Better Late Than Never?

I somehow missed Blogger Poetry Reading Day yesterday.


What do you know about Ted Hughes? I didn't know much. To me, he was always the guy who killed Sylvia Plath. Of course, that's not true, things are rarely that simple.

This year, I was gifted by a dear friend with two volumes of his poetry.

This one is from Birthday Letters. It is addressed to Sylvia, as are all but two in the collection. They are deeply personal, intimate, and occasionally disturbing. Reading some of them almost makes me feel like a voyeur, peering into the raw emotion of an intense but flawed relationship.

If you can't guess what this one says to me, you haven't been paying attention.


The Shot

Your worship needed a god.
Where it lacked one, it found one.
Ordinary jocks became gods-
Defiled by your infatuation
That seemed to have been designed at birth for a god.
It was a god-seeker. A god finder.
Your Daddy had been aiming you at god.
When his death touched the trigger.
In that flash
You saw your whole life. You ricocheted
The length of your Alpha career
With the fury
Of a high-velocity bullet
That cannot shed one foot-pound
Of kinetic energy. The elect
More or less died on impact-
They were too mortal to take it. They were mind-stuff.
Provisional, speculative, mere auras.
Sound-barrier events along your flightpath.
But inside your sob-sodden kleenex
And your Saturday night panics,
Under your hair done this way and that way,
Behind what looked like rebounds
And the cascade of cries diminuendo,
You were undeflected.
You were gold-jacketed, solid silver,
Nickel-tipped. Trajectory perfect
as through ether. Even the cheek-scar,
Where you seemed to have side-swiped concrete,
served as a rifling groove
To keep you true.
Till your real target
Hid behind me. Your Daddy,
God with the smoking gun. For a long time
Vague as mist, I did not even know
I'd been hit,
Or that you had gone clean through me-
To bury yourself at last in the heart of the god.

In my position, the right witchdoctor
Might have caught you in flight with his bare hands,
Tossed you, cooling, one hand to the other,
Godless, happy, quieted.
I managed
A wisp of your hair, your ring, your watch, your nightgown.

My Plea . . .

I'm listening to this sound track on the headphones today while I'm working, and this song came on. It struck me as extremely appropriate, considering the events of this weekend. Listen to the lyrics, it's very dammed appropriate.

And yes, I knew him before he was famous.

I'm good today.

Tuesday was Dylan's birthday, and we went to Victoria to eat and do a little shopping.

Last night, I had planned to make pork and green chili tacos, but my green chili seems to have disappeared. I made something else, which took longer, so I basically spent all night in the kitchen or on the phone.

Why on the phone? My sister called with news about Scottie. Good news. . . . stay tuned!

About That Purge . . .

Brave Sir Robin had a bad weekend.

I can't really share much of it with you, I may at a later date, but possibly not.

Those of you who have been following this site for a while now can guess it's nature.

It is time to move on.

This blog started at a time in my life that is the opening parentheses of a series of events that this current situation may well close.

Most of my older post will come back online over the next few days. Some may be edited, some may never come back.

I will be changing the look and feel of this site as well. It won't be a drastic change, but I need to move on.

I can tell you this, I have more friends than I ever imagined.

I'm OK . . . (physically)

Guys, I'm sorry if I alarmed you.

I was in a pretty emotional state when I took the site down last night.

I didn't feel safe, and I wasn't thinking clearly.

I have been overwhelmed by the concern and love I have been shown today.

Each and every one of you has blessed me.

I'm going to figure this out, and I will keep you posted.

Any Good Thoughts Out There?

I don't believe in prayer, but I could sure use any good thoughts, or Karma, or candles, or Whatever it is you believe in.

I'm kind of a mess at the moment.

Yeah, that again.

I Got Nothing

I'm going to skip the cross country meet tomorrow for a couple of reasons. Firstly, because I'm going to drive to Houston and see Scottie. Then, instead of driving to Houston on Sunday, I can stay home and clean my filthy house, attack the pile of laundry from hell, and actually cook a meal. Second, my allergies are in full swing and spending 4+ hours outside in a field would insure me a miserable 3 or 4 days of itching, swollen eyes, mucus-ie lungs and nose, and headaches. Oh, don't worry, I'll have those anyway, but not quit as severe if I stay indoors. Thirdly, (OK - I know I said a couple of reasons, but I didn't wake up prepared to do math), the boys don't have anywhere to be on Sunday, and we can spend a day together at home for the first time since mid-August.

So where's my head these days?

McCain is a bigger douche than I ever imagined, and believe me when I say I have a huge imagination.

I am still missing Rene' a lot. It is only a couple of weeks away from one year since I ended the relationship, and I still miss her. I've seen her several times this week, and it still hurts. I still get (quite literally) weak in the knees when I see her. If there is a silver lining to all the bullshit in my life right now, it's that I simply don't have time to be overwhelmed with Rene' induced depression. Doesn't mean it's not there, mocking me from my sub-conscious, but the immediacy of the Scottie crisis and having to fit it all in between work, kids, and household responsibilities is keeping it from crushing me as it has in the past.

I finished Atonement this week, and now I'm dying to see the film. Yes, I loved it. I started Midnight's Children yesterday. It's too early to tell, but I think it might be alright. I confess, I was a little afraid of it. Have any of you read it? Or read any Rushdie for that matter?

The boys are good - Cross Country, Football, and the Fall Play are keeping us very, very busy.

Here's a little music to get you ready for the weekend - can this song really be 12 years old already? Shit, I consider this some of my "newer" music. I gotta get out more.

The One Where I Say Thank You

Thank you.

I didn't start this blog to bleed my heart out over a love gone wrong. I didn't start it to prop myself up emotionally, but you guys have certainly done that.

I'm better today. I had to take the boys to get books and schedules and school ID's yesterday, so I took the afternoon off. After my errands, I went home and did laundry, and housework. It was the best day I've had in about three weeks.

I enjoyed the housework. The sheer luxury of scrubbing my sink and doing laundry in the middle of the afternoon was very satisfying. I cooked a "weekend meal", then watched TV with the boys. It felt normal. That in itself is a victory.

I'll take any victory, no matter how mundane it may seem.

It has been a tough summer for me.

I am hopeful that the fall will be better for me. I know I'm not out of the woods yet on this one.

I promise I'll try to get back to regular on this blog. I haven't exactly been much of a commenter lately either. When I get like this I tend to pull back into my shell. I don't feel like I have anything worthy to say, so I don't say it. I'll try to be more diligent.

Have you ever noticed that when you're in the state that I've been in lately that every song lyric seems to fit your situation to a tee? I do.

No, I'm Not Going To . . .

But this is where my head is . . . .



Thanks for sticking with me guys. I don't think I could do this by myself.

btw - Boy, do these lyrics hit the nail on the head.

I Suck (Again, Still?)

I saw her about an hour ago.

I had to leave work to run Clinton to football practice, and on the way back to the office, there she was, at her daughter's school gym, standing by her car, a mere 30 feet or so from me as I drove by. Our eyes locked.

She looked hurt, and beautiful.

I need a Xanex. Seriously, I'm fucked up. I miss her so much I'm paralyzed.

But I can't do it again.

God help me I can't.

Rough Weekend

Where do I start?

My sister came to town. I went to see her at her friends. You shouldn't have to take a Xanax before you visit your family.

I'm just sayin'. . .

Sunday, an innocent afternoon boating trip turned potentially fatal. Everyone is fine, but it could have ended much, much worse than it did.

I took the day off yesterday to recover.

Just To Let You Know . . . . . .

Yes, I'm still here. No, I'm not doing that.

My 4th of July was very, very nice. D&L had a party at the bayhouse and it couldn't have been any nicer. We had a much needed thunderstorm roll through that morning, and it remained cloudy most of the day. The weather was substantially cooler than normal for this time of year, and the clouds rolled away just in time for sunset and fireworks. There were upwards of about 70 people or so by my count and there was BBQ, boating, fireworks and a wonderfully diverse group of people. I had a chance to see a few people I haven't seen in a long time. It was nice.

Saturday and Sunday, I was a bit under the weather. Sunday, I did manage to watch that epic Wimbledon battle. I was pulling for Federer, but my hat is off to Nadal. To be that good on clay and on grass is beyond impressive.

Yesterday after work, I went to the grocery store, and I felt really, really old. The in-store music was early-mid eighties new wave.

In the grocery store.

I was out of high school when those songs were popular and now they are deemed unobtrusive enough to be background music in a grocery store. The Clash, the Police, the Motels, the Romantics, the Talking Heads for Christ's sake!! I enjoyed the music, so I guess I'm officially in their target demographic.

I wish I could remember all of the songs they played, but I remember this one was playing as I walked out of the door. It was always a favorite, but I'm not sure I'd call it New Wave. I know he wouldn't.


Is he really rocking a mullet? Shit, I am old. I remember thinking how cool his hair looked in that video.

Have a great humpday.

I know Someone Like That

Interesting reading to be sure.

I don't know if articles like this should reassure me or make me feel even more stupid. Caroline Presno has obviously dealt with this type before.

To whit: (emphasis mine)

When I advise women and men about how to avoid someone with sociopathic tendencies, I tell them don't expect a monster; instead expect someone oozing with charm. Yet, underneath the heat and charisma are cold thoughts and actions devoid of empathy. Impulsivity, thrill-seeking, and constant boredom are characteristic.

Relationships are used as stepping stones to get them where they want to go. They have an uncanny ability to push someone to the brink, but then suck them back into the relationship again. It's drama, and they love it.

Boy, it's like she was there.

Maybe This Is Why I Work So Hard

This was on Writer's Almanac this morning and it really spoke to me.

The Rider

by Naomi Shihab Nye

A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn't catch up to him,
the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.
What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.
A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.

Wonderful poet. I was introduced to her a few months ago, and I just can't get enough of her.

They're Back!

Just when you think it's safe to go into the backyard again. . . . .

They're back.

Yes, the dreaded puss caterpillar, AKA - asp, has made a reappearance at the castle grounds. I had these last year on my loquat tree. I noticed one this evening, and closer inspection revealed 7 of them. They were much tinier than last year's, but the fact that I have them two years in a row worries me. I obviously didn't get them all last year.

Ugh!

It's funny how all roads seem to lead back to Rene'. It was right after I made that post last year that she called me with hopes of reconciliation. I tried. God how I tried. We made it all the way to October.

I don't see that happening this year.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back . . .

No, I'm not turning into a Paula Abdul fan.

I had one of those dreams last night. It was vivid and real. She showed up with a box of pictures from one of our trips, and it was so real to me I could feel the texture of the prints on my finger tips, I could smell the scent of her soap in my nostrils. It didn't have any of that surreal feeling that is so common in dreams, it was just the way it would happen in real life, it was awkward at first, then comfortable and yes, wonderful.

I rarely remember my dreams at all.

Very rarely.

Except for those.

I remember thinking (in the dream), I can't do this again, I can't do this again, even as I was clearly basking in the glow of her company.

I woke up and I swear I could smell her soap on the pillow next to me.

The good news is, that even a couple of months ago, that dream would have given me a miserable week.

Today, it gave me a miserable half a day.

I'll take progress however it comes.

I Feel Like Virginia Woolf.

There are 12 teenage boys in my house.

6 are in the den. - They carried a 32" TV down the stairs so they could hook up 3 Xboxes to 2 TV's in an arcane connection of cables, codes and online passwords. They are shooting each other with Spartan delight in a ballet of alien destruction, otherwise known as a six player/online game of Halo. Two are upstairs playing Wi, and yelling down the score of the Rockets game. The other 4, if you're counting, are in the pool room. 2 are playing pool, 2 are throwing darts.

Along with the sound of guns blasting, shouts of dismay, (or Joy - depending on if you're winning or losing), pool balls clicking, and electronic dart boards playing carnival midway tunes, is the cacophony of 12 cell phones, ringing, beeping, and texting in an unholy blend of electronic madness and horrible Hip Hop ring tones.

How one can text a girl, shoot a fellow Halo player, question his manhood for getting shot, and manage to eat a plate of chips and dip while carrying on an intelligible conversation about the NBA playoffs is beyond my realm of understanding.

They smell of sweat, grass, pizza, and an indistinguishable funk that can only be ascribed to teenage boys.

They are well fed.

By my estimation they have eaten approximately 27 pounds of food. That does not include the (up to now) 54 soft drinks, 4 quarts of Kool Aid, and untold cubes of ice. The birthday cake, is, as of yet, untouched. Post Xbox, I feel certain the feeding frenzy will again ensue.

I am in my computer room. The door is closed. Nora Jones is wistfully singing of a love gone not quite right. The room was cleaned today. The carpet smells sweet and clean. . . . "Spring Fresh, I think the container of carpet fresh said. The monitor is the only light, and I am at peace, knowing I am master of all these boys need to be happy, yet glad to be slightly removed from them.

A room of one's own is a joyous thing.

Happy Birthday Clinton.

Call Me Perseus

Medusa by Sylvia Plath

Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs,
Eyes rolled by white sticks,
Ears cupping the sea's incoherences,
You house your unnerving head -- God-ball,
Lens of mercies,
Your stooges
Plying their wild cells in my keel's shadow,
Pushing by like hearts,
Red stigmata at the very center,
Riding the rip tide to the nearest point of
departure,

Dragging their Jesus hair.
Did I escape, I wonder?
My mind winds to you
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable,
Keeping itself, it seems, in a state of miraculous
repair.

In any case, you are always there,
Tremulous breath at the end of my line,
Curve of water upleaping
To my water rod, dazzling and grateful,
Touching and sucking.
I didn't call you.
I didn't call you at all.
Nevertheless, nevertheless
You steamed to me over the sea,
Fat and red, a placenta

Paralyzing the kicking lovers.
Cobra light
Squeezing the breath from the blood bells
Of the fuchsia. I could draw no breath,
Dead and moneyless,

Overexposed, like an X-ray.
Who do you think you are?
A Communion wafer? Blubbery Mary?
I shall take no bite of your body,
Bottle in which I live,

Ghastly Vatican.
I am sick to death of hot salt.
Green as eunuchs, your wishes
Hiss at my sins.
Off, off, eely tentacle!

There is nothing between us.



This seemed appropriate. Alas, I am not Perseus, but I'm trying.

I Should Have Known Better

It’s been a while since I’ve given you a general where’s my head today post.

There are several reasons for that.

One, I’ve been busy. Really, really busy. I have a list of things to post about that is getting longer, and longer, and longer. . . . , to the point that some of them may no longer be topical by the time I get to them.

Two, I’m trying really hard to change the tone of this blog, I didn’t want it to become the damn I’m lonely, damn I still miss Rene’ blog. Sometimes, I feel like that’s all I write. Hell, sometimes I feel like that’s all I feel.

Three, I’ve had a pen pal of sorts here lately who has shown a strong desire to listen to all that rot, and spare you from reading it. Thank you, btw – You know who you are.

The truth is, I go up and down. If I am anything, I am honest. I still miss her. I was in a classic abusive relationship. I know it, I see it, but she was good at what she did. She caught me in an emotionally needy time, and she knew what buttons to push and she played me like a maestro.

Last Thursday, I went to Dylan’s OAP contest. While I was there, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in some time, and she introduced me to a totally charming young woman. (If you’re familiar with the French rule, she just made the cut-off.) This young lady sat next to me, and we watched four plays together. During the shows, we whispered to one another about the acting, directing, or the cutting of the One Acts. In between productions, she brought up topics such as Shakespeare, various films, including more than one of my favorites, the merits of Houston as opposed to small towns and yes, even organic produce. Not exactly the kind of topic I get presented with on a regular basis. Not around these parts, that’s for sure. Well, in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m pretty darn good at those topics. On the way home Clinton (#3 son), commented that we “really seemed into each other”. He notices those things. The next day, I told my email friend the following:

I don't know if I'll ever even see her again, but for just a few hours, I actually felt normal and alive. I sat there with an intelligent, and very cute young lady and we both quite obviously enjoyed one another's company. It reminded me that others may actually sometimes see more in me than I see in myself.

I meant that at the time. I really did. Just knowing that she enjoyed my company was enough. The more I thought about her, the more I wanted to get to know her. Today, I emailed the friend who introduced me to her. She’s dating someone.

A Coach.

It’s always a coach.

It seems I had invested a little more hope into that situation than I counted on because I find myself much more disappointed than I anticipated.

I actually considered calling Rene’.

I didn’t.

I won’t.

The fact that it crossed my mind scares the hell out of me.

If You're Keeping Score At Home . . . .

Thanks for all the kind words in yesterday's comments.

Here's the deal:

Work has been not so good. Mid-project my boss decided to switch software packages. I tried to explain that there would be a "learning curve" for the new system. He failed to believe it. Two weeks later he's pissed because we are behind schedule. It kinda blew up yesterday.

I really tried to explain to him what would be best for my client, but he had grand visions.

Anyway, I took care of the client, (my way) yesterday, and the client is happy. Boss is happier, now that client is happy, but now doubting new software. Problem is - I WANT the new software, it is something we should have started doing long ago, but mid-project with ZERO training is not the way to go.

I think in his mind it was just like switching from Internet Explorer to Firefox or something. Not so much.

So . . . . . . My schedule for the week -

Saturday, I worked. With interruptions to run over to the track meet to catch #2 son's events.

(btw - #3 son had a track meet Friday afternoon, I did the same thing)

Sunday (time change) we left the house at 9:00AM to meet their Mother in Sealy, (two hours away). I drove on to Pearland to a friends house where I used their computer to work for a few hours, then we went for (really good) Italian Food. We went back to their house and watched Beautiful Girls and went to bed.

Monday - I woke up and left Pearland early, got to work about 10:00 and worked until 7:00 PM

Tuesday - Went to work from 6:00 AM-7:30 PM, then went grocery shopping.

Today - (Wednesday) - I got to work at 5:30 AM, I go pick the kids up tonight, so I will leave here at 5:00. (two hours there, two hours back) I will get home tonight at 9:00. I then have to feed the kids.

Thursday - work
Friday - work
Saturday - I hope to take off.
Sunday - Ryan and Zoe go back.
Monday - same old grind.

I need longer days.

It's Tuesday, I Should Post Something . . .

Sorry I haven't posted since Friday, between track meets, taking the kids to see their Mother for spring break, and missing deadlines at work, I haven't been feeling "bloggy".

Truth is, I'm pretty down these days. It comes in waves - I can't say what triggers it.

So some random observations:

Spitzer's an idiot, and yes, he should resign. Truly, the main thing he had going for him was his unimpeachable ethics. Now, not so much. I will NEVER understand the prostitute thing. (I may expound on this in a post later) Also, I wish his wife would have used the press conference to announce Divorce proceedings. (btw - this type of betrayal has nothing to do with attractiveness, sex, etc.... but DAMN, she's hot!!, and a Harvard grad! Eliot is an idiot!)


I saw this film Sunday on cable. I didn't expect to like it, but I did. It reminded me how talented Natalie Portman is, and how I wish she could find some decent roles.

Oil at 109 a barrel. It was below 20 when Shrub took over. Guess those secret energy policy meetings really worked out huh? Btw - that task force was set up his second week in office. "Heck of a job Bushie"


A little obvious maybe, but practical nonetheless, 20 tips for reducing stress.

And finally, not because it is the soundtrack to this post, it isn't, it is far too optimistic, but because I wish it was: