Joural more often

Its the season I get comfortable in melancholy. There’s a history of uncertainty here for me but its a dark cloud with flashes of color and smiles. A new beginning and new faces at school but added responsibility too. That sucks. The days fall darker, rainy, cold. Electric colors in the mist, wood fires scent the air and burnt pumpkin accent.
An accomplished under achiever at school the woods held great adventures and relief from a pressurized contained existence. Self imposed I’m sure but a drag none the less. Getting home, soaked and chilled, making hot chocolate or an egg in a cup. Breaking out the long johns & warm blankets. Lying in the toasty warm bed, freezing your feet and ass in the bathroom till you get in the hot shower.
Now its a reminder that things change. Another year closer to death just like all the leaves that fell. But wasn’t that cool. It still is. Even though the colors have faded, trees are getting bare, all the crap that was hidden is visible again, wires, fences, buildings, litter, there’s something pure about it all, this completion of a cycle. Nearly anyway. I can purge too. Start something new, just not yet. I’m gonna bitterly enjoy for a bit.

Miss T,
I try to pay attention but some things pass right by me. That or I may have to admit a little denial. The other morning after you had a shower you cleared the bottom half of the mirror so you could see yourself, I assume, then cleared a little border around the rest to create a canvas and left a hand print in the middle. A perfect design. You are growing into yourself and it seems designer is inherent. Now if I can only get you to save a little more hot water for me.
The hugs you give out of nowhere and say “I’m sorry” are killing me. I expect a few mood swings, nothing to be sorry about. 2 years ago, according to you, I didn’t know everything. Although you did ask me what an orgasm was so I guess you think I know something. What’s next? No matter. 2 years from now I won’t know anything. How long is that going to last? I hope I can stick to my guns and ride out the storm.

More friends gone. And as happens every so often I look back, reflect and recall some of the odd thoughts I’ve had in life and wonder “where the hell did that come from?” A beautiful day in 2nd grade, staring at my hand, amazed that I was a person alive and moving about in the world and confused because I couldn’t remember where I was before I was born. I thought hard about it. Where did I come from? I had to have been somewhere, I can’t just appear, can I?

At that time death would put me in heaven on top of the clouds where I would see the grandparents I never knew and all the past presidents. Funny how I remember thinkin’ that.
Then in 6 grade trying hard to grasp that there is no beginning or end to time & space I coped with my small existence in this very strange life, is it all real? This came from wondering why I have to go to school or clean my room but still, very strong stuff for a kid. From time to time I’d think about it again.

And until recently I don’t recall having any profound thoughts like that.
Although there is the reoccurring puzzle of how reality got to where it is. Going to school to educate myself to the point where I can get a job to make money to pay for food, home, insurance, cars, kids, vacations, doctors and retirement so I can finally make the time to do whatever I want as long as I’m physically able. Thats alot of pressure for a young mind.

And now, this reality we’re in formed by generations of conflict. Chasing paper and power, claiming righteousness in atrocity both physical and mental. Lines drawn in the sand as though we could actually own a piece of the earth when we, really, belong to it. Its been here far longer than us and will remain long after we’re gone. Kinda funny that people only live for 80 or so years but the words they speak, the lines they draw, the bonds they make last for generations.

Recently I’ve spent some time wondering where I was before I was here. I think, long ago, I was witness to or involved in great and terrible things in defense of a people. A pretty safe bet to think if anyone could actually remember something from hundreds of years in the past they could be involve in some sort of madness or mayhem for survival. Not that you have to be anywhere but the present to find that but I’d like to think it was more commonplace long ago. Some part of my makeup came from Scotland and there were a couple occasions while I was there where I felt connected. It could be that I was deeply moved by sharing an adventure of a lifetime with miss T but, don’t we live on in our kids? I’m a product of my parents, physically and emotionally. Maybe we pass on more than we realize, genetically. That definitely explains odd behavior and irrational fears. Before our children are conceived is it possible we make impressions of our most profound experiences in our genetic code and pass it on? Isn’t that evolution? Mutations are all happy accidents that help us survive and advance or is it all on purpose?

I’m thinkin all those years ago in that 2nd grade classroom my old soul was trying to reconnect. Its easy for me to see the old soul in some kids. Its a little harder in the adults but I’m getting better at it. Of course, that old soul of mine is made up of alot of old souls itself but, it was touched on the isle of Mull. Something going on in the Gila too. And even though some pals are gone, they live on in their kids, we’re still connected. Maybe we don’t live for only 80 or so years, we become part of a larger complex of souls.

I’m really happy for her and I’m happy for her mom and step dad as well. There was a time when I wouldn’t have wished them well but regardless of the situation our daughter always knew she had a mom and dad who loved her very much. No games were played for her affection and I have shown nothing but respect for relationships that are her own. It hurt but I tried to be a bigger person. I think I’ve done well.
Miss T is funny. “I know mommy is the mom and my step dad is the dad and I’m the sister, but what does that make you?”
“Your father of course, we’ll work on the rest”
I may have rethink sharing the old journal. There’s really nothing to be learned. You love your kids and help them through it or you selfishly act out your anger, get them involved and fuck the whole thing up. Maybe its not that simple but many times those were the options. I’ll share the touching moments and burn the rest.

I just don’t have anything to share yet. I have also read alot of the past entries and I’m thinking I really need to share some of that. There was a time when I wanted to burn the whole frickin thing but now I might be able help someone else who may be going through the same shit. Divorce. With kids. The right way. If there is such a thing I’m pretty sure I’ve done it and it was worth doing. Better than the wrong way at least. Later.

I’ve been inspired. More for T than me.