was for nothing. Honestly when I die, I want there to be nothing. I hope there is nothing. I want to rest for the first time in my life. I’d like to rest. As I grow old, I hope for immortality, I hope for more time to avoid all this what if, though the older I get the more I know it isn’t so. Do I fear death? Sort of, but really, I fear growing old.

Ambrose…

Yellow House, Brown Shutters

So, this is what it is like to belong? Belong to a family? Feeling useless or pointless ninety percent of the time. Feeling awkward in a room full of people you tell half-truths too in order to feel superior or make them feel proud of you. Family is nothing more than a group of strangers pretending they give a shit. Society, in general, is the same thing. Thin little threads made of lies hold it all together until it is time to fall apart. My thoughts are my own but, on some level, everyone in this room is thinking the same thing.

In some ways, I wish I could read minds. Not that I would have to in moments like these. More or less, we are all the same even if we don’t want to be. We are all self-serving, egotistical assholes yet we can’t get along for five minutes of a real conversation or thought. When such a thing even comes up the room goes silent to the point that even a whisper is a scream because everyone is afraid to unravel the lie that we all get along.

Maybe we aren’t meant to get along? Maybe we are supposed to yell and fight and hate each other in the open? Maybe just how we feel inside is what it means to be human?

“What are you thinking about?” My mother asks. “Nothing,” I take a bite of potatoes, “Nothing at all.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she smiles…

Happy Fucking Holidays… or whatever… Another event I have to sit through… another day I have to take in everything everyone has to say… This is why I spend most of my time in my basement drinking the time away… the whispers behind my back… giving them something to say… filling their mouths with words… I’m doing my part… not wearing a mask right now makes me feel naked… the mask never comes off… but this one itches… layers of skin exposed to the fresh air… the tainted smiles… and all the shit they have to say… misery is finding out this won’t end… even at my funeral… gathered around my body… saying the same old shit… the kids are all fucked up… the worlds on fire… and I don’t know why it has to rain right now… of all times for the world to keep moving on… as though it doesn’t give a shit… rambling on and there’s only three more hours left of this… shaking hands… giving hugs… eating the same old shit… if I went into a coma would any of them even notice?… would I even notice?… I guess I already did… unless this is it?… One long trapped nightmare inside my head… What is the point of any of this?…

Merch… Teespring… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Everyone else is out “enjoying” their family time… left me here to do all the work… click some links… buy some shit… who cares… it’s not like any of us are going to stop… I gave up on financial independence a long time ago… but someone hit those other assholes on the head with a hammer or something… they actually believe one day they… that this will all be something… I know better… I figured it out long ago… as Clayton Blackwood once said… “Government checks are there for a reason… someone has to pay for this shit”… so support the others or don’t support them… I’m drunk enough to know… that chasing ghosts is only for those with hope… that would make a for a good book title… chasing ghosts is all that we are doing… chasing them to the grave… phantom impressions of our former selves… maybe I’ll find mine some day… clutching a bottle… face resting on the keyboard… one can only hope…

Plus One…

“What do you mean you don’t understand?” She asks as if there is really some secret to her madness. “I just don’t get it. First you say I have to go, and now that I want to go, you’re telling me I can’t go as if I have a real choice in the matter,” he huffs frustrated. “Well, I just don’t want you there, okay?” She doesn’t even bother looking at him. “Why? Because it is some sort of girl thing?” He questions to her absent face. “It’s my bachelorette party so yes, it is a girl’s only type of thing,” she points out looking at him. “I’m going to be there for the marriage so is it really that big of a deal that I go to the party?” He asks annoyed. “It’s a huge deal Steven. This party is for me not you,” she whines.

“Well, it’s kind of for me too,” he interjects into her pity party. “No, it does not have anything to do with you. It is my party and I really don’t want you there,” she lays out. “There’s no reason to get upset at me Stacy. It’s not my fault things worked out this way. It’s hard enough that you’re getting married and I’m still single,” he tries to explain. “Well how do you think I feel about? Don’t you think that this whole situation is even more stressful to me? Regardless though you’re not coming and that is final,” she holds firmly.

“So, what am I supposed to do? Sit outside? Where is this stupid party even at?” He questions rolling his eyes to the thought of it all. “My party’s not stupid and it’s going to be here at the house which means you are going to have to sit behind the curtain,” she informs him. “Sounds like a blast,” he says sarcastically. “Is Stan at least going to be here?” He asks quickly hopeful that he won’t be alone. “What part of it’s a girl thing are you not understanding?” She moans out of annoyance. “I’m so glad we don’t have to share a brain,” she sighs. “Nope just a stomach and a kidney,” he says with a slight sneer. “And for your information I was asking if Stan was going to be on the other side of the curtain with me,” he defends.

“Okay well still no,” she exaggerates. “Stan will be at his own party because that is what happens when two people get married. They each have their own parties to celebrate one last day of freedom,” she talks down to him. “I know that, Stacy. Thanks for clearing that up for me,” he mocks with wide eyes. “I’m glad and just so we are crystal clear Stan will not be at this party, the house next door, or anywhere near here. You will be behind the curtain, you will be quiet, and you will not interfere with my party,” she says in a serious tone. “That’s just great. Not only do I not get to go to the bachelor party, but I have to sit on the other side of a curtain, alone, while you have all the fun,” he starts to pout.  

“Yep, that about sums up your plans for this evening,” she says ignoring him. She drags him along as she lays out the plates and cups for the party. “Do you think one of the ladies will come and sit with me?” He asks in a fake depressed tone. “That’s a big N.O. They all think that you are weird so the chance of one of them leaving the party just to hang out with you is pretty slim,” she laughs. “Wait they think that I am weird? How could they even think that I am weird? If I am weird than you’re weird too. We share the same body,” he rationalizes out loud. “Do we now?” She asks sarcastically. “They think you are weird because you are always staring at them,” she says as though she agrees.

“Well, that is a very unfair opinion about me since you’re always telling me to be quiet whenever they are around and if it isn’t that it’s keep your eyes closed. I’m a guy so of course I’m going to stare every time they want to show you the new under wear they purchased or in the girls locker room,” he says frustrated. There’s a knock at the door. “I’ve had enough with this argument Steven. It is time to be quiet the guests are starting to arrive. We are heading for the door,” she says hurrying for the door. “Thanks for the warning,” he says in a deflated tone.

“Just stay silent and behave Steven, and I will take you to the comic book shop first thing in the morning,” she says as she checks her hair in the mirror. “Fine, but please try to not drink that much. You know how sick I get afterwards,” he requests. “I’ll try to refrain from drinking too much,” she sighs. “Now zip it or no comics,” she says putting on her best fake smile and opening the door. “Who’s ready to party?”

Valerie Hannigan

This isn’t from my book. It was a throw away story and someone liked it. Hopefully, you enjoyed it. I don’t really care, but whatever. Ambrose says I am supposed to talk about what the story is about here. My thoughts and feelings or whatever. (Loud noise in the background… Followed by a long pause…)

The story is about marriage and how the whole institution can feel like there is a dead body attached to you wherever you may go. A soul sucking entity that wants to zap the living life out of you at all times. Did I say dead limb syndrome? I guess you could also say that it is about being a parent as well. If you want you could say it is about anything that makes you happy or sad or nothing at all. I don’t have any siblings so I wouldn’t say it is about that at all. Did I hit the word limit yet?

Check out our shit. Sell your soul before someone else takes it from you. Breathe through your nose and don’t own black sheets. A fountain of information I am not. (Dictated not read…)

Editor’s Note: Her husband is pretty cool… What’s up Steven...

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