my careless contagion

Joey, as I recall, actually looked a bit like James Dean. Joey was his name. I know he was Indian (dot, not feather), and I think he lived in Columbus. I had moved in with my girlfriend, Kate, that summer. We got our own place. I remember holding her as she cried because there were dead cockroaches in the cupboards and the fridge smelled like paint (we got it replaced). I said we'd make the place ours. These were little things. The important thing was we were doing it together.  She cheated on me with Joey, a guy she met on IRC, the same place she met me. I took her to the bus stop and picked her up from the bus stop, her mood quite different upon her return. I must have been incredibly stupid to think she was going to just hang out and have dinner with someone. He got her off. She didn't return the favor. That sounds about right for her. I should have kicked her out when she told me what happened, but instead I slept on the floor in the other room, my little bed trample...

To be fair, here are 50 reasons I am good at relationships. I've posted why I'm bad at relationships and why DC is a better choice for the girl I love (which is still maddeningly true), and I continue to add to those (what, 100 reasons?) in my head. Still, I have a lot to offer a future relationship with someone someday. I decided to write this addressing my audience because this is a very personal subject. Writing this, it became easy to see that, for the right girl, all of my relationship excuses can go away. 1) I can make good come from a bad situation. For a long time. I can see the good even in the bad. Less-than-ideal situations are much the same. I can live like that for a long time. 2) I write notes. Little love letters. Thinking-of-you stuff. When we're both busy (or just you who is busy), it shows I'm still thinking about you. 3) I can talk about nearly anything. Bad day? Let's talk about it. Don't want to talk about it? That's okay, ...

The opening line of Simon and Garfunkel's Sound of Silence comes to me often. Hello, darkness, my old friend ... This old song no doubt means many things to many people. And that opening line means something to me as well. It means, "Here we go again."  It's hard to fully express what it means to be prone to depression. Looking back on my four decades of life, I see a lot of prominent themes. But the thick vein of depression runs through it all. I don't know when it took hold, but it's been there as long as I can remember. It is an old friend of the worst kind.  I don't want to be depressed. I don't choose this. I don't want to waste endless days simply wishing I could climb out of whatever funk I'm in. All the people who have come and gone in my life I certainly can't blame for this. I'm depressed, no matter who is in my life. Sure, certain circumstances haven't helped. And alcohol just made the whole thing worse. How I...

It's one of the hardest things for the human mind to comprehend. A person who purports to be of one mind is found to be of a different mind, or several different minds. Duplicity is defined as "deceitfulness or double-dealing."  Our human ancestry should inform us of this great fallibility. Our race has shown itself to be more than capable of double-dealing. Acting is a daily contrivance. We all do it. We lie in little ways and big ways to smoothe our days out. We smile when we don't want to. We laugh at the same stupid jokes we've heard before. We pretend we're happy when we're not. Look at who we idolize in our culture — actors and actresses. But they do their jobs for lots of money. The rest of us act to survive.  The world was shocked by the news of Chris Watts' murder of his wife, Shan'ann, and his children, Bella, Celeste, and unborn baby boy. Friends and neighbors said they were the perfect couple. Smiling photos on social media furth...

I remember kneeling by your chair as you broke down and told me what you'd done. It was almost 20 years ago, but I remember you braiding your curly hair in an anxiety-ridden state like it was yesterday. You weren't like this when I dropped you off at the bus station a few days before. Something happened in Cleveland that you didn't want to talk about. I sat and listened. You cheated on me with a boy you met on internet relay chat. His name was Joey. I knew him; he was Indian, very good looking in your estimation, I'm sure. His sister cooked you all dinner. There were other details. And then I wished I didn't know them. And then I wished you hadn't done it.  My strongest reaction as a young male with no other clear coping mechanism was to make love to you. I wanted you back. I wanted to claim you as mine again. I wanted you to know I loved you and forgave you. You clearly felt bad about what you'd done. I thought you'd take my advances and run with ...