Like a Letter in the Breeze

If I were my therapist, I’d be a chef by now. Or a lumberjack. Something that involved chopping things to bits in the name of progress, then moving on to the murder death kill of something else. I mean, I’m me and I’ve had enough of me. I can’t imagine listening to me drone on about my poor choices, my failure to understand life on any emotional level whatsoever, or my retelling of pointless stories that go nowhere but sideways. How horrible.

So, welcome to my website. Herein you will find pointless stories that cover a myriad of poor choices, detail my ongoing effort to emotionally understand what the hell life is all about, and tend to go nowhere but sideways.

I get it. I do. I’m not the only one who does dumb things. I’m not the only one with a fixation on a singular happy ending. I’m not the only one blind to better routes, better relationships, better opportunities, or to the concept that fighting life while asking it for better results is not only counterproductive but ultimately naive and likely to result in an emotional fat lip and a severely bruised ego. But, I am willing to defy my instinctual need to hide my failures and write about them. I am willing, despite the resulting misery, to laugh at myself. I have become, in contrast to my youth, an Open House, a public event, an Open Mic you didn’t want to attend but were mildly amused by. God–in whatever context he, she, or it may be–knows I’ve been wrong time and again. Why keep it to myself? Throw it all together, add a little, I don’t know, structure and see what happens? Maybe it can help.

Not me, of course. I am what I am. I’m the guy who reads the Choose Your Own Adventure and can’t avoid winding up dead. I pick the line at the store that takes for…ever…er. I move from the slow moving lane to the fast moving lane to discover the lane is ending and I can’t merge back. If I’m blindfolded and aiming for the piñata, you’ll want to steer clear.

Like those contestants on Survivor or what have you that do their side interview and profess their mastery over the game moments before being voted out, I almost always think I have life pegged. It’s a marvel, a wonder, a complete and utter spectacle of sight and sound.

On this website you will find no guidance, no professions of therapeutic insight (though feel free to drop a nickel in the bin if you’re feeling generous), or revelations of how best to live with life. Frankly, if you are looking for guidance here, I can offer only this: Take what I have experienced, view my choices in relation to your life, George Costanza everything, and find an outlet for therapy.

That’s what I’m doing.

SINCE YOU’RE HERE

Whether by choice, random selection, or the sheer power of Google, you have found yourself here, on this home page of sorts, teetering over the edge of the waterfall that is my mind. Don’t worry. It’s not a long drop. And even if the guard rail doesn’t hold, you’ll probably only fall on Ducky.

Granted, there might be a feisty cat nearby.

Granted, there might be a feisty cat nearby.

Whatever the reason, you’re here. Have a browse. Have a laugh. Leave a note. Run away. Warn your friends. It’s all good.

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A page from one of my few good decisions, albeit one that ultimately hit the Cutting Room floor.

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If you have nothing better to do than ask me random questions, or want to talk about writing, comment about the inherent nature of life as a reality program, offer thoughts I’ll probably quote and make fun of later, or want to ask pretty please can you have some cheese, then give it a go here. I’m bored. I’ll answer.

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