Better Days

“Only he who has seen better days and lives to see better days again knows their full value”
~ Mark Twain

So . . . I'm not really even sure what I want to talk about here today, but I want to get something down on "paper". I think that someday I am going to look back on this and it will be good to see this . . . to read this. Life's been difficult to say the least. Hell, unless I get cancer or axe-murdered (is that a word?) I'm not covinced life can get that much worse - ok, maybe prison or something like that. My wife is pissed (please appreciate the bold letters) but she's not talking divorce - praise God. I've hurt her a lot and honestly, there really isn't anything i can do to make this up to her. I cannot get back her first house that she had for two weeks and then had painfully swiped from under her. I cannot give her back her dreams of this place and what she was going to do with the house and the yard - and she did have dreams, big ones, beautiful ones. She would have made this house a home. That is what my one horrible decision did to her. You tell me how you say "sorry" for that? Truth is . . . "sorry" will never be good enough, nor do I think it is appropriate. My wife has been hearing "sorry" her entire life and it means shit. She doesn't want my apologies she wants me to be the man I am supposed to be. That is not too much to ask.

I know I am being hard on myself and on some level I know I should be . . . but my mistake does not mean that I am a horrible, miserable failure - a loser. I made a mistake and I am dealing with the ginormous (I KNOW that isn't a word) consequences. I'm not happy about it and this all hurts a lot, but I am making positive choices and I am moving in a positive direction. I have hope today - that's about all I have - and it will have to be enough.

I stand at a turning point - this is a life defining moment here . . . I can chose my path and today I'm chosing the positive. Things will get better and are getting better - better days are ahead God willing.

Love to everyone who reads regularly . . .

My Personal Hell . . .

“Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain”
~ William Faulkner

I just watched my wife and little boy drive away.

I cannot seem to stop crying right now, but I think that is a good thing. I need to cry. I haven't been able to feel everything for the last few days. This hurts. I hurt. But this is reality and truth, and the truth will set me free.

My mistake. My small mistake . . . amplified a thousand times over.

I sit in my half-done house that I will have to sell (soon!) or face forclosure. Sam loved the house - was almost confused by the size and had recently discovered the backyard. I chased him around out there this morning before they left. He was tearing around giggling. I let him think he could outrun me.

I've ruined my wife's dreams of having a house. We had dreams. We had hope. I've crushed them - destroyed them. God may forgive, but I cannot forgive myself.

I have no paycheck with no paycheck expected anytime soon on the horizon. I am an MD without a training program or any place to go but home . . . Home.

I'm coming back to California with an unknown future. I'm looking at banruptcy and posisble divorce in the face of nothing substantial to hang my hat on for work. My wife will be away from me for the duration of this deciding if she even wants to stay married to me.

Why me? But that's the wrong question really . . . why not me? I am not special or unique. I am human and I make mistakes and will continue to make mistakes, but I will never make another mistake like this one again provided I remain vigilent. My life is not over, it's merely experiencing a huge fucking upheaval. This could be the greatest chance for me to grow personally, ever, in my life. I have to hold onto that idea. I have to believe there is a greater purpose than this. God does not bring His children this far to leave them by the wayside. I'm on the right side of this fight, but I already grow weary of the struggle. Thank God for the recovery community in Dayton, OH and those who have been supportive back home.

One hour at a time . . . one day at a time . . .

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Amen.

Domestication

“Life is intrinsically, well, boring and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment the floor may open up. Of course, it almost never does; that's what makes it so boring.”
~ Edward Gorey

Things are beginning to settle a bit here in Dayton, Ohio. Well, more specifically Kettering, Ohio, but the weird thing is . . . I live in Kettering, but my street and like 5 or 6 more around me are incorporated with Centerville and my mailing address is a Dayton address. Whatever. They do things differently here.

The house is starting to come together again. You want the story? Ok . . . you all remember scam-artist "Steve" right? Well, he had two subcontractors, Sam and Dave, in our house doing all the real work and these guys were good guys who did good work. On Friday Steve calls these guys to his house and demand that they give him the money back for the work they did at my house. Again . . . I am not joking. This guy is a piece of work. Sam told him to go fuck himself - nice. Ok Sam would never say, "Go fuck yourself," he's not that kind of guy, but the message was the same and they told Steve they would never do any subcontracting work for him again. They guys had told us when they were done they would come over and rehab our livingroom walls (wallpaper over paint which is over wallpaper which is over paint - classy!). Well since Steve can go fuck himself, they're going to start work today and have given us a good price. It is interesting because they tear off the big pieces of wallpaper, and then paint over everything with a special primer paint call Kilz, over the top of this they place mud, then sand, then they mud again, and finally finish again with sanding. This makes the walls basically like new again and no one has to strip the old shit off - nice.

As for myself around the house I have been cleaning tile floors of grout - sucks - hands and knees kind of stuff. Wasn't I supposed to be on "vacation" prior to beginning residency? Not if you buy a house. My Dad was right, there is always something to do, but he thinks I needed this experience. And he is probably right . . . kind of like if you see someone going toward an outlet with a paper clip. Stop them? Nah . . . they'll learn. HA! But the scrubbing has been quite Zen, gives me something to do instead of climb the walls. BTW if you have porcelain tiles (notice the italics because there are three major types of tile porcelain, ceramic, and natural stone) you can use a wiremesh to crean the grout off of the tiles with simple warm water - warm knife through butter - spent two days using a regular sponge and mild acid solution and that blew more than a prostitute when the fleet is in town (was that too crude? YES! It has been awhile . . .)

Also I am battling this Locust tree in my front yard. Well . . . more specifically what is left of a locust tree. You see the previous owners basically jerry-rigged (no offense Jerry - don't mean you) everything in the house. Seriously. Everything is a cut corner, and basically they did not do a good job of getting this tree out of the ground. The tree is gone but from every little root stub is a new growing tree! It's like the sorceror's apprentice - used to be one, now there so many I do not know what to do about it. Well . . . it's WAR and the tree is unfortunately winning. I used a weed tool to dig one little plant out, maybe 3 inch tall sapling and I dug back the root - it was all very surgical, extending incisions and retraction to follow the anatomy back to origin. This root when in about 8 inches deep and back over to the side 12 inches. I am NOT going to dig out every plant unless I have to and but I will to win the war. So my strategy now is round-up - some stuff for tough scrub - and well see what happens. I had to spray some of the grass in order to get everything - the grass will die - but that's all just collateral damage.

I just realized it . . . this is a fucking boring post. You may all disreagrd it.

I still need to talk about the moving scam . . . maybe tommarow.

Peace.

Finding A Little Slice of Reality

“Life is difficult. This is the great truth, one of the greatest truths—it is a great truth because once we see this truth, we transcend it."
~ page 1, The Road Less Traveled by Dr. M. Scott Peck. MD

Life is difficult. With apologies to Dr. Peck, if I may steal his opening line and use it as my own. More poingantly . . . life is fucking hard. To harsh? Maybe you haven't lived enough or long enough - life sucks. But that's not the end of it . . . life is also what we make of it. Even though there is a turd in the punch bowl of life, we can all chose how we will relate and act. It's my reality and at the close of today . . . I'm chosing the positive.

Two days ago I fired my contractor "Steve". He wasn't getting the job done the way my wife and I wanted. Of course he claims he went out of his way to do everything he could. You know, before I hang this hat totally on him let me reflect a bit. (A necessary introspection?) I thought I was hot shit. I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I had him handled. Truth is I am inexperienced, naive, and tend to see the best in people. This often means people walk on me, but it was my hubris that occured before this fall. I gave him $5500 dollars up front. Please save the comments - I NOW know this is wrong. We had to have a lot of plumbing work done - he reassured me this was at no additional cost. So when I ask to sever the business relationship, and to recieve a partial refund of my money I am now told that I actualy OWE him $4700. I'm not joking. The caveat here is that if I don't go after him for my partial refund, he will not countersue me for the $4700. Seriously. I don't know what you do with people like this. I probably could win this bitch, but I'm not willing to call him on it. I've got a pair of 10's and the flop gives me one more - three of a kind . . . nice - but what I see out there is 10, J, Q, all clubs, and the man across from me is betting into the hand, hard. Is he bluffing? Fuck I don't know, and since I'm a bit short stacked, I'll let the asshole have this hand. Some work was done, and I grant that, but not $5500 worth of work and I think I'm entitled to about $2000 back - two bathrooms half-done, I can't shower yet, no carpet in the family or living room, and I'm having to do the title clean-up myself. Someone got the better end of this deal and it wasn't your humble correspondant . . .

I was pissed. Sick almost all day long, no appetite, very angry, very troubled, and existentialism? FUCK existentialism! But I was jogging this evening and I had a nice long angry talk with God ala Job pissed about the loss of his wife, children, and livestock, but to top it off . . . boils?! FUCKING BOILS?! Give me a fucking break God! And then it happened . . . nothing as dramatic as the verbal smackdown laid by God to Job out of the tornado, but pretty personally significant nontheless . . . the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh . . . blessed be the name of the Lord. He's in control, not me. Vengence is His, not mine. I am to pray for my enemies. I am to forgive those who do me wrong. God handles the rest and he KNOWS who has harmed his child. So that's when I gave it up . . . it's His now, and tommarow is a new day. How's that for meaning? How is that for life?

This life is all about the trial. We have to put in our time. We have to be pained. We have to deal with those things that confront us. In the end that's growth - REAL spiritual growth and the only kind that really matters. My search for meaning kicked me in the balls, but I get it . . . I'm learning, living, and loving.

Till next time . . . try and keep your tution in the classroom of life to a minimum, I seem to be picking up the slack . . .

On the road, new beginings, and updates

“Nothing is secure but life, transition, the energizing spirit.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's been awhile since my last post, and I would have liked to have updated my small, but albeit loyal, group of readers sooner, but life happened - kind of like shit, and both concepts are not necessarily mutually exclusive, really. This may be a bit of a longish post, please bear with me.

We last left off the night before my leaving California - the sadness hard to describe - and my struggle to find meaning in a world where my role and life were changing. 10 days gone and I miss California. I realize now that it had become home. My home. My first real home as an adult. It's been tough. People in Ohio drive like shit and the cops will give you a ticket for like 3 over (motherfuckers! [need more crime in Ohio, make mental note]). I have no friends here, no family here. It is just me, my wife, and my child and that will have to be enough. Moving is hard. Moving over 2000 miles daunting, terrifying, but I'm still here and I'm still kicking. I'm sad, lonely, confused, and angry (with retarded driving), but in one piece, thank God.

My struggle with meaning has taken a back seat position for the time being. I have no idea when I'll come across the idea again, but I've made progress and I'm happy where I've come. I think I am begining to begin to "get it". Satisfying? Nope, but it will have to be enough for now.

My drive out of California was uneventful enough, didn't get on the road until like 2 PM and I sat in traffic all the way through the Cajone Pass - took me over two hours to get to Victorville. If a disaster ever hit in SoCal FORGET about getting out, you better hole up, and hope you have enough ammunition and wiskey to get you through. Made it into Hays, KS (where my folks live) Saturday evening. It was nice to spend time with them. Sam was there! I missed him, and we had lots of fun. I planned on spending 2 days, but only had the pleasure of one . . .

Because, my lovely wife who went out ahead of me to Ohio by a day, had decided our new home needed some renovations - NOW - and was up to her asshole in alligators - the kind that call themselves "Steve" and go by the handle "Handyman". Fucking-A! I had to drive all night from Hays to Dayton, Ohio, leaving Hays around 2 in the afternoon. Fuck, a man can do it, but he doesn't really want to. Ok, I need to take a minute to say that my wife is NOT stupid (she never reads this blog, so I'm not kissing her ass, merely providing some context), but she is impulsive. Two sides to the same coin? Maybe. She had found a contractor out of the yellow pages and the cost of the job began to escalate. She panicked. I panicked. I drove all night. Get the idea? Halfway to Dayton my wife calls to tell me she had established a pretty solid boundry, gotten a solid estimate of price for services - in writing - and that things had calmed down considerably. Praise God! I was proud of her. Before that moment, I was a nervous wreck and we were about ready to tell this guy to get lost and procede with the nastiness that would insue, so I was glad the situation had improved.

Turns out, Steve is actually a pretty decent guy, but a strange one - got some mild Axis II stuff. Handled properly we should have no problems. He is actually upset that he will be unbale to finish this job when he said . . . which was this last Friday . . . Honestly, I don't know what he was thinking with this job, but what I do know is that I just want people out of my house and my house back in one piece so I can enjoy the motherfucker. I bought a fucking a house and I can't even shower here yet. It's another oppourtunity for growth and I'm growing and pissed about it.

But for now . . . Joanne's bitching at me - hates the typing sound - and tommarow is my first day of work stuff so I'll catch you guys on the other side. Keep coming back. It only gets worse I'm sure.

Boning out

“I haven't a clue as to how my story will end. But that's all right. When you set out on a journey and night covers the road, you don't conclude the road has vanished. And how else could we discover the stars?”
~ Unknown

It's my last night in California. I've made my peace, and I'm ready to go . . . I think. Honestly, if I didn't have to turn in my stuff for whole person care in the morning, I'd be gone. (John - I get it) I watched the sun go down this evening over the montains - gorgeous. It's been a little windy so some of the June Gloom has blown away and you could actually see the mountains today. I wanted to make it up to Big Bear. Joanne and I were married there, and I'd like to see it again before I leave. Truth is . . . I don't know when I'll be back here, if ever. Life is unknown but I've got today, or, at least, what's left of it.

Also, I've made my peace with my search for meaning. It's all to complex for me to completely describe right now, but it's about people. And probably most importantly . . . I've learned that wherever I am is exactly where I am supposed to be. Deep huh? Basically what I 'm saying is that I am SUPPOSED to be dealing with this at this time. I am where I am supposed to be. See? I'll keep working on finding my own meaning - it's an idea and concept that is very important to me, but for now it's ok to be in the existential funk. It's all part of the journey.

I've got to meet with the chaplains in the morning and then I am gone. I'm planning on telling good-bye to John W. at noon time, and David and Siprien want to get some lunch, but I don't know if I'll be able to wait that long. We'll see. I am looking forward to the drive. I love driving and I've got enough story to get me home.

Home. I'm going home. But where is "home" really for me now? Is Hays still home even though I left there about 10 years ago. Hmmmmm . . .

I can't wait to see my son. I'm going to get a cheese blast and a funny taco at taco grande. Then it will be off to start my new home in Ohio.

It's time and I am ready. God watch over me and my family.

(I'm going to need it . . .)

California Dreamin'

“Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you.”
~ Marsha Norman

It was a gorgeous California weekend. The weather has been great. Warm, almost hot, during the day, but so nice and cool at night. I guess I really will miss this weather. I drive around in traffic some marveling at what has been done with the California freeways. So many cars - so many people. I've gotten used to things here. I've been spending much of the last few months picking on all that annoys me with California, but as I stand at the rubicon of my imminent departure, I find myself hesitant to cross . . .

It's all this damn existential angst . . . Was out at lunch the other day with John who mentioned his own struggles with the notion of meaning. The conversation got me thinking about my own "stuff" . . . Man is the only animal who actually questions his own existence and seeks to find meaning therein. What's that all about? Interestingly enough, Nietzsche eventually comes to the conclusion that man needs to find his own meaning. Even the atheists recognize the need for meaning. What does my life mean? I am a father, a husband, a physician, but someday perhaps a real healer? Why not. It seems that meaning will be found in relationships. Everything is connected . . . right?

Whatever. It's a 1st attempt . . .

(needs work)

The End of the Ordeal

“How do geese know when to fly to the sun? Who tells them the seasons? How do we, humans know when it is time to move on? As with the migrant birds, so surely with us, there is a voice within if only we would listen to it, that tells us certainly when to go forth into the unknown.”
~Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

It's Sunday and I've been meaning to blog ever since the movers came to get my stuff, but just have not been able to make myself. I suppose that the willingness is actually in the doing, but on some small scorecard somewhere I given myself about a half a point for meaning to update my blog.

Anyway, that's enough of my rationalization nonsense . . . the movers got here Wednesday afteroon ~3 PM. Originally, they were supposed to be at my place between 8-10 AM, but decided to pick up another move intead - I didn't realize this, but the moving industry is pretty "free-form" like this. I was ok with that because they were going to show up between 12-2 PM so it was cool and I could get a nap. Ahhhhh, gorgeous nap . . . interrupted!! Phone calls from my wife wake me every 45-60 minutes - YES! - I KNOW my family is crazy. Please be patient with them. Later calls from my family . . . YES! - I KNOW my wife is crazy. Please be patient wth her. After being up all night? FUCK! But actually and amazingly (I thank God) I was able to be present and deal with those situations without telling anyone to take a flying leap or to go fuck themselves. Nice. Growth. Maturity. Perhaps there is hope for me yet, no?

So . . . because of the wonderful SoCal traffic my mover does not get to my place until closer to three. Gerald. That's name of the guy holding my shit for the next week or so. He's the driver of the truck - he owns and operates his own rig and drives for an honest and hardworking bunch, Golden Eagle (United), out of Upland, CA. Gerald is about 6' tall, in shape, looking tough but honest. He speaks with a West-side Chicago accent (which seems appropriate because he's from Chicago). The inventory occurs first and Gerald is NOT fucking around. He inventories everything, tagging it - takes an hour. He goes over the paperwork with me, gives me a fair description about what to expect during the move, hands me a business card with his personal cell-phone number on it to reach him on the road. I sign about 10 pages worth of paperwork. Know what all the paperwork means? That paperwork means myself, Gerry, his outfit (Golden Eagle), and United Van Lines are all friends - leagally binding friends where if shit happens there is recourse and we can still all be friends. With the paperwork done, Gerald turns into a "moving animal" - damn this guy is HARD - if you are ever about to get into a fist fight with a truck driver, I would advise you to ask if this guy is named Gerald, and does he drive for United, because if yes to both questions, you'd better apologize and leave that man be!

Gerald brings a friend/"packer" - Duke (they call each other "boss" or "old man"). This guy looks like he's seen enough troubles for three lives. You can tell he's a smoker by the lines on his face, but he didn't take one smoke break until all of our stuff was loaded onto the truck. He wraps everything. He tells stories from 30 years in the business - new people and new towns every day. Packers are hired by the drivers and Duke actually lives in Arizona, but says Gerry only uses the best and Duke's one. I agree. Duke needs a larger pair of pants with "permacrack" showing the entire pack, but that was his only flaw - if you can even attribute such an idiosyncrasy to the realm of "flaw". I LOVED Duke. The man had a heart of gold and he took care of our stuff - almost lovingly. Another hard-boy. Duke would straight-up kick your ass if he had to, so don't make him. Movers are scary. Thank God I got a good bunch.

These guys packed for ~5 1/2 hours and then were gone around 8:30. I bought those guys dinner - they earned it.

Looking back, I was very stressed leading up the movers arriving. I still have yet to blog about "movers hell" and I will soon, maybe tonight, because people need to know this stuff. So after my experiences, which you will better understand soon, I was STRESSED - also lonely, I miss my wife and little boy - also melancholy about levaing California. I laid in that empty house and I cried. I was finally able to let it all go. Life is hard you know? It's not the way I expected it to be when I was a child, and now that I am supposed to be a man. I find myself often confounded and confused with what I once assumed should be so easy. That's life. It's hard. I make mistakes, but I am me, and I like me. You live and learn, and sometimes when all your stuff is loaded onto a truck and your wife and child are safe and you are having a hard time with the stress of moving from one place to the next, you just lay on the floor in a empty house and sob.

Sometimes.