Month: March 2020

Time for a change

I think it’s time to retool my blog. Since I seem to have lost almost all of my original readers and I would like to offer something interesting to my new readers I think it’s time.

As you may or may not know, I began this blog as a therapeutic exercise to keep the boredom of my new life at bay. By new life of course I mean moving in with my mother in 2017 after a divorce, the loss of my job and house. All as a result of a Chronic Illness. I had blogged before on various sites but this time I stuck with it.

I initially started out by venting about how the dramatic and painful changes affected my new life. Eventually I discovered that my posts resonated with some people, mostly those with a Chronic Illness of some sort. In turn, their stories resonated with me also. In addition to posts related to the ongoing issues with my health I also told my life story in a manner that was often described as “brutally honest”. Not my words. But they are true. I held nothing back in the way of baring my soul, and occasionally my ass as I enjoyed the anonymity of the blogosphere. The blog has made me many friends and there are many out there that I can honestly say I deeply care about, some I even consider friends. Saying that about someone you’ve never met is really something, isn’t it?

But I think I’ve told my story. I’ve pontificated about major issues. I’ve sprinkled in fiction and poetry to mixed reviews. Lately I find myself staring at my screen wondering what to write about.

It’s time to get back to my roots. Talk about what’s on my mind. Write a journal that’s open on the table for all to read. Just write, casting format, concern about likes, comments, approval and agreement aside. If you like what I write, let’s have a conversation. If you don’t agree offer a different viewpoint. I welcome your comments, in fact I LOVE comments. It means you actually read it.

There you have it folks, Superman is still here. I’m still looking for a phone book. But until I find it Ol’ Supes is going to just talk about whatever comes to mind.

It’s time to loosen up the old fingers, instead of hovering over the keyboard looking for a great idea I’m just going to let them rip.

perception

“It’s all a matter of perception.” Boy, you said it.

I’ll get right to it. I’m struggling a bit with the whole perception thing. But that’s not new, to a degree I have my entire adult life. Here’s the rub, I thought that I had finally come to grips with it and I get a shot across the bow. Not life threatening, not necessarily a game changer, not even a “hurt feelings” moment. I’d like to consider it a chance for growth.
Because that’s what adults do.

Like most great stories, it begins with a girl.

I met this girl. A friend of a dear friend. To be exact, my buddies new wife’s best friend. I had met her at a gathering they were having. She was with a guy then but in what I thought was a fortuitous moment they broke up that night. A couple of weeks after that we became friends of FB and then began chatting and before I knew it we were chatting by text during the day and talking at night until we both turned in. Every night.
I asked her out.
She was hesitant.
But she wanted to get to know me, and I her.
She said yes.
We went out and had a great time. Being out of the game for as long as I have (I hadn’t been on a first date since 1990) I thought I did ok. I think she did also. It was after that was the problem. I pushed and I scared her off a bit. The second date was not in the cards. To be worse, she told me over the phone, that I had officially entered the dreaded, cursed, never to be climbed out of “Friend zone”.
Face palm.
In the course of the conversation she decided to give me some constructive criticism to help me with my “next one”, despite my still wanting her. Not the next one. But I listened . Among the many criticisms, the one that stuck, and stung, was when she said that I was “full of myself.”
Really? WOW. That was the moment that either denial or growth would need to occur. I think I chose the right one, I went for growth. With that came the inevitable question…am I?

I have struggled with my identity for as long as I can remember. It was as if the key to who I am was a carrot on a string and I kept chasing it but it was always just out of reach. It wasn’t until I was in my 30’s that I realized that the fucked-up, neurotic, good at a lot but not great at anything, heart on the sleeve wearing guy that hated his own reflection was as good as it was going to get. So I embraced it.
Later in life, as I took hit after hit, some my fault and some not, I finally grew up a bit. While I was still the same fucked-up, etc., (see above) guy, I embraced it and changed what I could. I really worked on myself. I looked for the lessons in every setback, I tried to find positivity in negative situations, I tried to put others before myself whenever I could. As the lessons of Freemasonry taught me, I just tried to be a better man than I was the day before. I embraced spiritualism, my compromise to rejecting atheism years before, and tried to embrace my smallness in the universe. When I got sick I adopted a persona, that of a fighter and an optimist. In the words of some, not my own, I was inspirational. All while my ultimate goal was just to be a good guy.
A guy that means well, charitable, fairly interesting and occasionally funny with something to offer the right person.
With her, I don’t think I came off that way.
It’s bittersweet actually, it wasn’t a total loss. She also told me that she thought I was incredible (not sure what she meant but I like it). We still talk every night. I’m not entirely sure where I stand with her but I still enjoy it. And I can’t ask for a second date even if I wanted to because the world is on hold. When and if I ask her out again I suppose I’ll know what zone I’m in.
Either way, I’ll be ok. I just have the one lingering problem. It really bothers me when anyone gets me wrong.

You can’t undo it. There are no redo’s in life. As my late Grandfather always said’ “You can’t put the shit back in the horse.”

It’s all a matter of perception.


misunderstandings

I’m tired
Really fucking tired
of being misunderstood
how do people not see
what I see
when I look in the mirror?
when for the first time
finally
I can look without shame

I don’t love what I see
But I can live with it
and that’s something
I’ve kicked crawled and scratched
just to be
acceptable
presentable
memorable
and of course…
respectable

and to be alive
after being so close to death
in both body and spirit
sick and weary
from trying to be strong
as it collapsed around me
bitter and angry
at the mess my life
my loveless
and unremarkable life
had become

I said to the world
here I am again
do your worst
I know who I am now!
now I’m not so sure

Is it possible that I am not
the man I think I am?

I walk tall so you won’t attack me
I talk clear so that you will hear me
I think of others to forget about me
I thank the universe for saving me
It’s not an act but it is

is it too much to ask
for a little fucking slack
and a chance for a redo
if I don’t show you
the first time
what I’m really made of

I try to be who you want me to be
while I figure out who I am



Too close to home

This is part of an ongoing series called Graveyard Shift. It can be read alone or you can roll back in my archives and start from the beginning.

“You can’t smoke in here, Mike”, Jimmy said. He watched as his partner of 5 years ignored him. Mike was staring ahead, studying the smoke of his cigarette wafting listlessly into the air. A woman nursing a coffee alternately stared at her cup and glared at Mike. Mike casually opened his jacket enough to reveal his badge. The woman returned her gaze to her coffee. “Bully”.
“Fucking Smoke Nazi.” Mike offered.
“Yea, those studies on the harms of second hand smoke, the no smoking signs on the walls, common courtesy. Goebbels is behind all of it.” Jimmy smirked. He knew that egging Mike on right now may go either way but he was just trying to get Mike to talk. He wanted to hear what was going on behind that furrowed brow. And he hated uncomfortable silences.
Mike dropped his cigarette into his coffee and lit another. He could feel the heat of the glare of the woman next to him as she grabbed her pocketbook and stormed angrily out of the cafeteria.
“You know, I don’t think she is the one who drugged your girl. Why are you fucking with strangers?”
“I’m not fucking with strangers, I can fuck with you if you want?”
“Just talk to me, Mike.”
Mike continued to stare straight ahead. Jimmy knew not to push anymore. The girl reminded Mike of Sarah. Mike suddenly spoke.
“If she was raped…so help me God.”
Yup, Jimmy thought. That’s it.

Not in my town

This is part of an ongoing series called Graveyard Shift. It can be read alone or you can roll back in my archives and start from the beginning.

August 29, 2005 2:00 AM

Officer McInerney impatiently directed traffic as he watched the Accident Reconstruction team doing their meticulous work. They will take a week or more to release their findings but Jimmy could save them a lot of time if he just told them the truth. His truth. I fucked up and let a drunk go and now he’s killed people. How do I reconcile this? His next move was unclear. His options were pretty simple, confess to his supervisors or keep it to himself and hope that he can push it way down and never think of it again. He immediately scratched the second one, there was no way that he could do that. He hurriedly waved a Semi Tractor Trailer around the scene. I’ve got to get out of here. I feel like I’m going to lose my shit.

Present Day

“Heroin mostly. A pretty good dose”, said Dr. Resnick. He, Sergeant Valentine and Officer McInerney were standing in the hallway outside Ruthann Reed’s room. Hospital staff scurried around them like water around a rock in the stream.
Mike Valentine scratched his chin. “Seem like a regular user?”
“The marks on her arm seem fresh. No scarring typically found on a regular.”
Mike’s fists clenched momentarily. Jimmy was studying him. Despite Mike’s notorious penchant for angry, spontaneous outbursts he was capable of staying on point when necessary. This was one of those times. Jimmy wasn’t about to mess it up by speaking right now. “What else?”, Mike asked.
“Ketamine”, the Doctor replied.
“The date rape drug?”
“That’s the one.” The doctor raised his clipboard and took a pen out of his breast pocket. “Can you tell me anything more about her behavior before she passed out?”
“Not really”, Mike said. When we found her she was sitting on the ground. Out of it.”
“The bartender and bouncers all say that she just came in, alone and starting dancing. Said she was falling down and hanging on guys,” Jimmy interjected. “They treated her as a drunk.”
The doctor scribbled on his chart. “That makes sense, given the combination.” He scribbled again on his clipboard.
“Rape kit?”, Mike asked.
“She’s just now lucid enough to do it without causing further distress. Why don’t you get a coffee and give us a little time. When she’s settled you can ask her some questions.”
“Thanks, Doc”, Mike said. He and Jimmy turned and headed for the elevator. As they walked Jimmy studied Mike’s face.
“One to ten. How pissed off are you right now?”
With a straight face and teeth clenched Mike slowly replied, “Modern technology can’t measure.”

Second chance

“You’re full of yourself”.
That one hit hard.
She didn’t mean it in a hurtful way.
She was trying to help
with my next girl.
The next girl…
who will that be
when I still want that one?
I made some mistakes.
I pushed.
I was excited.
I felt emotions long lost.
Ones that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
That I never thought I’d feel again.
affection…
intimacy…
connection…
long lost and thought dead
bubbling to the surface

I didn’t know at the time
it was the wine

how did I not see it?
She told me at the beginning
Not ready
Not looking
I need time
But through
and over the walls…
we connected
I saw the real you
and I liked it

but I didn’t show you the real me

I’m not insecure
I lack experience
I don’t have it all together
still picking up the pieces
I’m not full of myself
It’s a shield
a costume
flowing cape optional
my message to the world
that I’m still standing
shoulders back
chest out
not out of pride
or hubris
or arrogance
but to anticipate the next blow

how do I show you the real me?
get a second chance
at a first impression?

not full of myself
but full of life
hope
yearning
desire
gratitude
faith

and regrets

I failed to show you the real me


Mercy

This is part of an ongoing series called Graveyard Shift. It can be read alone or you can roll back in my archives and start from the beginning.

Mercy Hospital was the closest Hospital to the young woman’s house but picking up Jimmy had set him back. He was anxious to get there and see what the Toxicology screen revealed. He knew that he was going to be early and would ultimately end up pacing the hallways or standing there impatiently tapping his foot. Patience was not a virtue often attributed to Sergeant Mike Valentine.
He stared dead ahead as he dodged the occasional traffic on the streets of Garrison, MA. Most cars saw the lights and willingly moved over. Others needed a blast of the siren to move out of the way. Fuckin’ drunks, Mike attributed to the ones that didn’t move right away. It’s their lucky night, I’ve got other shit to attend to. He couldn’t get his mind off the girl. He had a soft spot for all the kids, even when they acted like dumb shits. “Kids will be kids” was a common mantra of his. He knew that the late teens and early twenties were times to make mistakes, lord knows he made a lot of them at that age and he was no hypocrite.
In a predominately college town, he didn’t make Sergeant by not knowing how to deal with kids. He wasn’t as notorious as his partner for leniency but he was known for solid judgment and being fair, even if his leniency was sometimes accompanied by a good lecture. It was the father in him. He knew how to pick his battles and what to make a big deal of and he took that mentality to work. A lot of his calls were college students fighting, drinking, the occasional hazing and pranks. He put on a good show with the lights and siren and cuffed more than a few only to let them go after scaring them a bit but he inevitably let them go. Again, kids will be kids. They’re going to drink and when there’s booze involved idiocy soon follows. But he drew the line at drugs. He hated drugs. He thought of anyone that used as a dumbass, and if he had his way dealers would hang by their balls in public.
He now knew the girl he was going to check up on was on drugs. Watching her being loaded into the ambulance he studied her mannerisms. The faraway, disoriented look on her face wasn’t like any drunk he had ever seen. She wasn’t silly, clumsy or even coherent. She was high. He didn’t know whether to feel bad for this girl or be pissed off at her. The father in him needed to know if she did it, or did someone do it to her.
She reminds me of Sarah for Christs sake.

Not in my town

This is part of an ongoing series called Graveyard Shift. It can be read alone or you can roll back in my archives and start from the beginning.

August 29, 2005 2:00 AM

Officer McInerney impatiently directed traffic as he watched the Accident Reconstruction team doing their meticulous work. They will take a week or more to release their findings but Jimmy could save them a lot of time if he just told them the truth. His truth. I fucked up and let a drunk go and now he’s killed people. How do I reconcile this? His next move was unclear. His options were pretty simple, confess to his supervisors or keep it to himself and hope that he can push it way down and never think of it again. He immediately scratched the second one, there was no way that he could do that. He hurriedly waved a Semi Tractor Trailer around the scene. I’ve got to get out of here. I feel like I’m going to lose my shit.

Present Day

“Heroin mostly. A pretty good dose”, said Dr. Resnick. He, Sergeant Valentine and Officer McInerney were standing in the hallway outside Ruthann Reed’s room. Hospital staff scurried around them like water around a rock in the stream.
Mike Valentine scratched his chin. “Seem like a regular user?”
“The marks on her arm seem fresh. No scarring typically found on a regular.”
Mike’s fists clenched momentarily. Jimmy was studying him. Despite Mike’s notorious penchant for angry, spontaneous outbursts he was capable of staying on point when necessary. This was one of those times. Jimmy wasn’t about to mess it up by speaking right now. “What else?”, Mike asked.
“Ketamine”, the Doctor replied.
“The date rape drug?”
“That’s the one.” The doctor raised his clipboard and took a pen out of his breast pocket. “Can you tell me anything more about her behavior before she passed out?”
“Not really”, Mike said. When we found her she was sitting on the ground. Out of it.”
“The bartender and bouncers all say that she just came in, alone and starting dancing. Said she was falling down and hanging on guys,” Jimmy interjected. “They treated her as a drunk.”
The doctor scribbled on his chart. “That makes sense, given the combination.” He scribbled again on his clipboard.
“Rape kit?”, Mike asked.
“She’s just now lucid enough to do it without causing further distress. Why don’t you get a coffee and give us a little time. When she’s settled you can ask her some questions.”
“Thanks, Doc”, Mike said. He and Jimmy turned and headed for the elevator. As they walked Jimmy studied Mike’s face.
“One to ten. How pissed off are you right now?”
With a straight face and teeth clenched Mike slowly replied, “Modern technology can’t measure.”

Last call

This is part of an ongoing series called Graveyard Shift. It can be read alone or you can roll back in my archives and start from the beginning.

Jimmy McInerney stood on the curb outside of O’malley’s impatiently waiting for his ride. He had interviewed all 3 bouncers, 2 patrons and Mike was still not back.
Where the hell is he? How long does it take to give a drunk chick a ride home? Jesus.
As if on cue his radio crackled.
“Unit 7 en route to Mercy Hospital.”
“10-4 Unit 7”, dispatch responded.
Jimmy reached for the radio mike on his left shoulder and squeezed the lever.
“Unit 7. ETA ?”
“Be there in 5.”
Jimmy looked around the Main st. Last call was in effect and all of the bars were emptying out, including O’Malley’s. Between Mike clearing the crowd outside and Jimmy shaking the place inside out everyone had left . He marveled at how the patrons had cautiously steered way clear of him as they exited the bar. They’re not supposed to be scared of me, they’re supposed to trust and feel comfortable around me.
That’s the way it was these days and Jimmy hated it. He had always, despite the road blocks in his career, tried to be the cop that people waved to when he drove by. A police officer that was a resource to the community and not something to be feared. Andy Griffith always came to mind when he was on this topic. Maybe it was only a TV show but he wished that the people in town felt towards him and his fellow officers as the people of Mayberry did. They trusted Andy, they gladly sat next to him at the coffee shop and welcomed him into their homes as a friend. But that was not to be, forever relegated to the status of TV Land reruns, police were regarded on a whole different level in recent years. It wasn’t entirely unearned, Jimmy knew some bad cops. But he also knew some good ones, Mike and himself included, that took this job upon themselves for the right reason. Community, helping people, keeping them safe. Yet people, even in this town…HIS town, bought into the narrative that cops were racist and corrupt and not to be trusted. Maybe banging my nightstick on the bar a while ago wasn’t the best way to reverse that dumbass, he scolded himself. Maybe, but the damage has been done. He exhaled and reveled in the cool early morning air.
Mike pulled in moments later and Jimmy jumped in. Before Jimmy could fasten his belt Mike noisily sped off.
“What’s going on?” Jimmy asked him.
“We’re going to Mercy. That wasn’t a routine drunk chick. I ordered a Tox. Med 2 is on the way with her and I want to be there when they get the results”. He stuck a Marlboro Red in his lips, lit up and slowly exhaled. “Something stinks in Mayberry.”

Routine speed trap

This is part of an ongoing series called Graveyard Shift. It can be read alone or you can roll back in my archives and start from the beginning.

August,28, 2005
A young and idealistic “Officer Jimmy”, as he was then known had been stationed at his favorite speed trap, the intersection of 2nd and main. It was at the bottom of a hill and cars came down it way too fast. This particular intersection was home to a very busy crosswalk and Jimmy, as every other cop in town was concerned about someone getting hit by a speeder. A lot of stops were made there out of a regard for safety and of course revenue generation and many tickets were issued. Officer Jimmy wasn’t big on tickets, he was more about keeping people safe. He believed that “Protect and Serve” was a lost notion, that cops now were all about busting heads and acting tough. Not him. He would never be like that. He always tried to live by his father’s famous mantra, “Always be nice. Until it’s time not to.” He had heard it so many times he might as well have had it tattooed on his forehead. It was his go-to first reaction in almost all situations and it had served him well.

Until that night.

Jimmy had been sitting in his car getting caught up on some reports when he spotted the headlights come over the hill. He immediately saw that the driver was operating erratically and speeding. He put his report book on the passenger seat and studied the vehicle’s approach to the intersection. He watched as the car screeched to a stop well over the line. Jimmy waited until the car crossed the intersection, pulled out behind him and hit the siren and lights. The driver pulled over immediately and Jimmy could see him fumbling in the glove box. He approached the car from the drivers side and pointed his flashlight at the driver. A clearly disoriented and intoxicated young man squinted back at him. His pupils were dilated and when he spoke all doubt about his condition was removed.
“Good evening Officer.” His voice was slurred.
“Good evening. License and Registration please.” The young man handed them through the open window. Jimmy reviewed them quickly, put them in his breast pocket and ordered him out of the car. The young man complied. He was wobbly as he stood up and he reeked of alcohol.
“Been drinking tonight?” Jimmy asked him.
“Yessir.” The young man replied. “Do I get points for honesty?”
“You do, but you lose points for driving shitfaced at 11:30 on a Tuesday night.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Sir?, I’m not a sir. It’s Officer McInerney. And I’m not sure ‘Sorry’ cuts it when we’re talking about public safety.”
The young man bowed his head sheepishly.
Officer McInerney gave him a thorough sobriety test which the young man summarily failed. He knew it. He put out his hands and waited for the handcuffs. Jimmy had another idea.
“This your correct address?” He was holding the young man’s license.
“Yes.”
“That’s two blocks from here. I’m going to follow you home. You’re going to go in your house and you are going to stay there. And you will think twice before doing this again. Got it?”
“Yes, Officer.” The young man was clearly relieved and elated.
“Get in and go. Slowly”, Jimmy instructed.
The young man got in before Jimmy could change his mind. As promised he drove home. Slowly. Jimmy followed him home and watched the young man park his car, get out and walk to the front door. He waved to Jimmy, showed his keys in his hand and went inside. Goodnight Henry James Douglas. He felt pretty good about how he had handled the situation.

Later that night his quiet shift was interrupted by dispatch ordering all available units to a vehicular crash across town. He could already hear the Fire Department and EMT’s sirens en route to the scene. As he threw his Crown Vic into gear and headed out he heard over the radio, “Multiple injuries, possible fatality.”
When Officer McInerney arrived on the scene his stomach momentarily sunk. The two vehicles had collided head on. There was glass and debris everywhere. EMT’S and Firefighters scrambled as they attended to the victims. He immediately recognized one of the vehicles. His heart almost stopped.
He looked around and there was a bloodied Henry James Douglas being pushed into the back of a cruiser, handcuffed. As his head was ducked into the cruiser Henry turned to look at him. They made eye contact. Jimmy momentarily fought off the sinking feeling in his stomach as he rushed to assist the first responders with the accident scene.
This is not going to end well…