The Bloody Doors Off

Current Mood:

There are some nights I just can’t sleep. Not for lack of trying. A switch just goes off and I wake up, in this case 5 am, and I’m awake. I think it’s left over from waking at this time for a couple of months while traveling to Markham for work.

I kinda miss it.

Being on call for work would be someone else’s dream, but not mine. I enjoyed going into the office, interacting with Dennis, Jonas et al on a daily basis. Granted, sitting in my chair all day waiting for work that wouldn’t materialize was frustrating. And I hustled to get the work in. So I get why I’m now based at home, and on call.

But it doesn’t make things easier. I’m truly hoping things will begin to pick up. I know that’s what they want too; they created my position because they took the pulse in the office and the majority said they needed someone like me to be there. And I am teaching a PowerPoint class next week to a wide group of people who want this knowledge imparted.

I just wish I was there, is all.

But enough of that. No feeling sorry for me. I just need to hustle harder to generate the work.

…

Last night was a particular good one for me and C. M was booked to speak at a women’s event and that meant I would be looking after the boy solo. I was a little nervous. It meant picking him up after school and bringing him home, feeding him dinner (and he’s a very picky pescatarian (a vegetarian who eats chicken — but in this case, just chicken fingers and eggs) and making sure he was prepped for bed at the proper time.

Now, I’ve happily accepted the role of caregiver and to an extent, step-father. But tonight just felt like we’d made steps towards dropping the word ‘step’. I love this kid and would step in front of a bus for him. But I worry that if I’m strict in some ways, that he’d rebel. I know I didn’t have a great relationship growing up with my own step-father (which has since changed, thankfully), and I knew at the outset that I didn’t want an adversarial relationship with C. And we don’t, which is amazing to me; I can freely tell him that I love him and he says it back. (But he’s 10, when C turns 13 I suppose all I’ll get is a grunt in reply, but I know, just like “I am Groot”, what he really means.)

Last night we had a good chat on the bus headed home, I made dinner for him (and managed to get him to eat some cucumber — like me, he’s not a huge fan of vegetables), and he brushed his teeth when asked and went to his room (after asking if he could read on the couch while waiting for M to come home and read for him) when it was his bedtime. I gotta say, it meant a lot that he was willing to listen to me.

…

The cats are starting to venture out of the bedroom. This is. Huge. For most of the month they chose to hide in the bedroom closet, avoiding Auggie. But this week, Hannah’s been exploring in both the mornings and evenings; poor Auggie is beside herself. She wants to play with the cats, but they want nothing to do with her. If she gets overly rambunctious, Hannah will hiss and the pup will back off. She’ll whine a bit, because she really wants to play with them.

This is going much better than M and I initially thought. Maybe in another month the hissing will stop and they’ll be able to hang out in the same room without feeling territorial. It’s amusing that Hannah and Izzy are both emboldened enough to want to eat Auggie’s food. After all, Auggie sometimes eats theirs.

…

God what a boring update. Makes you wonder what happened to the guy who’s blog tagline reads “Confessions of a Dangerous Mind”.

I guess it’s not so Dangerous right now. I’m… content. Which is a brand new headspace that I look forward to exploring.

In 2013, I was at my worst. It put me in the hospital.

There have been struggles since then.

Today I can say, without a doubt, it’s been worth the climb.

I’m standing tall, I am working (although not as much as I’d like at the moment), I have a great relationship with Marlo and Coltrane, and I’m building and strengthening new and existing friendships in surprising and awesome ways.

Hello (2018). Yes, it’s you I’ve been looking for.

Tonight I read to the boy at his bedtime.

Yup. Highlight of my day.

So it’s Saturday night and we are childless for the first time since I’ve moved in. It feels… weird. Given that I’ve lived 99.84% of my life NOT raising a child (not really by choice, mind you; another story), the lack of his physical presence is felt.

There are benefits to this, however.

We can actively enjoy ourselves without worry of a knock on the door.

We can inhale. If you will.

And in the middle of it all.

I get. I dunno. Out of my head. In a way that hasn’t happened in, oh gods, a couple of years. Like I start questioning stuff. Random, fluffy bunny thoughts that turn into questions.

So I say to myself, “It’s just the weed talking.”

“Yes, I am the weed,” the voice responds. “And I am talking. Therefore it is the weed talking. And you shall listen.”

The shapeless sounds coalesce and dissipate and reform.

Ultimately, it says: “You’ve got a story to tell.” Right as I’m writing this down, because I excused myself after several minutes (with her permission) to scribble out “Yes, I am the weed, and I am talking.” Because I thought it was funny and needed to be captured.

“You’ve got a story to tell.”

That I haven’t heard in several years. I was wondering if it would ever visit me again.

“You’ve got a story to tell.”

So what is it?

“You’ll know it soon enough.”

Crap. It’s one of those.

“Play the song. Listen. Like you did for A Song For Rachel, so long ago. The story is there. You’ve known for over a week, but tried to deny it.”

I didn’t–

“You did. You felt the connection. You heard the soft, lilting call from your muse. She’s been whispering in your ear.

“Listen. And then tell me what you see.”

That doesn’t make sense. It’s just the weed talking, Paul.

“Yes, I am talking, and you will listen. You’ve got a story to tell.”

…

Hit play.

So today I had a meeting with the boss. Because of the dearth of work right now, my contract has gone from being a utility player to a pinch hitter, called off the bench when needed. They, as am I, are hoping we can turn things around and get everyone to use my services and bump me back up to an everyday player.

And yes, my contract does say “as needed” when it comes to hours. We just all assumed, at this point, it would be more feast than famine. They are NOT letting me go; but I am free to take on other work in the meantime.

I understand where they are coming from, and we’ve already taken steps to try and up my caché.

I was fine until this evening. It hit me tonight. As I told Marlo, I want to support my family. And I worry I can’t.

To continue the metaphor, I’m not sure if I should be swinging for the fences or be content with hitting the odd single, or taking a base on balls.

But I certainly hate striking out.

Tonight I enjoyed a production of ‘Shrek The Musical Jr.‘ with my future step-son, Coltrane, performing as one of the storytellers.

If you’d told me three years ago I’d be a proud parent doing something so obvious, so fun, so fulfilling, just watching a 10-year old boy sing his heart out in a school musical.

Well, I’d probably have thanked you. Because I couldn’t imagine it then, but happy it’s a part of my life now.

Sure there are going to be difficult days ahead (there always are; I should know, I was that kid once) but nights like this are so damned rewarding, it’s just…

So worth it.