I’ve been nominated for a Versatile Blogger award, whatever that means. Will I partake in it? List seven things you, reader, didn’t know about me? And, after, nominate fifteen others for the same award? And where does it end? Do we just stand within this over-sized circle-jerk of bloggers and see who comes first? No, thank you. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I’m flattered but I don’t know who you are and this isn’t Myspace.
Five days shy of my thirtieth, the scent of crisis looms in the air. Three decades on this earth. And in the last year, I’ve seen the birth of my son. My milestone is all I’ve accomplished, and it’s a great one, but what will my son think of me when he’s old enough to realize that his father’s a failure? And with the course I’m on, it won’t be long to realize that I’m a fraud. Fatherhood doesn’t come with a manual, especially with the situation.
The other day, I’m accused of being too loving. Or especially loving. Perhaps it’s time to come clean. I’m sinking. There’s no sign of land. And the undertow has a grip on me. The more I try to grab on to what I know, what I know keeps pulling away. You can suspect a hidden agenda. The only thing I’m seeking is a sign of affection. And all I hear and see is false sentiment. It’s no wonder I don’t sleep at night. Because every time I close my eyes, the home movies are played. To wake up from that is murder.
My characters drink heavily, while I’ve never so much had a recreational sip. The closest I’ve come to drinking alcohol was taste testing chili after mixing in the beer. Sometimes, I wonder who I made this vow to. Life’s simpler when you drink, right? When you drown everything in a serious addiction, nothing seems to matter anymore.
“The time is right, but I feel all wrong. It fades away and now you’re gone.” My life has become a 90s romantic comedy without the romance or the comedy. A tragedy with smiles cut into the masks. I never made myself out as the hero of my story; I was happier playing the clown.
Chapin City Blues 