The End of Phase 2 Pt. 3: Notes.

From the pages of Thought Processing (my handwritten journal):

Purchase a copy of Yes Please by Amy Poehler and highlight the shit out of that book.

Screw the partnership. Start writing posts for the books we carry and hopefully others will follow. Maybe ask local writer friends to write a post about their favorite book (the one that said this is it. I’m a writer/reader/book lover). (Michael Jones, Richard Sanchez, Anne Estevis, etc.)

Start working on “Stories for Shaun” in lieu of “Letters to Shaun.” Regular WordPress blog?

What’s phase 3? More about life and writing? More books? More posts about being a father? Bug Ashton about new banner.

Write. Write. Write. Never stop writing.

Possible post titles:
1. Lessons in Letting Go
2. Letter to Jeanna—”The Greatest Bastard” Damien Rice.

Stop being so afraid of moving forward, goddamnit!

Find “gift of fear.”

“They are not long, the weeping + the laughter.”

There are shards of memories I want to share with you. Maybe to put together, or maybe to bury. Truth is, I don’t know what I want to do with them. The only thing we can be certain of is that these pieces aren’t meant to hollow a path to return to us. They aren’t bread crumbs from a crumbling romance grown stale and moldy. They’re simply shards of memories. A declaration. A proclamation. Just reminders that it was never in my intention to let you down.

Sometimes I forget [illegible] There are times when you don’t get a rejection. Sometimes this [illegible] rejectionlessness eats you up more than a no would. You begin to feel that you are so unworthy of anything

There are times when you don’t get a rejection. And, at times, this may seem worse than if she had just said no. A part of you There’s nothing you can do about this one. Asking again is just a set up [for] ridicule. If you were clear of your intentions the first time, a second time will not garner you an answer.

Never expose yourself to the world [illegible] Several people will say personality trumps everything else. However, I’ve noticed the vanity of those around on a day to day basis. This is not to deter you from trying to meet someone who is “out of your league.” There are no leagues. Just shallow and the deep. Shallow people are the here and now. They say things like, “Can you blame me for They create superficial high standards. They care only about chiseled features or unnaturally large tits. They worship cosmetics like a Christian Catholic on Easter Sunday.


I wonder when I grow old, my face will remain scowled. As if my expectations of the world have left me perpetually disappointed.


“Help me start to heal”

I refuse to remain in regrets
To pander like a slave to your wants
No contrition from me will you get
No submission to dilettantes (No)

I’ve existed too long in secrets
I have lived like a man confined
Epicene and elaborate
Fatalistic and resigned (No)

A momentary lapse of the ground I gained the last few weeks this weekend. On more than one level, that is. I sought comfort in two people. Ashton and I have our moments of closeness online and through text message. She’s the sister I truly never wanted (I kid).

Exhibit A: My Son's Laughter is My Favorite Track
Exhibit A: My Son’s Laughter is My Favorite Track

I regressed, and that’s all right. It’s not like I made a mistake. I’m allowed these momentary lapses of judgement. My words get ahead of me before I can think them through.

I spent my Saturday night with Shaun, who decided bedtime was at nine-thirty. I spent my time texting Ashton and Angela (geez, what’s with the A-names?). I spent two hours doing nothing but until Shaun decided I should join him in sleep by kicking me the face (he was asleep). I went to bed with him and he woke up about thirty minutes later. He’s still not sleeping through the night, but he’s almost there. I’m sure.

There are times when I’m still in awe that he’s mine. I don’t know if this novel feeling will ever evaporate. I’m in love with this kid’s smile, and his laugh. And his face. I’m in love with his being and the breath he exhales. Even after all I lost, his being here on this natural world is all I need to keep me going.


“If you knew my story word for word…”

Usually when things gone this far, people tend to disappear
No one will surprise me unless you do.
I can tell there’s something goin’ on, hours seem to disappear
Everyone is leaving, I’m still with you

Exhibit A: The Pants
Exhibit A: The Pants

There’s a pair of jeans hanging off the door of some office next to the old Citrus Theater. I haven’t a clue why they’re there. As far as I know, there’s not a business there. Besides, would that even constitute an excuse? I own a business; these are my pants! I’ll scratch my head about that one, because the last three days out they’ve just hung there. And who knows how long, except the person who left them. And whoever left them there, why did you leave them there? And did you have a spare to change into, or did you go through the rest of the day/night in just your underwear? Is this some political statement? A movement in the doll underground that I haven’t heard of yet?

Ashton booked a ticket to visit me in August. This is something I’m both excited and anxious about. I don’t consider me good company, and I rarely play the host. Still, I get to meet Ashton. So that’s something.

Meanwhile, the girl (girl sounds a little condescending, but woman just doesn’t hit the ear right and lady makes me feel like Jerry Lewis) who is currently occupying my conscious mind has made it into my subconscious. Last night’s dream left me with a smile when I woke up this morning (not that sort of dream, you pervs).

I don’t think I’ll mention anymore about today. Except the words, “a beautiful breath of indifference” are echoing in my head. And that’s eerie.


“She may not be Miss Right, but she’ll do right now”

I used to hang on every word
Each lie was more absurd
Kept me so insecure
But now that’s over

She taught me how to trust
And to believe in us
And then she taught me how to cuss… that bitch!
It’s over

I recruited Ashton, my hipsis (despite the way it sounds, that isn’t some sort of venereal disease, but a combination of hipster and sister), in my creative writing endeavor. An extra layer for what I’m planning on (a thought occurred to me when we chatted via text message earlier). So far, there are two people who know what I’m working on. That’s Ashton and Angela (their alliteration is purely coincidental).

Yesterday, I started working on myself. My body, that is. How many times have I stated this in the past? A few months ago (yeah, months), I downloaded an app called Zombies 5K, a lite version (it seems) of the more popular Zombies, Run. Finally, someone made a fitness app for people like me.

It’s not just the exercising. It’s everything. For too long I spent my life feeling like I’m not good enough. And after years of having to alter my appearance, my mindset, feelings, thoughts, personality (and we’re not just talking about one person here), I realized that I no longer know who I am. Cliche, I know. But that’s just it. Somewhere along the way to this, I took a path of indifference towards me.

And I know that’s adolescent of me to even think like that, but fuck it. I’m listening to a boy band disguised with instruments, how much less adult can I act now? Well, I guess it’s possible to act less mature. I mean, Avril Lavigne, who’s two years my junior, still sings like she did when she first hit the scene. But that’s beside the point.

I need to love me before I dupe someone into loving me again. That’s how the saying goes, right?

Doldrums · Music

Say Yes

I’m in love with the world through the eyes of a girl
who’s still around the morning after.
We broke up a month ago, and I grew up – I didn’t know
I’d be around the morning after

It’s always been wait and see
A happy day and then you’ll pay
And feel like shit the morning after
But now I feel changed around
And instead of falling down
I’m standing up the morning after
Situations get fucked up and turned around sooner or later
I could be another fool or an exception to the rule
You tell me the morning after.

Crooked spin can’t come to rest
I’m damaged bad at best
She’ll decide what she wants
I’ll probably be the last to know
No one says it ’til it shows
See how it is, they want you or they don’t
Say yes.

I’m in love with the world through the eyes of a girl
Who’s still around the morning after…

Sometimes there are things I wanna just get off my chest. But the privacy of my blog has changed drastically and I’m not ready to even begin to speak about these sort of things out loud in the company of others who will either reject or accept me. Instead, I lose myself in the white sun of afterthought and the cursed waves of forethought. Ashton told me she’d kick my ass if I wasn’t allowing myself some sliver of happiness, but there are somethings that take time to heal or even begin the process anew. I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I may have hope for something new in life, but I’m not giving up my hopes.