Man, am I tired. I am so exhausted I don't even want to think about thinking anymore. There are so many things hitting me all at once, with one constant shining beacon of hope blinking right in my face. If it weren't for that one ray of sunshine, I would surely drown. By the way, I am writing all of this down as a form of self-therapy, like many of us do. Some people will read it, although it's main intent is to not entertain, it is to help talk myself into what needs to be done.

I have been down a similar path before; alone and left to my own devices, it's not a pretty picture. In fact, it's a disturbing portrait that ends in self-destruction. But I am not alone this time. I guess I never was, but this time around I am not convincing myself otherwise. Nobody is ever going to mistake me for a perfect person, and I shouldn't waste energy trying to portray a perfect image. I am who I am, and if you can accept that, then you can accept me. I have found a rare example of that type of person, and it is up to me to remain true to that.

I've got problems, problems that I don't really want to deal with. A shitty job with a boss breathing down my neck, a pending divorce that threatens to take away my independence, both financially and parentally, a musical hobby that for lack of a better word has completely halted due to my own inability to translate happiness into song, self-pressuring myself into situations that require more than a fleeting moment of thought, and I am a father of three children from three different women, all of which are completely bat-shit crazy. Add to that the fact that I am living completely beyond my means financially, it is a situation that would drive a lesser man to either suicide or cutting himself off from everyone and disappearing.

I used to be a lesser man.

As it turns out, you can completely change your own opinion of yourself if you just wake the fuck up and realize what's around you. I can tell myself a million times (and I have) that I'm not worth the skin I surround my organs with, that the world would be better off without me, that nobody would remember me for anything but a terrible person. These are all things I can use to make myself deal with killing myself easier, but why would I want to lie to myself? You may be reading this right now and not have a clue who I am, but if I have ever come into contact with you, even if just through this entry, you will remember me. I leave an imprint wherever I go, and I am reminded of that way more often now than I ever was before. I would be missed by not only the people who I've surrounded myself with, but the people who I've touched in the past and those who I have yet to touch.

You may think that I am going from one extreme to the other, that I have this sudden feeling of self-importance, but think about yourself for a moment. I'm sure the same is true for you. So what, I have problems. Everyone does. I also have people in my life who are there to pick me up when I fall, or at the very least tell me to get the fuck up before I get run over. When you're constantly torn down by the ones that are supposed to care about you, you begin to mimic those actions. I am in a different place now, one where constant coddling followed by secret destruction no longer exists. I stand taller now that I have someone who loves me despite my flaws, someone who I don't have to hide things from in order to ensure a constant flow of attention. Sure, it's not always an easy road, but it's a road that's sure to get me somewhere. Happiness in the truest sense of the word. A real, lasting happiness.

So yes, I am tired. I am so fucking tired that I don't want to wake up and deal with the issues facing me today. But you know what? I have to, because nobody is going to do it for me. So I either get up and get to work on my life or sit around waiting for it to change. And if I wait, it will change; just not for the better. It has taken me almost twenty minutes to write this entry and in that twenty minutes I have convinced myself to do just that. Wake the fuck up, asshole. You didn't get this far by watching shit happen, did you?

$172

Let that amount sink in for a minute. One hundred seventy two dollars. ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY TWO FUCKING DOLLARS, and zero cents. I've held back for long enough, and I think it's about time you get to see the emotional side of me; the angry side that I keep locked away so carefully, as to not let anyone ever see it. But I have a secret...I AM angry. I'm extremely fucking frustrated and infuriated, and the events of today not only underscored that, but brought it to me neatly packaged in a value that everyone can understand. Money.

Today, I hauled my half stack up the stairs, stowing it neatly into my trunk as I've done many times before. Only this time, it was the last time I make that trip. You see, I'm loading it into my car not to head to practice, not to play a show, but to sell it for cash. In case you haven't been following my saga (which you haven't, because I don't tell), I need cash because my current situation dictates it. I have to bite my tongue and pretend none of this is affecting me in any detrimental way, just so I don't end up lashing out and screwing up my case for divorce. But seeing as though this blog will not be presented into evidence, allow me to indulge in a brief tirade directed at my ex, the one who still bears my last name while shaming it every second she wears it.

How dare you tell the world to pity you when your own pathetic life is perpetuated by your own inability to see the world as it is? Your actions have a ripple effect, much like your disgusting body, that affects everyone around you; you only care about yourself and if others perceive you as a victim, when in fact you are the victim of yourself. Grow the fuck up for once in your life and act like you are an adult. Nobody needs to take care of your spoiled ass like a fucking 5-year old. Our daughter is easier to care for than you are, and she still shits herself. You are a fucking waste of skin, several hundred yards of it I might add, and your main goal in life is not to care for a child, become a contributing member of society, or better your own life; it is to attempt to make mine miserable because I cheated on you. Take a poll of several thousand people and ask them if they'd do the same; based on physical appearance alone, I doubt many would disagree with me. Add in that you're a miserable fucking person and I bet whoever disagreed would certainly change their mind.

However, this wouldn't be a complete tirade if I didn't share my feelings on how this is affecting me directly. Due to your actions, I have not only had to relinquish my independence and give up things I really enjoyed, but you are now encroaching upon my current relationship with your mere existence on this planet. The mention of your name makes me cringe and I can't bear to see your fat retarded face in person. You have tried everything you can to fuck with me, and up to this point it hasn't caused me to lash out. You can't take my daughter from me, no matter how hard you try; she will be my little girl forever, and I know for a fact that she will be a part of my life. I've come to terms with your attempts with that, and I accept it, because I know it's impossible for you to take her from me. I said in the beginning that all I wanted was to have my daughter, and I will get that...however, I did not expect that my possessions would have such a profound effect on me as they leave me, as they did today.

So here we are, back at the amount of $172. Countless memories of fun times, of my fleeting music career, and my outlet of expressions being poured into five strings, coming out of the equipment that I am pulling out of my trunk and carting in to sell. You have slowly stripped away my pride, my dignity, and my means of self-expression over a period of 12 years, and this was no different. As I watch the guy behind the counter coldly write down the amount of money I would get from this transaction, I am reminded of everything. Everything you took from me then, and everything you are taking from me now. The man behind the counter plugs into MY equipment and plays the notes meant to come from MY fingers, and the bitterness grabs me and chokes me like it should. YOU caused this, you fucking cunt whore piece of fucking shit. You DESERVE every second of pain I caused you, every night of fucking lonliness you experience by my hand. I was smart enough to finally get out of a terrible marriage, and you want to pay me back for standing up for myself and my child. Fuck you, you vindictive, pathetic sack of shit. I hope you die in a fiery pit of cancer and AIDS and even then, you would not begin to suffer like I want you to. I WANT you to suffer, as I did for FUCKING YEARS. So keep trying to take away everything. It will affect me temporarily, but there are a few facts remaining that will continually sustain me through all of this.

I have moved on, not only to a better existence from you, but a better existence PERIOD. My daughter loves me and loves spending time with me, and there's nothing you can do about it. I am living my life, unlike you, and just that fact alone kills you as it is. Wake up, you fucking idiot. I'm happy and you can't take that. So what, I had to give up my independence; I gained so much more in the process. So what, I had to give up some time with my daughter; I will get it back in spades. And so what, I had to sell my gear for one hundred seventy two dollars. EVERY LAST CENT WILL BE USED TO DESTROY YOU IN COURT.

Fuck you.

Five new friends and a microphone

So here I am again at this familiar crossroad. You know, the one where you look both ways to figure out which way your life is headed? I've been there many times, and I usually just stand there frozen, unable to make a choice. Fear and uncertainty have been the concrete in my shoes for far too long. I know this blog isn't really meant for typing out my feelings, but this is different. Last night was different. So now I stand at this crossroad not knowing which way to go, but knowing that where I stand isn't good; if I keep standing here I'm going to get run over.

Let me just start off by saying that this is going to be a long, long, long entry; if you don't have time to read it, you may as well come back when you do. Since the last time I posted here, I've had a very turbulent personal life that has taken me down to my lowest and back to my highest, only to bring me back down again. Today, I am sober and able to see things more clearly than I have in quite some time. Maybe I'm looking into it way too much, maybe I'm putting too much emphasis on inconsequential circumstances, but I've rarely guided my life with feelings. In fact, I usually hide them for the sake of others' happiness. Today is different.

Yesterday after fighting with my ex for a while, I got a text from my favorite pen pal who wanted to hang out. I was already pissed off and drinking, and getting out the door was almost not going to happen. I was prepared to spend the entire night alone, drinking and listening to music in the dark. Also, the invitation was to hang out in a group setting; for those of you who know me, I'm pretty anti-social due to my own perceived inadequacies as a person, so group settings usually make me nervous. Do you know what I said? Fuck it, let's do this. The last thing I need is to sit and feel sorry for myself; whatever venom my ex would like to spew my way shouldn't affect me anymore. Off I went.

As I'm making my way to the meeting point, Chef texts me. He knows I've been drinking, and knows all the shit I've been dealing with. Here's what I got:

'It is what is is brother, some birds fly and some spend their entire life watching the flight of others'.

I stared at that text while I sat at the table with my friend and her friend who came along. I was enjoying wine and the company of two fine people, and you know what? Chef was right. I needed to stop keeping myself grounded, worrying about what people think of me. I need to move. Get the blood going. Feel again. I called him a weirdo because I was already buzzing, but in reality I should have just said thank you. I decided that whatever happened tonight was just going to happen. Go with the flow for once and see where it takes you.

From there we went to a fancy version of Taco Bell for some light refreshments (read:margaritas) and to meet another of their friends. While at the restaurant, I disclosed a very embarrassing story, a very difficult event in my life, and my not-so-stellar background with the ladies. Not something I typically share with strangers, but the alcohol combined with an I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude seemed to calm me into a state of peacefulness with myself. So I divulge all of this personal information to these strangers, and do you know what happened? Absolutely nothing. No judging, no gasping, no head-shaking, nothing. Instead, I got genuine questions, light-hearted jokes, and the conversation moved on. Hmm...that was easy. I sat back and just poured the drinks as they poured more conversation and made me feel at ease.

After we polished off our second (or was it third?) pitcher of frozen spirits, we headed off to a sushi joint with karaoke. It was super busy, but I was glad to be there. I was in the company of brand new friends, and I was comfortable as well as warm inside from many alcoholic beverages. It was at this point another friend texted me out of the blue; my old friend Anastasia, asking how I was doing. She was checking in to make sure I hadn't succumbed to alcohol poisoning in my own home and to let me know she had my back if it all came crashing down again. Just then, two more new friends walk in to join us and it's a fucking party now.

So here I am, out on the town enjoying new relationships, being reminded of how much people care even when I'm not around, and it happens. I get a text. It's the ex:

'Sorry to interrupt but I have a question about something ***** said' (referring to my daughter)
'Ok'
'Can you please call I don't want to text'
'Why, you can't type the question?'
'Forget it then I told you I felt it was impersonal it was just something ***** told me and I wanted to see if it was true'
'Well I can't see why it's so pressing at 1am'

My daughter goes to bed at 10pm every night, which in itself is too late, but there's no way she's awake at 1am telling her mother anything of importance. Apparently that was the wrong answer, because it was then followed by this little nugget:

'Oh I also forgot to tell you that if you see ***** tell her I said she is a fucking whore and I hate her' (referring to the woman I had an affair with)

Then, this:

'Just do me and ***** a favor and treat her like your other kids and abandon her. You are so selfish. While you're at it why don't you find another woman to knock up and then abandon her seeing that you are a pro at it'

Would anybody like to raise their hand and take a guess how that affected my night? I gestured to my concerned friend on my left, who has been a saint through this in more ways than I could ever explain. She read what was said, her mouth gaping open at the hatred being tossed in my direction. She grabbed my phone, put it down, and simply told me to ignore it. It doesn't mean a thing unless I want it to. Not exactly a revelation, but it's always easier to take advice from a friend when you already know it's the correct advice. I immediately became withdrawn from everyone, because when you've had some past issues with abandonment, that shit hurts. She asked if I was alright, and let me tell you, you can't hide anything from this woman. She knew it hurt, and it did. But it was my time to sing karaoke!

I was probably too drunk to be up there (if that's even possible for karaoke) but I got up there and did my thing. I know it seems dumb, but it was nice to have all these new friends supporting me like we were old friends. The night continued and there was no reason to be upset. I was around good people having a good time. So why am I going to let my past creep up and snatch that from me? I was back into a good groove again, and there was also sushi to eat. However, as we all took turns heading to the stage and doing our best to entertain, I had to step outside for a few moments and gather my thoughts. I couldn't ignore the fact that despite how much fun I was having, the woman who had custody of my daughter was doing her best to ruin my night; what could she be saying to my little girl that I don't know? That thought quickly brought me out of my good mood, and I did not want it to spoil the night.

As I stood outside contemplating that and other things, one of the members of our party came out for a smoke. Now this guy has only known me for a few hours, yet he knew exactly what was on my mind. I blurted out everything I was thinking of at the time, probably unnecessarily so, and he just sat and listened. Although I was glad to have finally gotten some things off my chest, I was also disappointed at the fact that I had missed 'the most awesome rendition of Heartbreaker' according to our other friends who had just come walking out. It was late, and the night was over. I was going to head back to my place and hope that I could sleep without picking up another bottle; we said our goodbyes to one another and started out for home.

But wait! There's more!

My new friend who I'd just confided in was a little too wasted to get home on the other side of town; my place was just an exit away, a mere five minute drive. Looks like I'm hosting a little after-party! After checking with our mutual friend as to whether I was going to get robbed or not (all good), we just chilled and chatted as he tried to sober up. Mr. Turtle was not amused. Just then, our mutual friend texted to say she was on her way since we're still up. Yay! Now it's a REAL after-party. Not much really happened after that, except the fact that two people I barely know (ok, I know one really well) needed a place to stay and I offered it up. This sad, empty little apartment was full of people who felt comfortable enough with me that they wanted to stick around.

I know to most of you this isn't really a big deal, but when you've had very few friends in your life and you have a hard time trusting people, this was kind of a big thing for me. I'm always unsure of myself, and I tend to withdraw instead of engage. I'm not saying that the entire night has made me an incredibly social person, but it makes me want to be. I want to have fun, I want to get out. I no longer want to sit here and feel sorry for myself, because there's nothing to be sorry about. I am who I am, and the people who don't like it don't really matter I guess. If I need any confirmation of that, all I have to do is remember the text I got from one of my friends who stayed last night:

'Hi! Just wanted to see how you were doing following your unnecessary hate texts...and to remind you that you're not any of those things!!!'

If she can see it, and everyone else can, I can too.

Happy F***ing Anniversary!

Half-assed, half-week recap:

So Sunday was my 13th wedding anniversary, which was celebrated with tears and painful reminders of how I completely ruined my ex's life. Hooray!

Monday I had late-lunch/dinner with the Rabbi; Johnny Something's Shrimp Shack. Mild was the call for the heat index, since this was my first excursion into cajun food. After driving to the park and discussing my latest phobia, ticks with Lyme disease, it was off to the ghost zoo and a trip down Walhalla on the way back to the car.

Today (Tuesday), Chef and I got some ghetto fish for lunch, and I not only paid for it then in American dollars, but am now paying for it in one hell of a gastrointestinal excursion. It feels as though I've been ass-raped by a dragon, although that may be a gentler experience than this. In short, stay away from fish on 5th Ave.

After finally finishing my work day, I decided to go get my hair cut. Oops! I'm sorry, personal life...please hold. Off to Mount Vernon for a delivery, which turned out to be pretty cool because of the drive. Very scenic, and the fresh air was nice to clear my head after a most fucked up ending to the weekend. Decided to destroy that refreshing feeling with a trip to Cracker Barrel, which was a painful reminder of the Lawyer; that was the last place we saw each other. So after saying I need a table for one, the hostess sat me down with two menus, with one at the empty space across from me. I wanted to punch that c*nt in the f*cking neck. The. End.

Religious Excrement!

For those of you not hip to the game, that's 'holy shit' in the most polite way I could think to put it. My exclamation comes as a result of this daily blog becoming a footnote rather quickly, exactly four days into it. But I'm back, kiddies. Put away the sawed-off and wash the glue from your body, no need to bedazzle yourselves to get my attention. I'm here again and posting without any promise of returning, so deal with it.

Want to know what the hell happened? I'll tell you! Turns out my life is as uninteresting as a fat man doing the tango, so writing every day would have been a chore at best and an exercise in stamina at worst. But I come to you today as a result of purging some demons in my other blog, and to introduce you to my new blogging friend, known for the purposes of this blog as Chef. No, he does NOT resemble the South Park character, but he does have a culinary degree.

Anyway, Chef has decided he wants to blog now; he wants to share some short stories with the world anonymously, and for that I give him much props. However, Chef has about as much computer literacy as my father who is 64 years old and retarded. Retired. Yeah, one of those. So the conversation more or less went like this:

(RING RING)

Me: Hello?
Chef: Hey brotha, how do you (insert computer issue here)?
Me: Just (insert relatively simple answer here).
Chef: Okay, thanks brotha.
Me: Yep, no problem.

Repeat this exact conversation 47 times, and that has been the last hour or so of my life. I think he may have a blog started by now, but it's tough to say. This is the same guy who a few months ago strolled up to me with his chest puffed out exclaiming 'Oh yeah, brotha! I'm bloggin'!' to only find out he was merely posting comments about his favorite NFL team in their fan forum. Yeah, you're blogging, buddy. I could have let him continue his fantasy, but he would have found out eventually and been crushed that I didn't tell him. But as Chef says with everything, 'I don't know (insert any task he's failed at here), I know cooking'.

And he's right, that motherfucker can chef the shit outta some thin air.

Welcome to the blogosphere, Chef.

Midnight Snack

I just woke up from sleeping, which is hard to believe; typically once I fall asleep I'm gone until at least 3 alarms and a phone call wake me up. So while I was up, I thought I'd hit the blog since I'd fallen asleep before an entry couild be made. So recapping my thoughts for the day:

Argued in the morning with the wife, busy day at work, chinese buffet for lunch, worked late again, spent too long driving in the snow, came home, begrudgingly spoke to my neighbor, played with my daughter, made nice with the wife, and finally, FINALLY, stopped.

And then I fell asleep. Also, my balls hurt.

Sorry, no good stories tonight...I'm entirely too weary-eyed to even finish typ

Changing the Subject

Tonight I was going to have a quick dinner, play with my daughter, and run a couple of errands for the wife. Tonight I was going to settle in early, maybe listen to some music I'd recently written, and possibly get to bed at a normal time. Tonight's blog entry was going to be about all of that, but I'm changing the subject.

I'm changing the subject because it's nearly midnight, and I want to talk about why I'm still awake. I am still awake because I want to stick this daily blog thing out, although I could do that at any time of the day. No, my friends, the reason I have started this entry at 11:35pm and the actual reason I have yet to go to sleep is because my two year-old daughter has a bedtime that is later than some teenagers. Her bedtime is ten o'clock at fucking night. 10pm. Sometimes, she piddles around and is up way past that. Tonight, she didn't want to go to bed at all.

Now normally, when your two year-old child goes to bed, it's a reasonable time...say, 7pm, 8pm, you get the idea. Now if said child doesn't want to go to sleep, or doesn't feel well, it's no biggie...right? You can just stay up a little longer, sometimes by a few hours, and you're still in bed yourself by 10pm. Not my daughter. You see, if she is having a bad night (which happens more than occasionally) I am stuck awake until midnight,  sometimes later. When I have to be up no later than 6am, it's not a stretch to say I'm a bit annoyed with her mother, who set that ridiculous bedtime for a two year-old in the first place.

So why don't I change it, you ask? Well, for those of you who don't know (which is most of you), my wife and I are currently separated and living apart. I go there every night to play with my Pretty Pretty Princess and to put her down for the night. I do this because my wife is physically unable to (due to surgery), and it's really no big deal. Unless of course, I have been up since 6am, worked until 8pm, and then I have to stay up until the wee hours of the next morning because PPP wants to jump around and play with her toys instead of sleep. So tonight, I'm obviously annoyed, and guess who gets an attitude? Two hints: it wasn't me, nor was it PPP.

So after the general uncomfortableness that accompanies hard glances and sharp exchanges, I took PPP into her room and tried to rock her to sleep; shortly thereafter, the wife comes in and has decided she wants me to go home because she doesn't need my attitude and doesn't want me to be mad at her and the baby. There's more background to the story than that, but I'll spare the details in order to keep you from falling asleep and me from not falling asleep.

I certainly hope you've thoroughly enjoyed this entry as much as I have; now I'm going to take my old ass to bed and hopefully get a few hours of rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day, and I'm already behind on my sleep.