Saturday, July 25, 2015


At the end of the night, I feel that what most of us want is someone to make us glad and hold us when we're sad. Why is it that so often we have to do these things for ourselves,  and excuse the people we love when they are unable or unwilling to do these things? And why do we in turn try to give even more? Why would anyone bleeding to death try to donate blood?

Tuesday, July 21, 2015


My two blogs are generally not tied together, but for the past week or so they've both had exactly 100 posts. Pretty wild stuff. I didn't even want to write another new on either, in fear of pushing the ticker past the spot of similarity. I don't think I've ever noticed either being close, and I cannot remember a time where both were at the same number either.

But for just a few days in July of 2015, not only were they the same, but they were both sitting at the century mark.

Well, anyways...

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Ten years

In life, we all have anniversaries. It's easy to get caught up in certain things and almost miss them. Of course I remember my birthday, the birthday of my parents, siblings, grandmother and fiancée. I remember the day my jaw was broken. And, I remember the day my grandpa died.

I am a man of very little resentment. I believe that, for the most part, the majority of the things that have happened in my life have served a purpose. I can look back on every failed relationship as a learning experience and a way to better myself. Every job I’ve lost has helped me grow as well. I’d also like to think that I’m doing pretty well for myself in 2015.  But as far as resentment goes, I can clearly see certain occasions that stir pain in my heart.

I have previously written about the events of January 3rd 2003. As much as I despise thinking back to that day, I am equally pained by the 9th day of July, 2005. The day that my grandpa died. If I had known that he was so close to passing, I would have certainly been by his bedside and not stuck at work. Worst of all, I would not have had to face my parents as they delivered the news to me 2 hours before the end of my shift. Those two hours were so painfully numbing that I am still not sure how I got through them without breaking down and weeping.

Granted, we knew it was his time. And yes, I had seen him just a few days earlier. I had told him I loved him and given him a hug. He painfully accepted it and showed the same love and compassion in his eyes that I had seen so many times before. But not being able to be near him (and especially being stranded at work) at the end has always made me sad. The fact that his death and funeral played a part in me losing that job a few months later makes those thoughts even more bitter.

If he were still alive today, Grandpa would be a hearty 72 years old. He died just over a month short of his 63rd birthday. I still remember seeing the look on my grandmother’s face when we visited her on what would have been that celebratory day. It was hard. I believe that 62 is far too young an age to die, especially when you are a man filled with the wisdom that my grandfather had. A man that had so much to give and yet had it all ripped away from him by strokes just two short years before.

It still hurts me. I still think about him often. As I move forward with my life, I count backwards at the milestones he never got to see. I have a few pictures with him before my graduation day of high school, but he never got to see my younger siblings graduate. He won’t be there when they graduate college. I couldn’t call him in February and tell him about the job promotion I got that made me happier than I could have ever dreamed. He has never met my fiancée.

(here come the waterworks)

Kelly and I have spoken about Grandpa many times. She understands more than anyone else what it means for him not to be here, and for not to have been here for the past two years. We got engaged in February of 2013, but I remember in the time leading up to it that I was lamenting the fact that I could not get a fresh piece of his guidance and wisdom. He probably would have then been the first person I called to tell of the news when she said yes. But it’s the events since then that have struck me the hardest.

He won’t be at my wedding. He won’t meet my children. They will never hear his stories from his point of view. He used to tell us grandkids many of the same stories over and over again, and my sisters would remind him that he had already told us that particular story. They might wander, but I would always ask him to tell the tale again. Who cares if I knew all the words and details? I just wanted to hear his voice, see his face, and feel his warmth. I can still hear him singing “Coward of the County” or “Can You Feel The Love Tonight”, the latter of which will always bring me to tears because of that. Just the other day, I was remembering him singing the song about the man who spoke to God about what a million dollars and a million years was to Him. I can still hear his voice clear as can be, as if he had just sung it to me yesterday.

My children will never hear that voice. They will never benefit from his wisdom, and I will never have been able to ask him about raising them. They will hopefully still have bother of their grandmothers (by the grace of God), but as a man I feel as though I will be severely handicapped by not having him as well. In writing this, I may have already cried a bucket of tears, but the thought of him not being there for them makes me cry a gallon more. Even ten years later, it stings with intensity unlike anything I have felt in my life.

I try not to think about it. I try to remember that I had 18 years with him, and that it's 18 years of wisdom that I could never trade for anything in life. 18 years of kindness, compassion and care. 18 years of stories, songs and smiles. Gophers, gardening, and “Grace!!”. There could only ever be one Grandpa. It may just be hindsight, but it’s all that I have left. And it's good to get these words out before I head over to the graveyard to have another conversation with him.

Grandpa and I before my high school graduation

At my graduation party

Saturday, July 4, 2015

A thought on hugs

I've always said that a good hug can cure any bad mood. I know it's 100% true. I can remember back two years ago when I was working on Thanksgiving (and having a purely rotten day) and one of my best friends just showed up and almost tackled me with a hug. It flushed out all my negativity and filled me with a sense of complacency about things. It was great.

Of course, with my bananas mind, I've started thinking about the last time I hugged people that I loved to hug. What a silly thing to do. Finding reasons to be sad for no reason whatsoever.

Anyways, it got me thinking about people who I used to love. People who I've thought about myself being with. People who I still love. Things along those lines. Again, a morbid level of toxicity that I feel only I would approach.

I think it was spurned on by the thought of an old fling of mine. At the end of my relationship with my crazy ex, I became infatuated with a beautiful and enticing girl from work. She ended up pushing me to break up with my ex, but our fling was short lived and she ended up moving to North Carolina, where she has resided ever since. It made me wonder; what would I have done differently if I knew that that last time we had lunch at Max and Ermas would be the potential last time I saw her? Hindsight, I know.

It's stupid to think about such things. What I really think about is how much better off I'd be just hugging everyone. Or how much more I'd be in jail? I don't know. I need hugs, man. I need em!

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

In and of time

The old me would have written a dozen blogs the last two weeks. My brain has been overflowing with things that need to be put out and away.

But instead I've been coming how and crashing every night. Each of the last two weeks I've had 7 day spans where I didn't get a day off of work. I'm happy for the money, but my body is beaten. To top it all off, I went 4 straight days not being able to fall asleep before 3am. Tired I was, but sleep I did not.

But Wednesday and Thursday marks the first span of 2 days off in a row that I've had in a while. Hopefully I'll be able to cobble out some thoughts, because July is going to be a buusssy month.

Sunday, June 21, 2015

The worst of all the fictional holidays

Things only get worse as I get older.

I don't know when the bitterness really set it. I've never wanted to be someone who lived with regrets but at the same time I wasn't the one going around fucking every whore under the sun while my kids played alone. I'm not the one who made promises that I never followed through on. I'm not the liar. I'm not the cheater. But I hate the fact that I'm the victim of it all.

There's almost a sense of rage inside of me towards my own naivety. It's easy to claim hindsight but I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. I've chatted with my sister about things and we're on a fairly level playing field for it all. A lot of times I just say "it is what it is" when I don't want to think about things, but every year this damned fake holiday comes around and reminds me of all of the bitter bullshit inside of me.

I didn't even do anything. I know that the closer I come to marriage and especially children, the more I lament about the things I missed and the things I wasn't given. I don't want to whine about it but every year I see hundreds of people talking about how great things were or are for them and it just pisses me off.

Call me a cynic. Call me a bad child. Call me a crybaby. Call me blind! I know there were good times too. But we were having a conversation the other day about baseball games and I was trying to think about the first time we ended up going to one in Cincy. In my mind, I can't even pull up 5 games that we went to together.  As a family, sure; but not us. And most family events in my memory center around my sisters and my mother (and to a lesser and generally embarrassing/forgettable extent, me)

I don't have a great book of quotes. I don't have a paragon of wisdom. I don't have sun-washed rainbow memories. I have myself crying on the couch about my future and being told it's too bad. I have myself begging for some sort of ANYTHING and being given the same lame duck answers. I don't think so. We'll think about it. Maybe some other time. No.

If you didn't think I'd remember every single one of those times, you were wrong. You know why? Because I was always wrong! It was never you! It was always me, and trust me I do remember that it was always me. Everything was always my fault. Everything I ever said was wrong. Even when I told the truth, I took the blame. And you even remind me! Ahhh!

It will never be this way for my children. If I can take anything positive away from all of this, it's that I know exactly how NOT to be.

The end. Fuck today.

Saturday, June 13, 2015


i should probably stop asking myself questions.

and when i bled in darkness, you held me, still held me...