The Long Road Out

 I feel rejection. Scorn.   I identify as a crazy man living by myself. That’s my tribe. How did I become an oddity to myself? I dislike motion. I moved so much until my mental health crisis finally caught up with me. My marathon split times were never fast enough to outrun my own depression. Why move now when overtaken and the finish line is dismantled. My race is over and it’s time to sit by the side of the course and ponder and observe.   It’s time to consider myself, because I am all I have.  And the cats of course.  Today I go on airplanes again. Millions miler.  Do I care enough to arrange luggage or find my seat?  I’ve passed through so many gates to get somewhere and now I truly have nowhere to go.  Wondrous. Why don’t I feel differently. This is me on anti-depressants. I don’t know if I’d be better or worse when I stop taking them eventually. What’s the end game anyway? Sell my home.  Close up my shop. No need to ship those running s...

I accepted a counteroffer at 3.5m today. I feel sad. Slamming doors on a chapter I devoutly believed would take me to the grave. Not even close! I accept the offer, and I accept that I will never get the acknowledgement I desire from my ex. My 70th birthday is next weekend and I'm guessing no presents will arrive. Such is life when you give your heart to a damaged soul. You pay and pay and pay…for silence. I am troubled by my situation.  I live alone.  I am spending this evening taking down my Christmas tree alone.The only two beings who matter and who notice me are watching...my two cats.  I think they're enjoying the movement and change, and curious what it means. I hope they are very very content and safe.  They both look that way, though MM has had a days worth of diarrhea so I'm watching him carefully.   I went to a Buddhist center earlier today to attend some beginning meditation activities and then a Sunday "service."  The first part was mea...

I am so done. I do not need anything new or more or different or hopeful. It hits me like a stone. I need my heart. I need my cat. I need priceless food that I prepare. Same as always. The essential elements of love. I can disappear into this. The illumination is remote and growing dearer. Dear-less. I am drawn away, not towards, any longer.  Shall I be redrawn?  Who does that work?  Who is my pen-man?  Where is this drafting table?  Will I find what I need?  Soon?  Soonish? It makes sense that I’m low. I drank half a bottle of wine two nights ago. Depression rules for 36 hours or more per glass. I should feel happier later today. I hope so!  Now I’m alone again so no desire to drink. So that’s another bit of logic supporting isolation.  I cook less and drink little when alone.  I needed drugs and alcohol to compensate for the weak attraction and love of my marriage. I needed sexual fantasy to escape the disregard I experienc...

I got an offer on my NYC apartment yesterday. $3.3 million. My biggest desire is to conduct this transaction without ever once having to reply directly to my ex. After three years of her empty vessel behavior, she owes me. I am not available to her now. Reclaim an ounce of my power from the vampire? I don't know. But I do know I feel miserable every time I see her anodyne chirpy one liners show up in my mailbox. This is her version of Ginger Coffey's eternal conversations. My ex is the inverse of what I need, and the converse of what I desire. No wonder her novels didn't do particularly well. She's always mute when it matters. That's when writers and lovers are supposed to excel. I'm accustomed to sorting things out alone based on my family constellation history with my mom . I'll also sort the sale of my home out, as I always do. Contracts. I'm good at those! Here’s what I learned in our call during which we agreed to respond with a firm 3.55m c...

Whew. Is this how polyamorous people act? Always chipper, with not a hint of emotional depth or sophistication? You certainly put the final nail in the coffin of that sexual fantasy/nightmare. As Kim Solarplexus once so thoughtfully replied (I know far more about you than she knows about me—she met me once for an hour and a half. Last time I buy her dinner!): good riddance. You knocked me to the ground, and now the door is slamming behind me for the last time. Feel the air move again. Feel the power in my legs as I rise for the first time.

True in so so so many ways. I add my apologies to the universe. I am ashamed of our debauched species.   

I planned to work for the campaigns of Che Guevara, Ghandi, and Taylor Swift next time, but now I’m disheartened to learn that two of my choices are dead, and the third may not be running.  Unlikely any of us will be voting again anyway.  Let me know if anything changes.