Tag: stuff

Sunshine Blogger award

I was nominated by All about life for the Sunshine blogger award.

And the award goes to…….those who are creative, positive, and inspiring, while spreading sunshine to the blogging community and, apparently, that includes me! While not much for awards (I really don’t feel worthy), out of respect for her nominating me and with a desire to draw attention to her blog I want to answer the questions posed in the nomination. Lisa pens a really wonderful blog, written in a very down-to-earth manner and it just reeks of positivity.  She engages her readers and offers sincere, useful feedback. Oh yeah, she’s funny. Check that out here. I personally am thrilled to have found her blog.

  1. What’s the thing that you like most about yourself?
    I would like to think that if nothing else, I am genuine. I can’t and won’t pretend I’m something I’m not. Some people are like playing cards. From the front they look solid, turn them to the side and there’s just nothing there.
  2. Do you have any little oddities?
    I have a lot of little oddities. Let’s see if I can come up with a non-embarrassing one. I have a nervous tick, when I tell a joke that I am uncertain about (due to appropriateness or for fear of offending a snowflake) I slap my leg at the punchline. My son makes fun of me all of the time for it.
  3. A million dollars or a 1000 hours of bliss? Which would you prefer?
    I would take the million dollars and then create some bliss. I would do as many meaningful gestures as possible with the money. Anything from buying new cars for my kids to helping a military family or a family with a terminally ill child. Something that would better someone’s life.
  4. Which animal do you most identify with?
    The dog. I have the potential to love unconditionally. I am loyal. I may have teeth and am capable of doing harm but at the end of the day if you rub my head just right I will be truly happy. 
  5. Do you believe in fate or think we create our own destinies?
    I’ve always struggled with the notion that our destinies are pre-determined. That it’s all a master plan that we have to wait and see how it plays out. So I guess I believe that we, to the best of our abilities create our own destinies. In the end it is a combination of our willingness to take risks, our drive to succeed, the ability to make good decisions and our ability to get up after we get our asses kicked.
  6. Which of your blog posts are you most proud of (feel free to add link)
    I tend to avoid the word “proud”. But I would have to say that I am happy with my few attempts at fiction and poetry but I am most rewarded by the response I have gotten from those posts that I really put my bare ass out there and shared my life. Many who read me find my “brutal honesty” (not my words but a reader’s) refreshing. It helped me also by putting it out there, it is liberating.
  7. It’s your last day on Earth – what will you do?
    I’ve been chronically ill for a long time. I am probably the worst I have ever been as I type this. I tend to treat each day as if it is my last in that I make sure that all of the people in my life know how I feel about them; that I free myself from anger and bitterness; not waste my time with negative people and thoughts; and I make it a point to enjoy every sunset, gust of breeze, conversation, and opportunity to laugh knowing that if I were not to wake tomorrow I left nothing on the table.
  8. What’s your favorite quote and why?
    Pine
    I don’t care how much shit you have, how many instagram followers you have, how much you make or how big your house is. Do you have character? That is how you will be remembered.
  9. If you had to give up one forever would it be reading or writing?
    I’d eat a bullet before I would give up either. Books are an eternal wellspring of knowledge, fantasy and learning. A life without these is no life. Writing is my only therapy, I like to think I do it well and I would also like to think that I have helped or inspired someone by my writing.
  10. What’s your happiest memory?
    I have so many. All of them involved when my kids were young. Footie pajamas, silly movies, shoulder rides, bedtime stories and belly laughs. Wishing they would never grow up. 
  11. Who are you?
    I am Bill. I will never put fruit in my beer. I like what I like and I don’t ask you to change for me, just accept me for what I am. Opinionated as hell but accepting to a fault.  I am a philanthropist with no money, I still want to save the world. I am a guy with no job, no money living with his mother that still believes that life is good and will only get better.

I am not going to nominate anyone. If you feel encouraged to play along, I would love to hear your answers to the same (great) questions.

Hope

If I could pick one thing that I have always had an abundance of, I would say it is hope. I have left many impressions on those around me, some good and some not so much, but most everyone saw me as optimistic. As life kicked me to the ground repeatedly, often at my own request through stupidity, ignorance and drunkenness, I got up and dusted myself off and looked to tomorrow to be a better day. It wasn’t forced, it was just how I was. My glass, usually containing beer or scotch, was usually half-full and always refillable.

I came to rely on my optimistic nature as I became sick. Despite being diagnosed with a potentially life-altering (and possibly ending) disease in my early twenties I refused to let it define me. I cruised through my twenties at a frenetic, often drunken state and really never gave it a thought. When I had a “episode” of peeing coca-cola colored urine, searing lower back pain, severe fatigue and bedrest I was of course reminded in the starkest of ways. But when the symptoms went away I pushed it to the back of my mind again.

In my thirties my disease progressed. My “outbreaks” were more frequent. I was forced to face up to it more often. In the interest of protecting my family from worry and my employers from firing me, I tucked it deep down inside. I then added denial to the mix, because “not thinking about it” wasn’t doing the trick. I still had so many things to accomplish.

Despite being in crushing debt I was hopeful that a big break would come so I worked crazy hours to make more money. All that I achieved was higher blood pressure and the knowledge that no matter how much I made my wife was spending it as if she was a drunken sailor with a fist full of Viagra.

My higher objective was to make the best possible life for my family. The hours, the career changes, the constant worrying about money was in the interest of making sure that my family had everything they needed. My larger hope would be that I could somehow save something for their future. Alas, that was not to be either.

I cruised through my thirties on my rocket ship of denial, fueled by hope. I even entered my forties with just a few outbreaks. Then, at age 41 I was told that a transplant was definitely in my future, there were no other options. I was initially floored. I will admit that there was a emotional breakdown involved. When you avoid crying most of your adult life you are only sticking your finger in the dyke. Eventually the dyke will burst, and this one did. But just like that, I was over it and I was overcome by a powerful and inexplicable sense that this it work out. I had a deadline, and that was to avoid dialysis at all costs. It was my father’s influence on me, he always, to a fault, said that “everything will work out, it always does.” My Dad had a shit life, but he had an abundance of hope.

In my late 40’s, teetering on the edge of dialysis and in the hospital again with a renal-related infection, I was told by my boss that in my absence from work a co-worker had stepped up and offered to be tested for donation. A girl that I barely knew. I had hope. I was told that the odds of her, my only donation offer at this point, being a match were slim.
She was a perfect match. Hope wins. Despite the odds.
We did the surgery 4 months later. I came out of the surgery like a bull out of the gates. I was full of energy, the desire to be better at what I knew, and to tackle those things that I didn’t. I committed myself to recovery. I was back at work in 33 days, that has to be a record. My doctors told me to take it easy. I told them to get lost.

I mountain-biked with the big boys. I set a personal best on the bench press. I lost weight.  I joined a charitable fraternity and paid it forward. I got propositioned by a smoking hot 27 year old Latina at work. Things were great. Well, my marriage was still a train wreck and my finances were in a shambles but I felt great. This continued for 5 years. Then one night, while serving a charity dinner, I suddenly cramped up and was unable to stand. I knew what it was. The next day my doctor confirmed that my new kidney was failing.

I was crushed. I felt betrayed. How could they have not told me that my disease could return? I felt that I had been given false hope. It was only later that I realized that if I was told the potential of failure I may not have tackled life post-transplant as I had. I may have just sat on my ass and waited for it to happen.

When I got divorced, moved in with my mother and applied for disability I pretty much lost hope. The last year has been a year of hibernation. I miss my family, I miss my friends and I miss working. I miss tackling each day like a warrior.

Then, last month I was fortunate to be offered the prospect of another transplant. Again, I have hope. Yet I am cautious. I am nervous. I find myself withdrawing from my friends and family. I am haunted by the prospect of it not happening, or not working out. Every day, every Dr visit is part of the waiting game. I am deathly afraid of false hope.

That’s why I have been posting poetry and dabbling with my “Jack Valentine” saga. I am dabbling in the fantasy world to avoid reality. Writing about my real life, as I have always done with a modicum of success, seems out of reach.

Maybe I need more of the one thing I have always lacked.

Patience

 

Hot summer days

Those hot summer days
Basking in the sun’s rays
Outside, even when skies were grey
The knock on the door
Can Billy come out to play?
Cops and robbers in the yard
Shins and elbows always scarred
Streetlamp curfews
Wasted days were few
Wax bottles and candy cigarettes
Eight-track tapes and cassettes
Hot afternoons in the pool
Mirror shades, try to look cool
Leaf piles to dive in
Saturday night drive in
Sleepovers at camp
Motocross bikes, jumping that ramp
Swimming and fishing
shooting stars and wishing
Talking to my first cutie
Worried about cooties
Bad music and One hit wonders
School dances and social blunders
First day of school sneakers
Hi-Fi and Big speakers
The crack of the bat
My first baseball hat
First day of tryouts
Don’t make a flyout
Ground ball heading to first
Damn, I missed it. I’m the worst

Those days were the best
I just didn’t know it
Let me go back
This time I won’t blow it
I don’t want to play adult
Tell Zoltar to stop winking
I wanted to be Big
What was I thinking?
I miss my old house
I miss my first dog
I miss not worrying
About every damn thing
I miss feeling good
rugged and strong
I’ve lost my joy
My days seem so long
My longevity is fleeting
I’ve taken a beating
I’m tired of this, my downward phase
I want to go back to those hot summer days

The kindness of strangers

I wrote a post many, many months ago challenging those who say the lovely, always productive phrase “people suck.” You can find it Here.

I’ve always hated that expression. I believe, I want to and have to, that most people strive to be the best person they can be. I also believe that the best way to reveal character is not in the year of your car, the size of your watch, how much you have in the bank or how many Instagram followers you have but instead by your deeds towards others.

I’m less interested in whether you have stood with the great. I want to know if you’ve sat with the broken.

I received a call from a Masonic Brother last week. He was checking in to see how I was feeling. I told him the truth. Virtually sofa-ridden, fatigued and in need of dialysis. He appreciated the update. We talked for a while and he then excused himself because he had something to do. I put down the phone, put my head back and settled in for the ninth nap of the day (I may be exaggerating a bit). Several minutes later my phone starting blowing up with FB notifications. I took a look.

He had excused himself to compose FB posts on every MA FB page related to Masonry regarding my condition and my need for another donor. It was overwhelming.

The messages began to pour in. Due to my brother’s gesture I have six, yes six people who have asked to be tested in order to donate a kidney to me. 4 of them I have never met or even heard their name before.
download (46)

I am humbled, excited, honored and blessed by this outpouring of support. It has given me something that I have not experienced, nor expected to, for over a year. What is that you ask?

Hope, I now have hope.

If I ever have the privilege of speaking to any of you, please don’t ever tell me that people suck. I’m not the guy who will buy into that mentality. The good ones are out there, maybe you have to look a little harder. Just remember…

If you can’t find one, become one.

Trust

I trust that each day the sun will rise
that the sparkle will always be in the child’s eyes
I trust that the Spring will bring the rain
that my daily meds will ease my pain

I trust that the people in my life are good
that my intentions are always understood
I trust in my instincts, no matter what
in the unconditional love of a mutt

I trust in the tides
and their consistent ebb and flow
I trust in the beauty of flowers
in Mother Nature and her infinite powers

I trust in so many things
enormous and small
That Hummingbirds be tiny
That the Oak tree be tall

Trust is not given, it must be earned
when violated one always feel burned
My loyalty to you was the best I could do
So why, after all these years…

can I not trust you?

 

 

 

Fighting the good fight

My mother is a wonderful person. Of course I think so. But a lot of others do as well. Today, someone hurt her feelings and I decided to do something about it.

My mom and dad retired to this house in NH upon my father’s retirement in 2000. My mother, to combat the rampant boredom of the winter months began substitute teaching in the local schools. She has always enjoyed teaching, was able to work it out that she would work with kids no older than 5th grade, and she became a local legend. The kids loved her. She still does it, at age 73 and the kids still love her. She doesn’t do it for the money, she loves the kids. Many become very attached to her, it’s very heartwarming. It’s equally depressing when you see what some of these kids have for a home life.

In 2001, the first of a long line of enamored children latched onto my mother’s leg. Her heart would soon follow. Kris was a a bright girl from an awful family. Both parents were postal workers in town, so money wasn’t the issue. The issue was a drunk, misogynistic father and a absentee mother. They held down the jobs, but they weren’t there for the parenting. Kris’s two older sisters had set the standard of being fat, useless and working in outlet stores and Kris was doomed to the same fate without intervention. Enter my mother.

My mother took her under her wing and made sure that this girl got through school. She tutored her after school and at home. She reviewed all of her work, kept her attitude in check and promised to do everything she could to get through high school. Kris ended up graduating at the top of her class. Mom was at the graduation cheering louder than anyone.

Kris didn’t know about going to college, Mom helped her do all of the applications. 2 years ago she graduated college with a job offer with Fidelity Investments. My mom was a huge part of her success and they are now special friends. It’s a great story, even though she annoys the shit out of me.

She calls all the time. She prattles on like a dipshit junior high-schooler. She is incredibly opinionated on everything. And despite being a 200 lb virgin with baked bean teeth, and engaged to the first guy who ever kissed her, she is also a relationship expert. In particular, on my mom’s relationships. Recently she made it clear that she didn’t like my mother’s boyfriend. Then it came out that she doesn’t want my mother to date at all because she believes that we only get one true love in our life so stop trying for another. Mom politely dismissed this observation. When she tried to get me to come to her side, I told her I thought she was wrong and waaaaay off.

Her wedding is to take place in October. My mom received her invite several months ago. In the “plus one” section she wrote in her boyfriend’s name. Tonight Kris called her on the way home from work and told her that she didn’t want my mother bringing him to the wedding. My mother was shaken by this, I watched her as she was talking on the phone. Kris asked her if she would be upset and my mother said, “Well, I wouldn’t be happy. For starters, who am I going to dance with?” They talked for a few more minutes and then they hung up. Mom filled me in on the details I couldn’t hear. I asked her if she was ok with it, she said she wasn’t.

I told her I’d take care of it. I told her I was going to send her a FB messenger message. I promised Mom that it was coming from me and that I would assume any responsibility for damages if a shitstorm ensued. Here is what I wrote:
Kris:
I want to start by saying that I respect you. You’ve done some great things in your life and I consider you a good person. 
Which is why I must take issue with your request that Dave not be at your wedding. My mother has been by your side since you were a child, almost a second mother to you. She has never asked anything of you. Knowing this. why is she not allowed to bring the plus one of her choice to your wedding? 
I cannot imagine what benefit you find in making the person who treats you like her own daughter unhappy.
I have no influence over you and I don’t generally overstep my boundaries but I’m going to strongly request that you change your mind on this matter.

I let mom proofread it. She shook her head, said “wow” and walked away. I sent it. For three hours I did not get a response.

Mom walked in at about 11PM and asked if I had heard back. I told her that I hadn’t. She told me that Kris’s mother had just texted her that they would love to have Dave be a guest at the wedding.

Mom high-fived me and left the room. She seems happy.

Me? I feel like the right outcome was reached.

The Fortress of Solitude

Many years ago my Manager, in what may have been the most unprofessional incident by a manager towards me in my career, attacked me about my Facebook content. Our company did not use FB, he himself did not have it but his son was on it one day and my boss asked him to pull up mine. The following Monday he went up one side of me and down the other because I belonged to some Conservative (no I am not a Nazi) sites and I posted some political stuff. He thought that it was inappropriate and tried to link it to my professional life, which was an unfair and inaccurate assessment. We argued heavily, he was way out of line. When I got home that night, I took a moment to peruse some of my FB activity. While I still didn’t agree that I had a toxic presence online, I realized that it certainly wasn’t a positive one. I chimed in on questionable posts, I made a lot of bad jokes, I argued with a few hard-headed idiots that were better left non-engaged. I could do better. I decided at that moment that my online presence from that point on would be positive or nonexistent. No more negativity.

This principle applies to my blog as well. From the beginning, I have posted some very personal and graphic details about my life but I never did it in a negative, whiny, or complaining manner. I will tell anyone anything about me but the LAST thing I want is for someone to feel bad for me. Therefore, my posts are never done to elicit sympathy and when they read like a Sylvia Plath poem then it is time to re-evaluate my mindset.

That’s why I have been away for over 2 weeks. I have been way South of a positive place.

Here is a matter-of-fact breakdown of what has been going on.

Superman has been hiding out in his fortress of solitude. It is an unfortunate pattern I follows when life gets too much. I close myself off from the world. It’s not hiding, it’s preparing for the next step.

I have been sick for the better part of July. Not necessarily “praying to the Porcelain Goddess” sick but as far as Renal disease symptoms are concerned I hit the fucking jackpot. Massive muscle cramping, nausea, fatigue and brain fog. I spent the better part of 2 weeks on the sofa, napping intermittently during the day, restless and sleepless at night. I lacked the energy to set even one meaningful goal per day. To make matters worse, I had scheduled surgery on the 17th to install a new fistula (a vascular port on my arm) in preparation for my upcoming dialysis. They also surgically closed off my old, failed fistula. It was day surgery but very painful. So painful that I couldn’t type for about ten days.

I had the house to myself for the week immediately following my surgery and I can only describe it as a sofa-bound blur. I had visits from my oldest son and his best friend and my oldest daughter over the course of the week and I was so happy to see them but too sick to show it. I could barely get off the sofa to say goodbye when they left. It saddened me that I was unable to maintain my usual cheerful. albeit false demeanor. Of course nothing saddened me more than the scared look my kids had on their faces. They tried to conceal it, but they were shocked at my sudden deterioration. I had now had enough, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I called my Nephrologist and asked to be evaluated.

Friday I got the call. I am in need of dialysis. Immediately. This week will be a week of information gathering and planning. I am not looking forward to it. I’m anxious and a bit nervous. But it is my future and it is time that I face it.

On the positive side, maybe I’ll feel better.

See, I ended on a positive. I don’t even know how I did that.

 

Song Lyric Sunday

Today, on a day when I crave positivity as a flower does water, I give you Michael Franti and Spearhead, whose music absolutely oozes positivity, empathy, acceptance and understanding.

This song in particular is named Good to be alive today, which I have adopted as my blog URL…that’s how much this song means to me.

Franti can be seen traveling the world, dancing with children, coaxing shy people out of their corners to dance, spreading hope and optimism like a bee does pollen in the spring. His love for life is nothing short of inspi-fucking-rational.

I hope you get something out of this song…

It’s a long road, oh
Everyday I wake up and turn my phone on
I read the news of the day, just as it’s coming down
I do my best not to let it get me down
I try to keep my head up, but is Babylon
This world’s in crisis, we try to fight it, this changing climate
With scientists and politicians divided by it
So many ways we could solve it but they would never sign it
This mountains tumbling down, but still we try to climb it
It’s in the Torah, Quran and in the Bible
Love is the message for some how we turn to rivals
It’s come to people always picking up their rifles
Another school getting shot up homicidal
Some people tryna look fly, some people tryna get high
Some people losing their mind, some people tryna get by
And when you look in my eyes, you see the sign of the times
We all looking for the same thing
But what if this song’s number one
Would it mean that love had won?
Would it mean that the world was saved?
And no guns are being drawn today?
What if everybody had a job?
And nobody had to break a law?
What if everyone could say
That it’s good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
No matter what nobody say
People used to feel safer when they would hear a siren
Like help is on its way but now they only think of violence
Another youth in the streets and police is in a conflict
And now they hear the guns click, yo
Ebola crisis and ISIS is taking heads off
A drone is bombing a village and now the kids all
Signing up to be soldiers, but they all willing now
To do the killing now, now are you willing now?
Some politicians out there making up some problems
And tryna tell the people that they can solve them
With TV shows and soundbites and quotes
But everybody knows that it’s all about the cash flow
They telling you and me, they’re making progress
But tell it to the millions of jobless
It’s like a players club with billions of dollars
To get the votes you got to make it rain in congress
Some people tryna look fly, some people tryna get high
Some people losing their mind, some people tryna get by
And when you look in my eyes, you see the sign of the times
We all looking for the same thing
But what if this song’s number one
Would it mean that love had won?
Would it mean that the world was saved?
And no guns are being drawn today?
What if everybody had a job?
And nobody had to break a law?
What if everyone could say
That it’s good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
And we all say
One day, one day
One day, one day
One day, we all will say
That it’s good to be alive today
One day, one day
One day, one day
One day, we all will say
That it’s good to be alive today

long days, longer days

Yesterday didn’t start well. As soon as I put one foot on the floor I knew that it was going to be a feel-like -shit day. I call it such because there is no name or medical explanation for it. It’s a wonderful feeling that I can only describe as I slept but I’m more tired than when I went to bed; I feel like I’m coming down with the flu but I’m not; my legs feel like they have sandbags tied to them and I walk like I’m 80 years old; I can’t wait for my first nap today. Feel-like-shit is much shorter and still covers it nicely.

Regardless, I had to get out of bed. I had somewhere to go.

On Sunday, when I made my rare church appearance to see if the plaster ceiling would crack when I walked in, I was greeted by Dean. Dean is a townie, like most, that retired up here and now lives here full time. He was a good friend of my father’s and has been a good friend to me since the day I moved up here. He has helped me find odd jobs to make a few bucks and on this day he had a job for me. He needed a coat of wax put on his 5th wheel trailer. Not one to turn down a buck, I told him I would do it Wednesday.

Wednesday was here, and as I hung my head, fighting my morning nausea I could think of 276,000 things I would rather do than wax a trailer. But I promised. I was out of the house by 9:30.

I pulled into Dean’s driveway and surveyed the day’s work. He wasn’t there, he was already out volunteering at the community center. There was a ladder on the ground and I could see that the trailer was freshly washed. I knew what I had to do and got right to it.

A 5th wheel trailer is a camper that is designed to be towed from the actual bed of a pickup truck. The nose of the trailer essentially takes over the entire bed. They are very long and can be as tall as 13 feet 6 inches, which is close to the bridge clearance of a tractor-trailer. This one was maximum height and 35 feet long.  I had my work cut out for me.

Did I mention that I hate ladders? Well, to be clear I really hate falling. This job required me to climb a ladder, on soft unstable soil, and to reach the very top of the trailer with a small applicator pad in my right hand, an open can of TurtleWax balancing precariously on the top step of the ladder and a rag in the left. To ease my fear of falling I repeated “wax on, wax off” as I reached high, left and right applying and buffing. It was mindless but difficult work.

The nose of the trailer was the most difficult to reach but it came out awesome. It took quite a while because it was covered in dead, dried bugs. Between buffing and my fingernails I got it spotless. The left side also took a while because the ground was so unstable the ladder proved to be a real challenge. The rear and other side proved to be easier. All in all, I spent 3 1/2 hours with no breaks doing an old school wax job. No gimmicks, no power tools, no shortcuts. It looked amazing but I was done, with the job and physically.

Dean still hadn’t returned but I wasn’t worried about payment, I knew we could connect at some point so I packed up my stuff and got in my truck. As I was driving through the center of town we crossed paths and he asked me to come back to the house so that he could pay me. I really wanted to go home but money is money. I followed him back to his house.

He was very pleased with the work. He couldn’t believe my attention to detail. No surprises there, I am a stickler for detail and I do good work. He asked how much I wanted. I really didn’t know, I told him whatever he thought was fair. He offered me $150.00.
I said No.
Too much.
Amazed, he asked if $100.00 would work. I gladly accepted. (who does that?)
He told me he had never seen anyone counter lower before. What he didn’t understand is that I was grateful for the opportunity for something to do that pays. And I will never take advantage of the good nature of the elderly in town. Besides, if I was reasonable, it increased my chances of being referred for more work. As it would turn out, I left with offers to paint his porch and detail both of his cars. I took his check and went home.

As I pulled into my driveway I realized that I was tired beyond the usual levels. My blood pressure was pounding in my ears, I had a headache and I could have napped standing up. I went inside and sat down. An hour later, I was still in that chair. I would spend the day so tired that I could barely walk. If that wasn’t enough, the cramps set in. My hands formed painful, locked claws that were so painful I was nearly in tears. I would feel like that until I went to bed at 9:30. I had finished the trailer at 1:30.

Something has got to give here. I am having fewer and fewer good days in which I can be productive. On the days that I am able to be productive, I need 2 days to recover from it. Today, I am so tired I can barely do anything and typing this blog is killing me because my hands are still crippled claws.

I sure hope this is a phase. Because it’s no way to live.

legal troubles

Today marks a sad day in my marital history.

My wife and I had been arguing something awful and it was getting pretty tough to keep it together. We had already stopped sleeping in the same room, sleeping in the same house was even getting difficult.

One morning when I was in the shower after a particularly awful argument. I was trying to wash it off me but there wasn’t water hot enough. Suddenly my wife crashed through the curtain with a kitchen knife and made a swipe at my John Thomas. I managed to subdue her but she came close. I called the police.

They came, it was a big mess. Everyone calmed down. The police asked if I wanted to press charges. I asked them what charges applied.

“Right now”, the officer said, “We’re only looking at a Misda-weiner.”

Sorry, I had to.