Tag: journal

The enigma that is man…Just Jot it January

#JusJoJan 2019 Daily Prompt – Jan. 4th

Today’s prompt is enigma.

I don’t understand…

Why, centuries after man embarked on the ages of “Enlightenment” and “Reason” we are more devoid of both than in any period in history…

Why the least accomplished generation ever is the most over-documented and photographed…

Why we have devolved into listening only with the intent of waiting our turn to speak and ignoring what is being said…

Why we have so much ability to judge and almost none to evaluate and improve our own selves…

Why we continue to hate and murder in the name of “religions” that proclaim peace and love..

Why we use people and idolize things when we should idolize people and use things…

Why we harnessed the laws of Science and Nature to create pollution and weapons capable of destroying both…

Why we chastise those of color and then lie in the sun to look like them…

Why we chase the appearance of youth when we should be embracing the grace and wisdom of our years…

Why we idolize the wealthy celebrity and demonize the calloused hands of the working man…

Man truly is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, surrounded by a puzzle.

I don’t get it..

The Superman Saga…Just Jot it January

#JusJoJan 2019 Daily Prompt – Jan. 3rd

Today’s JusJotJan topic is a good one.

The prompt for JusJoJan 2019, January 3rd, is your blog. Why did you start blogging? How did you come up with your theme, if you have one? How has it changed your life? Tell us about your blog in your jot!

My blog definitely has a story behind it.

The name Superman can’t find a phone booth has a history. Through various phases of my life, I have been dubbed the moniker “Superman” in good and bad contexts alike. I have always tried to save the day. I was always able to stay up late, get up early and get through the day. But the most recent incarnation was when my wife, frustrated at my failure to stay at home, feel sick and dwell on my illness, chastised me for my stubbornness and said “Ok Superman! Do what you want, you’re bulletproof I guess!”

It wasn’t her fault, I was being stubborn. To me, not acting sick is the key to feeling healthy.

What she didn’t understand was that my insistence on dealing with my illness, failing career and mounting debt was to be strong, or at least act it for the sake of my worried children. But as I got sicker, I found that I was running out of outlets to find solace. In short, as dated as the metaphor may be, I was running out of Phone Booths to change into my Man of Steel costume. And CKD was my Kryptonite.

In August of 2017, the final step in the collapse of my life as I knew it occurred. I moved in with my mother, who lived over 100 miles from my entire world. I had lost my job, my Kidney disease had progressed to the point where I could no longer work, my family split up and we were forced to give up our house, I was forced to apply for Disability and ask my mother to support me until I could pay her back. While my life had been hanging on by a thread in every way for a long time, it had officially spiraled down the drain. A 2013 Honda Civic loaded with all of the belongings I could carry was all that I had left.

The marriage wasn’t a surprise. We hadn’t been happy in years. We had stayed together for the kids. I loved, more than anything seeing them everyday and there was no Shitburger for me to eat that was too big to take that away from me. Until Chronic Kidney Disease that is. Divorce soon followed.

I took the opportunity once I was settled into my new surroundings to take a hard look at my life. Where I was, who I was and where do I go next raced through my head day and night. One night, while enjoying a moonlit NH night, it occurred to me that it may help to write it down for a bunch of strangers to read.

But what to call it? It then dawned on me. Superman can’t find a phone booth. Talk about a theme to draw from.

I set out to be honest, brutally at times, with myself and I put my words to keyboard accordingly. I wrote about everything that came to mind. I didn’t draw much attention at first but those that did read me related to my story. Some even felt inspired by it. That meant the world to me. It still does.

I can’t tell you how it will end up, my story hasn’t been fully told yet.

Stay tuned…


a distinct and profound lack of motivation

To blog or not to blog…that is the question.

This is not one of those “I have nothing to write about so I’ll write about it” posts. I’ve just found it increasingly difficult to post lately. Health issues, daily life and a general lack of desire have consumed me. I have ideas, I have created many drafts waiting for some TLC and I have no intention of stopping. But I’m in a motivational rut.

I feel ok, not great. Dialysis kicks my ass to a certain degree. Despite all of the benefits, fatigue and washout are common the day of and often the next day as well. I may wake up eager to post but then I find I’m just too tired.

Dialysis is as time-consuming as a part-time job. My dialysis days have made it very difficult to find the time and energy to post. My time slot is 11:30 AM. I get up at 7. I watch the news and have my morning coffee. I take care of minor business like light housework or pay some bills and then I have to be out of the house by 10:40. I have a 30 minute drive, I need to report 20 minutes early, I’m in the chair for 4 hours on the machine and another 20 to make sure the bleeding has stopped and I am able to drive (dizziness and nausea are common after dialysis). Another 30 minute drive home and by then it’s almost dinner time. After dinner, I’m usually too tired to even think about writing. When I started dialysis I found a positive in sitting in a comfortable chair for 4 hours. I decided that I would have some great blogging time. What I found is that having to have my left arm perfectly still makes typing, or balancing a laptop near impossible. If I move my arm too much, the needles can move and cause an infiltrate. I did it once, it hurt to the point of keeping me up all night for 2 weeks. I’m relegated to reading a book with one hand (not as easy as it sounds) or watching TV. Such a waste of time on so many levels.

On off days, when I feel good I get out and do things. Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, Friday can be busy. I try to visit friends. I go down to MA as often as I can to stay involved with my Masonic Lodge. I see my kids whenever possible. I volunteer at 2 food pantries. These activities of course require me to feel well, and that is not always the case. Some days I can’t get off of the sofa. Therefore, for every one of those days that I do nothing, the next off day becomes even busier.

Blogging had become part of my daily routine. I always made time for it. This has created a conflict for me. It now becomes one more thing that I get mad at myself about when I don’t do it. Self-guilt is a powerful thing.

Blogging has been a wonderful experience for me. I have enjoyed catharsis I never dreamed of. I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve enjoyed sharing my story. I enjoyed the growth of my blog and the wonderful feedback of my followers. I’m very thankful for the people I’ve gotten to know on this site. Some of you I proudly call friends. That being said, I’m not impressed with the lack of traffic to my blog lately. Despite my decline in regular posting, when I do post I do my best to put something of quality out there. I try to be relatable, thought-provoking and interesting. Lately I get a few comments and a few likes and that’s it. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.

I am a blogger who “gets it”. I don’t click follow just to be followed. I follow you because I find you interesting. I read your posts, I don’t scroll and drop a uninspired “like”. I comment as often as I can. I offer feedback, anecdotes and I always try to be complimentary. I try to get to know you. I follow almost 170 blogs and I try to take time to catch up with all of them.

I have less than 400 followers. Some of you have thousands. It doesn’t bother me. I am grateful for all of them. The amount of followers means less to me than overall readership. I have some very regular readers who comment with great feedback. You know who you are and I appreciate you. But not even 5% seem to actually read me. The question begs to be asked. Who am I doing this for?

I’ve always subscribed to the notion, “the longer you stop doing something the harder it is to get back into it”. It’s definitely a real thing. Many days I have looked over at my laptop, hearing its call. It has been so difficult to answer. But I’m working on it and I look forward to returning to original form.

I’m still here.

Badge of honor

One of my favorite things about Christmas shopping is buying the occasional trinket for myself. I can’t help it. I only go in stores once a year so it makes sense that I would find things that I like, right?

This year is special. With the successful Disability claim I finally have an income. It’s a meager one but it’s something. It killed me last year to go into birthdays and holidays with no means to give gifts. I am a generous person by nature and I never go anywhere empty handed. My family understood, but it didn’t make me feel any better. This year I hit the stores.

I live 45 minutes from the nearest shopping center. I try to limit my visits to days that I do dialysis which is nearby. But this week I have gone in every day. I have been working closely with the Social Worker at the dialysis center on my ongoing Insurance issues. She is very knowledgeable and incredibly helpful but is only there on my off days. Therefore it’s taken all of this week to get to get it right.

Yesterday after Dialysis I went to get something for my mother. As I was walked by the Jewelry section a shiny object caught my eye. A Superman pendant. I wanted it. Now, if you know the name of my blog then you can see why this caught my attention. If you know the back story of why I named my blog as I did then you will further understand. I looked for an attendant but none were available. Alas, I was tired, wanting to get home so I left, knowing that I would be back today.

This morning I showed up at the dialysis center to find that the Social Worker wasn’t in and wouldn’t be for several hours. I decided that I would stay in the area and come back later. It was too much of a drive to go home and then come back. I went to get an oil change on my truck, did some food shopping and went back to the center. She was still not there.

I went back to the store. This time there was an attendant at the Jewelry counter. I asked the lovely red-head (my favorite…Grrrrrrrr)
named Ginger of all things to take the pendant out so that I could look at it. The price caused me to spin on my heels until she mentioned the word “discount”. Discount indeed, by the time she was done I bought if for 1/3 of the asking price.

As Ginger was ringing it up, she looked up and asked “any significance to the pendant?”
“Do you mean to say ‘why is a grown-ass man buying a Superhero pendant’?”
She turned a little red (pun intended), “No, I was just wondering if there is a story behind it.”
“There is, actually, but I don’t want to bore you.”
“Bore away”, she said, “It’s a slow day.”
I explained that I had a blog. About how my wife had derogatorily nicknamed me Superman because she thought I was so stubborn and hard-headed and invincible. I explained that being chronically ill, it helps me to wear the badge to remind me to be strong. She hung on every word.
“What’s your illness?” she asked.
I told her. She had a cousin that was on dialysis. I told her that I was as well. She told me that he was about my age, 46 or47. I told her that I was 53. She didn’t believe me and also told me that I look pretty damn good for a guy on dialysis. I told her that she just made my day.

She offered to box it up. I told her I would wear it out. She laughed. I walked out feeling like a man of steel.

Later, at the center, I resolved my insurance issues. As I stood up my pendant fell out of my shirt. The Social Worker commented.
“Nice pendant. Like your blog,right?”
Apparently the one Nurse that I showed it to spread the word. Not a bad thing I suppose.

I may find myself working my way back to the store to see Ginger again. After all, I do so love a redhead.

7 years

 Seven years ago today at this time I awoke from Anesthesia in a tented room. The first thing I noticed was the plethora of wires and tubes sticking out of my neck and arm. A doctor soon entered the room, followed by a team of nurses. They took my vitals and the doctor then asked me a few questions to test my mental acuity

“Sir, do you know what day it is?”
“Tuesday I think, unless I slept longer than I think” I replied foggily.
“Correct. When did you work last?”
“Yesterday.”

“And your last dialysis treatment?”
“Never did it.”

“Sir, we have a number that we use to determine how due someone is for Dialysis. 10 is average. Do you know what yours was?”
I nodded my head. His snarky attitude was pissing me off.
“110. You made it, but you were foolish and took a big risk.” He then walked out of the room condescendingly shaking his head.

Of course I avoided Dialysis. I would have lost my job. Then I would have lost my house and my family. I fought it with everything in my being for the longest time. And it worked, my Angel eventually came along and I got the gift of a new Kidney. It was an amazing gesture from a remarkably down to earth, humble young woman.

She was a co-worker. The daughter of my Assistant. I knew her pretty well but not well enough to think that she would do such an amazing thing.But it turns out that it is just the way she was.

I was hospitalized one day with a kidney-related infection, My boss came to visit me. He dropped it on me that Deb was willing to be tested. I was floored. When I returned to work the next week I first gave her a giant hug and then carefully explained to her the process.I thought for sure she would flinch. She didn’t.

Within a month her testing was done. She was a perfect match. It was scheduled soon after for Dec 13th.

Word soon got out among our customer base about the situation. It was big news. A local CBS affiliate came to our office to interview us. We were on the 6 O’clock news. The interview was priceless. When Deb was asked on film why she was doing this she curtly replied “I have 2,he needs one. I don’t want him to be on dialysis and lose his job so here we are. Short and sweet. For weeks after wherever I went people came up to me and said, “Hey, you’re that transplant guy I saw on the news!”

December 13 th arrived and we met at Tufts Hospital at 6 AM. My mother and father took me in, Deb was already there with hers. Our families had never met, so they exchanged pleasantries. We were all nervous but I was the only one to show it. At 6:30 the doctors called for us. I gave Deb a hug and told her that I would see her on the other side.

As you know I made it to the other side. I had a quick recovery, 33 days from surgery to return to work. Beyond my physical recovery I was tasked with reconciling with the overwhelming gratitude I felt towards Deb.

We became great friends. We made jokes. People at work were afraid to mess with either of us for fear of retribution from the other. She was tough, her famous joke was “Take care of that kidney or I’lltake it back.”
I believed her.

It’s somewhat painful to reminisce on this, given that her gift has failed and I am back to square one. I had the hardest time telling her because I was so torn that her gift hadn’t lasted longer. As if I hadn’t done my best to make it last. When I did tell her, she didn’t flinch but instead said “I hope it gave you what you were looking for, no matter how long it lasted.” A more grounded person have I never met.

Despite the physical viability being gone, her gift changed me profoundly in so many ways. Beyond giving me a new lease on life, it also transformed my attitude towards everything. It helped me to exemplify the traits that I had always wanted to dominate my life…gratitude, empathy, charity and humility. I was given the ultimate gift, that of life. I owe such a debt to Deb, her selflessness and generosity will never be forgotten.

I may have been wrong to dread Dialysis as much as I did. It’s no fun but it’s not nearly as bad as I thought. And it beats the alternative. The gifted kidney may have failed but the lessons of the transplant remain intact and healthy. I am still grateful. I am stillhumble. I am still appreciative of all that I have. If attitude were currency I’d be a truly wealthy man.


Don’t let people tell you that people suck. There are some wonderful people in the world. I know because I am surrounded by them.

If you don’t know one… be one.

I see trees

 

Sometime in the near future NASA is going to reveal that they have found the center of the Universe.

A lot of people are going to be crushed to find that it’s not them.

I am growing so incredibly frustrated with the materialistic, self-centered, selfie society we are becoming.
Rampant consumerism has a firm choke hold on the throat of moderation.
Savings have dwindled, debts have soared, and landfills are heaping with the scraps of our throwaway mentality.
Self-obsession and promotion has become the new normal. We’d rather film a person beating someone up than stop to help them.
We are becoming too power obsessed, fighting for our little scraps and destroying everything in our path in the process.

I fear that we are losing our humanity.

 While I always tried to avoid participating in such a life, I was forced to live along side it. Fortunately, in the downsizing of my existence I was finally able to walk away from it completely. Once free from the pursuit of a larger everything I have embraced normalcy. I have welcomed my average. I celebrate and surround myself with the regular. And I have never been happier.

One of my favorite movie scenes is from The Great Outdoors, starring John Candy and Dan Aykroyd. They are in Canada on vacation, sitting on a deck overlooking a lake. Dan Aykroyd, a materialistic businessman, goes off on a tirade about what he sees when he looks out over the water. He describes a vision of future Industrialization, urban sprawl, forestry, and medical waste dumps. John Candy’scharacter is a simple man, and when asked what he sees, replies
“I just see trees.”
He is then summarily berated for being short-sighted and simple. Sorry to say, but that’s me, I just see trees.

In order to appreciate the world we have to take our eyes off of the screens and look up and around. We need to appreciate the power and beauty of nature. The beauty is everywhere, the power rearing its mighty head unpredictably. Both manifest in subtle sights and awe-inspiring displays. The flight of the bird, starlit nights and sunsets, the reflection of foliage on the still waters of a pond on a late fall afternoon. Such sights fill me with wonder and give me cause me to question my place in the world and to seek a spiritual connection to the Universe.

The looming mountaintop, the endless horizon seen from the beach, the mighty Oak, the rushing river, wind tearing through trees, waves crashing and receding with a massive riptide serve another purpose entirely. They remind me of how small I really am in the grand scheme of things. Instead of being intimidated, I embrace it.

I recognize my relative size and overall significance in comparison to the Universe. I know my place. No man is a match for the mighty tide, despite his wealth, power and amount of Instagram followers. Man is only a force in, not of, Nature when he embraces his fellow man. But instead of coming together as an advanced society we have drifted apart and we are regressing. Our humanity is whatmakes us great, the increasing lack of it is destroying us.

Thisis a call for humility,
A wake-up call to recognize and embrace our smallness.
A damper of ego and hubris.
For less stuff andmore quality.

To just see Trees…

talking to Granite

I never thought I would be the guy to sit in a cemetery and talk to a piece of granite. I have lost many, too many, friends and family and I always make my visits to their places of rest. But I don’t sit and talk. That changed when I lost my Dad.

Yesterday was the 5th anniversary of his death. I wasn’t in the mood to write yesterday, it’s a tough day for me. Living in a house that he built doesn’t help. I see his touch everywhere in the woodworking, design, and collectibles. As I write this I’m sitting in his favorite chair with his beloved dog sleeping at my feet.

5 years later I still tear up when I think of him and when I attempt to talk about him I invariably choke up. I have been fortunate to have been asked to speak at some events I am a part of and have foolishly attempted to speak of my father and consequently blubbered in front of packed rooms. Historically, I am not a crier. But when it comes to Dad I can’t control it.

As a guy with a long family tradition of “sucking it up and moving on” I am puzzled why it is not getting easier as the years pass. Time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t fill all voids. His loss occurred at a time in my life I probably needed him the most. I was finally coming around to understanding the things he said. Things that I rejected in my youth that I later learned he was dead on about. I had just started to appreciate his simplistic approach to life; be nice to people, tell the truth and work hard and the rest will come. I had just started to recognize that people with his value system and work ethic were slowly vanishing and his presence was a treasure. I was at a point when I needed his eternal optimism to fuel me as I entered the worst chapter of my life. He was minimalism at its finest…less is more. Less showboating, less ego, less drama, and aggravation.

I miss him. The world was a better place with him in it. He deserved better. He worked so hard for so many years to provide for his family and build a retirement. He retired early because his co-workers were all dying young. He enjoyed about 3 years before Parkinson’s reared its ugly head. It reduced a strong, proud man to a mere shell in a long 8 years. Those years took more than his mobility, they took his pride and his independence. Death was a relief for him, I saw his face when he took his last breath.

My life has been especially challenging lately. I am trying to maintain the family optimism and positivity. It’s getting harder. I wish I still had him telling me that everything is going to work out. I suppose while I’m wishing for things I wish that he could have enjoyed his retirement. I wish that he could have celebrated his 50th wedding anniversary. I wish I could tell him how many things he was right about.

I wish that I didn’t have to tell a granite slab things that I wanted to tell him to his face.

Tell the people in your life how you feel about them today, don’t wait. Tomorrow is not a guarantee. You may find yourself sitting in a cemetery talking to granite also. If you’re reading this it’s because I chose to share it with you. Because I care about you and I won’t wait until it’s too late to tell you. Regret is as eternal as granite.

3,2,1…Hope

I have again been invited to participate in a quote challenge. My participation in such challenges is spotty at best but I want to introduce you to Lisa @ All About Life. She has a great blog. She’s very positive in her posts, interesting, a loyal follower, great commenter and a all-around cool chick. If you read her, you will want to follow her. Thank you Lisa for the challenge.

Today’s topic is Hope. A perfect topic for me to discuss. My entire life centers around it. I walk this earth with the belief that things are one way or the other. I have been called “Black and White” many times in my life and it wasn’t a compliment. I never backed down from it. I believe in absolutes, especially in matters of attitude. One thing that has always sustained me, that has drawn the respect and admiration of my peers, is my optimism.

When you are chronically ill you really have only 2 choices in how you approach life. Negative or positive. You either dwell on your situation and ask “why me”? or you deal with it by getting through the hard days, rejoicing in the good days and always, always look forward to the time when you will feel better every day. Even if that day never comes…live life as if it will.

I can think of no better way to discuss hope than to showcase my favorite movie, The Shawshank Redemption. If you haven’t seen it, the nuts and bolts of it is a innocent man sentenced to life in a brutal prison. Can you imagine being innocent, jailed for life and screaming with all of your being that you don’t belong there? How long must a day be, what motivates you to get up and live with that crushing weight on you?

To start things off, the best quote of the movie is
Quote # 1

Andy Dufesne

Doesn’t this say it all? While it doesn’t explicitly have the word hope in it, it is the true essence of hope itself. This is my philosophy in a nutshell. Negative vs positive, backwards vs forward. Optimism, hope itself is a choice. The choice you make will determine your path and how others perceive you. I choose to get busy living because, even if I was in prison, I would always believe that I would be vindicated eventually. The truth always reveals itself and I would want to be there when it does. I choose to get busy living.

“Red”


This is the flip side of hope. When you look at your situation and determine that it is indeed going to define you and therefore hope is fruitless. In this case Red has resigned himself to being institutionalized for life. The walls he used to challenge had begun to give him security. The idea of a life outside of those walls became a fantasy, one that became dangerous. It challenged his reality. My only challenge to this, and again I have never been faced with such circumstances, is that one never knows the future. If you aren’t open to the possibility that tomorrow may hold a surprise then you reduce the likelihood of it happening. In this case, Red was paroled and he was suddenly faced with a whole new set of “hopes”. Ones that were once impossibilities became his new reality.

“Hope springs eternal” is a popular saying. There is a caveat…you need to be open to it. Choose hope. Don’t complain. Noone needs to hear it, it accomplishes nothing, and at the end of the day that may be how you are remembered. 

You don’t want that.

I’m not going to nominate anyone, but feel free to play along. I’d love to see what you come up with.

My Thanksgiving

When I first got the text from my ex-wife that she wanted to host Thanksgiving at her new apartment I had mixed feelings. I was glad that I would have the opportunity to have all of the kids in one room for a change and was glad that my ex and I get along well enough for such a get-together to be palatable. What troubled me was her history of freaking out on Holidays.

From the beginning of our relationship holidays were a problem for her. I could never put my finger on why they were so difficult. For the first years of our marriage we almost exclusively went to our families houses. Our only stress factors were travel, getting the kids ready and dealing with her mother. Admittedly, that was a big one. Her relationship with her mother was contentious for as long as I had known her. Her mother was always jabbing at her, it sometimes seemed that she was sitting at the table with a voodoo doll, sticking pin after pin and laughing as her daughter imploded. But even when the mother wasn’t there, my wife was still highly stressed and visibly agitated.

Once we owned our first house we took on the task of hosting the holidays. Given the age of our children and the logistics (naps, feedings, etc.,) of taking them out, and the size of our house it made sense to have people come over. Knowing that she would be stressed I took upon myself as much of the work as I could. I did all of the cooking, as much cleaning as possible and tried to control as many of her stressors as I could. I was naïve to think that I could control that which I did not understand. Her stressors were a bigger enigma than I could ever imagine. This would become evident when my mother dropped a tray of cupcakes in the driveway one Christmas morning. My wife freaked on her, yelling that we would now be overrun by ants. When I told her that we don’t get ants in December, she turned her wrath on me for questioning her. The day was ruined before it started.

It never got better. Every Holiday was stressful for all of us. The stress of walking on eggshells was too much for everyone. I just learned to deal with it.

So you can see why the prospect of her hosting gave me pause.

I offered to bring some of the meal. She asked me to make the Turkey. I gladly agreed. She was confident that she could handle the rest of the feast.

Thanksgiving morning I awoke at 5 AM. I crammed the birds ass with stuffing and put it in the oven with a schedule of leaving the house by 10:30 AM. I pulled it off and pulled into her development at 12:30. The turkey was still hot. I went in.

Despite her request that we all be there by 12:30 I was the only one on time. I offered to help her in the kitchen but she insisted that she had it under control. Her goal was to serve the appetizers at 1 and the meal at 1:30. It would not work that way, everyone was late. Amazingly, she held it together. Once my oldest daughter and her boyfriend, my oldest son and her mother (yes, her mother was invited as well) arrived, the meal was ready, getting cold on the table while we had the appetizers but she kept her cool, only to a lesser degree. To lessen her anxiety, I snuck into the kitchen and began putting items in the oven to keep them warm. She protested but I insisted that it was my way of helping. She reluctantly acquiesced. 

The meal went off without a hitch. My bird was a big hit, her culinary creations (she has never claimed to be a cook) were delicious and the chemistry at the table was magical. I was in heaven having my amazing family together. There is nothing in this world that I miss more than seeing my kids every day. I savored every moment of it. We did our family tradition of going around the table and saying what we are thankful for and I was happy to watch my children do theirs. They never liked it when they were younger, they thought it was silly. But now, they get it. They had some great offerings as to what they were thankful for. When it came my turn I simply stated that I was grateful to be there, on the right side of the dirt, surrounded by everything that matters to me in life. Normally loquacious, resulting in groans and eye rolls, mine was short and sweet.

The cleanup went well. We took a bunch of pictures. We drank coffee and ate dessert. We watched football. We played with the dogs. The conversation flowed. It really was a magical day. When it was time to leave, I couldn’t give everyone a big enough hug. I even hugged my ex-wife. I was proud of her. It may sound silly, but after all of the nightmare stories from holidays of the past it was exciting to have a day without incident.

It was bittersweet in a way. My ex looks great, she seems to be making a real effort to get better emotionally and seems almost happy. Part of me wonders why she couldn’t do those things while we were together. I will always wonder if she is better off without me. But at the end of the day I want what I have always wanted, I just want her to be happy.