my careless contagion

Before this month ends, I should say something short and sweet about being seven years sober. It may not mean anything to anyone else, but I don't want to take for granted what God did and how He set me free from that bondage. Thank you, Heavenly Father, for setting me free.  It was seven years ago in the month of April I gave up alcohol. Looking back on my life, it's easy to see why I drank so hard and for so long (about 16 years hardcore). It was a means to erase my past and forget things I couldn't forget. But freedom or forgiveness didn't come in a bottle. It came only through my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I wasn't a mean drunk or anything. I just wanted to erase myself, as I saw myself as the problem. True, my problems reside within me, but killing myself wasn't the solution. My life improved dramatically after I stopped drinking, then all the trauma from my childhood and ugly marriage came to the surface at once. I kept everything from the previous 36 ...

What if? Those are two of the most powerful words in the English language when put together. I held onto the above photo in case my "what if" came true. What if she did come back? She never did, of course, as this blog bears witness. But it got me thinking about the power of wishful thinking and what all of that means.  Wishing and hoping take place in the imagination, which is an often misunderstood and neglected part of brain. It's a beautiful place and sometimes a horrible place. It's whatever we want. We control it. Our will directs what we wish and hope for. It doesn't have to bear any resemblance to reality. And it has a power we do not fully understand. I believe everything human beings do begins right there in our imagination. Without it, we aren't human. We're robots or cattle or something. But even cattle probably imagine eating grass before they do it. Hey, how about some grass? What if I eat it? It would taste good. Let's do that. Let's...

The girl I loved chose to break things off with me nearly four years ago, for which I never blamed her. It was puzzling for a while, but eventually I worked through it. And she was right. She just wanted the best for herself and everyone else. We all want that. This post is an honest assessment of what happened and how I finally processed what occurred four years ago. My intention is to sketch the kind of man she chose — the man who chose her long ago.  Superman is a fictional character, but to that woman, the man she loves is a type of Superman. I settled on this, not only because it makes me look better because she chose him over me, but because it is the truth. I was blinded by my anger and had to let that go. It was a humbling process, but I believe that process is complete. So, let's do this, shall we? This is a sketch because I never knew the man, just what she told me about him. I'm sure it's all very accurate, as she is a precise human being with an exceptional memo...

If you read here any length of time, you may have noticed a name keeps popping up: Liz Turner. She's a model. I don't know much about her, but since when has that stopped me from writing nice things about a woman? Okay, I do know a little bit. Follow along?  Suffice to say, I'm clueless about women. Okay, I'm more than clueless. I'm a little soft in the head, perhaps. Okay, I'm retarded. What, I can't use that word? How about you pretend you didn't read it? I'm retarded, after all. I can't help it. Anyway, men like me don't get the girl. Or, I'm realizing, any girl .  I'm just a dolt, I guess. I used to read Archie comics when I was a kid. Archie had a hard time deciding which girl to be with: Betty or Veronica. If only we could all be so conflicted. Honestly, I always thought Betty was the better choice, even though she was kind of, um, dim. She was more down to earth and was probably more fun than snooty, rich Veronica. By the way, ...

It's time, I suppose. It's time to say goodbye. Okay, it's way beyond time to say goodbye. But it's always hard to put down something you've lovingly adored for so long. So it is with the girl I loved so strongly.  I'm sorry I haven't written much lately. I am sick. Too much stress. Not enough rest. Depression. The weather. But I'll be fine (unfortunately, and if I die, I go home). Just not today.  *** My cherie amour, lovely as a summer day My cherie amour, distant as the milky way My cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore You're the only girl my heart beats for How I wish that you were mine In a cafe or sometimes on a crowded street I've been near you, but you never noticed me My cherie amour, won't you tell me how could you ignore That behind that little smile I wore How I wish that you were mine Maybe someday, you'll see my face among the crowd Maybe someday, I'll share your little distant cloud Oh, cherie amour, pretty litt...

  A Place in the Sun. Just the name evokes pleasant images and good feelings. Stevie Wonder is a literal musical genius and Motown legend. I don't even know where to begin. He was such an important  — and positive — influence on my childhood. Considering how awful my father was, maybe I saw Stevie as a kind of father figure. I get good feelings just hearing the opening of one of his hits and am instantly transported to a time and place I can no longer go in the flesh but which remains with me in memory. Sounds can trigger memories, much as smells or tastes do. A Place in the Sun was released in 1966 (He was 16), more than 10 years before I was born. But I love this song even today, much as I do many of Stevie's songs.  Let's look at the lyrics.  Like a long, lonely stream I keep runnin' towards a dream Movin' on, movin' on Like a branch on a tree I keep reachin' to be free Movin' on, movin' on 'Cause there's a place in the sun Where there...

Sorry I haven't written much lately. I've been doing hot-girl shit. What is hot-girl shit? I'm glad you asked. Because I also have no idea. I think it might be how someone takes care of a horse: they comb the hair and bathe it, paying special attention to the hooves (nails?) and teeth . Maybe hot girls are like horses because horses don't do jack all day but stand around and look pretty and maybe make faces at other horses. Yeah, I'm definitely not doing that. What are dumb old donkeys doing? Trudging up a mountain with a heavy pack on their back while someone kicks them for being slow and careful and trying not to fall off the edge? I'm probably doing that. Anyway. I wrote some stuff. It may or may not be important. Okay, it isn't. It may or may not be jocular. It may or may not be an exaggeration. And I may or may not care what you think either way. Expect another post in a day or two. Or not. Whatever.  *** Sometimes we are confronted by uncomfortable tru...