Sometimes lately, I feel adrift on the waves of life. OK. That's not entirely true. I've had these feelings my whole life. Not constantly. And certainly not for most of the 12 years I was on anti-depressants (a story for another time). But no...there have been pockets in my life where there was a ...nagging. Like I know that while life may be good (or in some cases not so good), that there was more I was supposed to be doing.

I read a great blog post on writing. And owning up to being a writer. And it reminded me of the line in Throw Mama From The Train, "A writer writes." And I would agree with that. I like to tell people that I am a story teller. That I use whatever medium I need to use to tell the story...words...photos...music...lyrics... As long as I tell the story.

But I gotta be honest. I've always been a writer. I think the other stuff comes in to being because there are some things I don't quite know how to convey in words. Or because I have to have some kind of outlet. I don't know. I love writing. I love taking pictures. I love playing music. It's a connundrum.

Or not. Not really. I make some big lamentation...like Oh shit...I have to write...or take pics or play music to release the shit floating in my head. Like it's some big deal. It's not. It's really just how I'm wired. I think it does in some ways go back to the whole story teller thing. Words are definitely my first choice though.

There's just something so fucking sexy about the right combination of words. When you read it it just sends you to that place that's not of this realm.

I don't know that I've written anything quite like that. At least not lately. Unless you count that whole fucking sexy thing just now..because between you and me....meow.

I'm kidding. In case you haven't figured it out...this is one of my patented "I haven't written shit for so long that I'm trying to remember how to even present something cogent" posts. You can identify these posts by the lack of any real meat about my life at the time. Stories of an upcoming trip to NY next week...of my court date on 11/25...or whether or not I'm going to a concert next week on my own. None of these details are present. It's really all about how many words I can get on the screen before you, the loyal reader, turn away with a hearty, "WTF just happened?"

Lucky for you, my lunch break is over. So, you may not get to that point in this post. But on the next one, look out.


Peace out,




F*ck That Wagon

I'm gonna jump past the weekend frivolities (of which there were plenty) and jump right back in to the meat of it.

F*ck the wagon. No, seriously. People talk about 'falling off the wagon' all the time. Generally it's in relation to some kind of addiction. And I guess that fits to an extent. I started the "No Morc


Alright. My keyboard is acting a fool. I'll come back to this shit later


Cloudy With A Chance of Drunk

No. I'm not drunk at the moment. Ask me again in 5 hours. That could all change. Today's a pretty monumental day. It's been 7 months since I moved out of her house. I say her house not to be a dick, but because the house is in her name. Literally, it's her house. And there's all the metaphoric bullshit I could tumble in to with that reference, but really, what's the point?

Today I'm going downtown to file the paperwork. I think we finally have everything we need to end this shit. Our accounts will differ, I'm sure, they always do when two or more people try to recollect tragic events, but this day has been years in the making.

44 pieces of paper. Several notarized signatures. Several more just normal signatures. 8 paper clips. 2 staples. $175 bucks. That's what it takes to end 11 years of a life with someone. At least legally. The mental and emotional adjustments will take longer. Of that I have no doubt. I've lost my best friend. That's a statement of fact. No emotion implied there. Although, again, that loss happened years ago. We're just now getting around to facing that fact and taking care of the legal side of things.

Depressed? Probably. This is not the normal chain of events one expects to traverse in life. So, yeah. I'm a bit off of my game at the moment. Tie that in to the fact that I haven't been able to immerse myself in my normal exercise regime and I'm feeling pretty fucking bonkers at the moment.

You can keep your pills, though. I went down that road years ago. I was going through some shit and the docs put me on meds. What followed was 12 years of jumping from one happy pill to the next when the previous no longer made me feel 'normal.' Which, of course was a fucking joke. They didn't make me feel normal. They didn't make me feel anything--good or bad. When it got to the point where they were going to put me on a cocktail of anti-depressants because I wasn't feeling as happy as some chart said I should, I put my foot down. I had lost who I was. Fuck that shit.

Here's the irony, in looking back at this. The person I was that N- met and (presumably) fell in love with was the medicated-me. Shit started getting real when I got off the meds. The timing may or may not coincide with when (in my mind) things took a turn for the worse. Interesting, though. Here I was, happy as fuck to start feeling like my old self again...and the self she fell for was going away. No...don't worry...I'm not shouldering all of the blame for this, folks. The succes and/or inevitable decline of a marriage requires both parties. One person can't make it succeed....nor can one person cause it to fail. It just doesn't work that way.


Funny word. The marriage evolved in to something that neither of us wanted. We were heading down a road that we both stayed on for far too long, possibly out of obligation. Actually.... I stayed on it too long. I can't speak for her. I don't know her anymore. I'm not sure I really did. And that's fine. That's what makes it interesting. It's what gives me dime-store fodder for this self-important and borderline narcissistic rant of a blog I indulge myself in under the guise of staying sane.

Sanity. That's a gem of a word.

I once heard it said that if you question whether or not you are insane, you aren't. To an extent I think that's true. In my case, though, I don't really question my sanity anymore. I know there are some bats in my belfry. And I'm OK with that. You can't be any sort of person that considers themself creative without falling somewhere on the crazy scale. My insanity isn't really the kind that is outwardly apparent. It's more subversive than that. I don't know how much I really should divulge. They are watching, you know.

I am adrift in some respects. My job is going great (Seriously...no bullshit. I don't think I've ever felt I fit in to a company as well since perhaps the first time I worked at MicroCenter in the early 90's). My place feels like home. I still have some unpacking/organizing to do, but it's my place. My personality is all over that som'bitch. Just emotionally there are some holes. There were things planted....things with roots. Things that I expected to grow and blossom. And those things had to be pulled from the soil. Now there are holes where those things were. I'll fill them eventually. I just need to tiptoe a bit for the time being so that I don't fall in to the holes.

The iPad is gone. I'm fully vested in the iPad Mini now. It's a better fit in a lot of ways. I'm still annoyed that the other one never made its way back home, but shit happens.

Alright...now I'm just reaching for shit. I think it's time to head back to work.

I will have to transcribe the new 'Who's on First' sketch that played out in my head on the way home yesterday using the concept of someone calling Tech Support and getting their password reset. Shit was cracking me up. I definitely have to share that one.

Alright...heading back to work, then downtown in 3 hours to get shit filed.

Peace out and Happy Hump Day...or Humpy Hap Day...or whatever...







First off I want to just say that apparently the word "habanero" is spanish for "hot as bloody hell when things soak in it over night." Yeah. The wings I had last night (from Clucker's...the mango/habanero) were warm last night. Today at lunch there was about 10X the heat. And I'm pretty sure that the first person to have ever written about the stench of fire and brimstone was standing next to someone who had these wings for dinner. Wow. Some days it's a very good thing that I live alone. Pretty sure even the dog would have disowned me after last night.

And then to follow that up, this morning I'm heading out to work and I break the damn door handle on my car. Don't ask me how, but shit is broke. A few friends tell me it's a fairly easy fix...so that may be Sunday's project. Crazy.

Anywhoo...speaking of crazy shit that goes through my head....I had a scene my head about Jesus (yes, THAT Jesus) pitching an idea for a book to his publisher. I can't control where the thoughts come from, but it goes a little something like this:

Publisher (P): Mr. Christ, what can I do for you?

Jesus (JC): Please, Jesus is fine. Anyway...I had an idea for a book.

P: Great! What's the message?

JC: Love each other.

P: And?

JC: No and. That's it. Love each other.

P: Who's the bad guy?

JC: Bad guy? It's about love, man. Why does there have to be a bad guy?

P: What's going to motivate people to just love each other?

JC: Because it's the right thing to do. And it's the key to everything.

P: What else is in the story?

JC: Nothing man. It's about love. That's all you need.

P: I don't think that will fly. Look...I've been doing this thing a while. I'm telling you...you need a bad guy. And a reason for people to buy in to this love thing.

JC: Look. It's a simple message. It's what Dad was trying to say too, in his old school way. Can't we just put out a book about loving each other...no judgement...no bias...none of that. Just love each other as we love ourselves.

P: Look, Jesus. I get what you're saying. I really do. But you need a bad guy...lots of them, maybe. You have to scare the people. Then when they are frightened and weak you have to shine a light in their dark place and THEN you tell them about love. If you try to do this any other way, the critics'll crucify you, my friend.

JC: Well...I certainly wouldn't want that...not on my first book.

P: I hear ya kid. Listen..go work on a few drafts...maybe grab some of your friends to jot down their ideas...kick a few different drafts around...it's not like anything is written in stone. Let's talk next week and go from there.



And A Big Ole WTF To You, Too, Tuesday

I woke up thinking today was gonna be a pretty kick ass day. I had a dream that I actually remembered. I attribute that to the fact that for the first time in months, I went to bed without any medicinal aids of any kind and decided to just sleep.

It was a rather vivid dream involving the photographer who shoots the Humans of New York Blog and 2 of his friends. I have, of course, never met him or his friends and I have no idea if my visual represensation of the three of them bears any similarity to persons living or non-, but it was a pretty cool dream nonetheless. I think I might have even been getting hit on by some of his female aquaintences, but I don't know if that's one of those details your brain fills in after you wake up or not.

Regardless...I was pretty happy. The drive to work was what it always is. Which is to say, not bad, but still a commute (which I someday hope to eliminate either by becoming independently wealthy or convincing my employer to relocate within walking distance to my house.Not sure of the likelihood or timeline of either of those, actually, but hey, a fella can dream, right?).

I did get to wear my Jayne hat today, though, so yay.

Work is cool. No complaints there. I've been working on my Queens expense reports most of the morning so...that's a tad bit mind numbing, but nothing major. As you may have guessed, it's lunch time for me. And that's where it just took a turn.

I chipped a tooth on my salad (this is is as of now unconfirmed. It's either a nasty piece of gristle, a fossilized cabbage stalk...or a piece of a tooth...not sure yet).

I go to open my cantaloupe, and slice my thumb on the plastic tub it's in. WAY worse than a paper cut.

Add to that texts back and forth regarding the dissolution and it makes for a not fun morning. Not that the texts were nasty or mean or even emotionally disturbing. It's actually all been surprisingly amicable. The irony being that there was a time when we worked together and did what we each needed to do to build our future together. Now we're working together so that we can live our future lives separately.

I can't really pinpoint a time when I knew it was over. OK, that's a lie...I think I can, but that's not really anybody's business but mine at this point. But I can say that I knew there were issues when I sensed that each of us stopped caring about making things better. When we became content to just deal with shit because it is what it is. At that point, when it no longer became something worth fighting for, it was over.

And that's pretty much why I try to limit communication as much as possible. When I talk to her...I think about shit too much. I tend to shoulder quite a bit of the blame for the decline and inevitable failure of the marriage...maybe more than my share. I guess (and here's a moment of 'the real Todd)...I guess I've done that my whole life. I always figured that on some level if something I was involved in failed that it was something I did (or didn't do) that caused it. I'm still working on letting go of that. I'm still working on realizing that the fabric of my life's patchwork quilt was chosen long before I stepped in to this body and that each of the different stiches are meant to teach and instruct me (and others) along this life's path.

I am more than the outcome of events.

Sometimes it's just hard for me to accept that shit just happens.

I'm working on it, though. At this point, it's still a work in progress.


As am I.


Peace to you and yours...I'm off to check on this tooth.



Failing NaNo - 4 Years and Counting

I looked, Dear Readers, and noted that the last time I saw fit to let the words fall from my brain bucket and onto these virtual pages was o...