The Bloody Doors Off

(If there are spelling mistakes, actually I don’t give a flying. The words look really tiny right now.)

Things sneak up on me.

Mostly memories. Scenes from a life.

This one skateboarded in, flipped off backward, right heel landing on the driveway pavement, and chipping off a tiny piece of ankle bone.

I’ll be 60 next year.

60.

I’m having issues accepting this near reality.

When you hit 40 or so, friendly will usually gather and have a ‘celebration of life’ event.

There was one planned for me. Friends and relatives invited. The amenity room in Kevin’s condo had been booked. They were going to blow up balloons. I’m not sure about crepe paper.

We canceled it.

On my 50th, we were holding a memorial for my mother, who died of a widowmaker heart attack just one week prior. And this was the date we discussed. I abstained from the vote.

Skateboard.

I love my mother and miss her deeply. But she never got to meet Marlo, or her newest grandson. (She would’ve loved you guys.) And that eats at my soul.

Every year. Ying, meet yang.

Guilt.

Massive guilt.

(Holy hell, I was about to write a horribly offensive metaphor.)

Stairway to Heaven (by Heart at the Kennedy Centre Honors).

And I’m only realizing the fulness of this now.

It’d show up. A short stay. Just the weekend, and then we’re on our way.

This one brought a moving van.

I hate that every year in October, as I get 1 year older, so will be the anniversary.

Sadness. Anger. Despair. Guilt.

Marlo knew what to do.

She threw a surprise party on my 52nd and 1/2 birthday.

That’s the memory I want to see driving up the street in a U-Haul.

I’d be so much happier if I could just resolve these feelings.

Therapy?

Absolutely.

A slight problem with that.

My psychiatrist aged, like I did.

It’s hard to open up to him now.

WE did a lot of work in the past 20 years.

The nightmare I kept reliving, when I entered my father’s apartment, and found him unconscious on the kitchenr.

I tried to wake him.

I called his girlfriend.

I tried to make coffee. (I thought you just boiled the water in the kettle, and when it poured out, it had been … magically? … turned into a damned fine cup of joe.

Feeling so helpless.

He was drunk and passed out.

(Hey, I was doing that when I was 18. I have stories. Jesus, I have stories.)

20 years now.

(He said he was retiring in 2023, then changed his mind.)

I guess I was hoping for a natural dissolution and a recommendation to someone else.

And the thought of actually making this happen.

Terrifies me.

So feeling helpless on a few fronts tonight.

And, but of course, another memory just parachuted into my brain but they pulled the ripcord too slowly and comes in at speed, at the mercy of the wind. Just aim for the damned target painted on there.

Fuck me.

This is going to be rough.

And the nerve pain in my right foot is back.

So there’s that.

I’m fairly certain that’s Kathy Griffin in the video.)