White xmas... I am trapped

In case you didn't know, and you probably didn't, I am snowed in. Trapped.
No my neighbors aren't trapped, just me it seems. House with a walkout basement... Sounds great right. Until you can't leave after a snow storm.

It's been four days now, we have been stuck here since Wednesday. We are out of milk which greatly cuts down on the breakfast selection. I now understand we people run to the store to buy bread and milk when they forecast snow. Anyway we have guests arriving tomorrow and no food in the house. They are from Minnesota and will probably not understand why 7" of snow and 2 inches of ice is a problem. If I had parked on the fucking street like the rest of my downhill neighbors I would have beer and pizza right now. But no, I wanted to park in the garage. "That's why we have one," I said. Well here we sit.
Two days ago the neighbors with flat drives had trouble leaving. I have been called into work every day (every day but xmas) and not been able to make it. It's not a matter of pay. salaried employees make the same at home or at work. I just don't enjoy being stuck. A year ago I had Jeep a drove around laughing at the people stuck. I dropped that gas guzzling POS cause it's a Jeep thing and I did not understand. (Why would I want to have a top speed of 65 mph and only get 14 MPEG?)

Realistically it is my fault. I choose this house. I said I like this house, I want it. I was satisfied with the answer to my question, "how many time have you had trouble with the driveway in the snow." I heard the fucking answer, "We have only had trouble a handful of times in 7 years..." Less than five time they indicated. I believed them. It is my mistake.

Have I learned from mistake as I call it? We will just have to see... In seven years when we can afford to move.

Update! (unsolved mysteries music playing)

My son is much better. The medicine really seems to be fighting his stomach acid. He is less fussy and sleeps longer and more often. Keeping him upright for an hour after each feeding helps as well.

He will be 7 weeks old tomorrow.

I am looking forward to the first time he turns over. And I am trying to find his ticklish spots; he smiles for my wife much more than me.

My 6 week old son is sick

I did not want to blog specifically about him. I read other very informative and complete blogs about kids and thought the topic had been very well covered. One even continued to give monthly updates till age three. How could I compete with that?

Is this a competition? Why do I, at this moment, feel that readers or at least comments are important. It must be my need to be recognized; my desire for a stage. If you have read this far please comment and just say hi.

Anyway...

He is sick. He has been having reflux problems and that's why he spends hours at a time crying. Then he nurses longer and more frequently to comfort himself. Which only makes him feel worse and cranks up the reflux.

We learned all this at the hospital on saturday. He had held his breath fighting back vomit and turned quite blue. Ten hours later and we had learned that:
-he was experiencing reflux
-we were letting him sleep on the right side of his head too much
-he has a slight hernia
-and, here's the biggy, he has an Atrium Septum Defect (ASD = a hole in his heart) of about 4mm. This has nothing to do with turning blue and crying for 6-8 hours at a time. It should mend as he grows. If it doesn't then he will have a surgery.

Was this my fault. I have done so many bad things. I drink. I am drinking right now. I've candy flipped on the big three. I've would have gotten the cover of H-Times if I'd allowed photos. Is this my supreme punishment for 10 years of irresponsible behavior?

If so, I deserve every second of it.

It will have been worth it, having never seen my father. Looking at my son's face and seeing him look back at me. I have always been haunted by my thoughts when I see fathers and sons in public looking at each other. When I am holding my son an he is looking up at me, I alway tell him, "You look at me as long as you want, And I'll keep looking back at you."

If I were alone in the house right now I would cry out loud, but if I did it would awaken him and my wife who only slept 2 hours last night.

I miss home, freedom and that old house

I moved about a year ago. I moved to a much bigger house than I had before. More bedrooms, more baths, bigger yard, quite neighborhood. Sounds great right?
I just came across some pictures of the old house... I really miss the old house. I started to get teary immediately.
The old house had a leaky basement. It was cold in the winter time. It was a very small house. But it was my home.
It had beautiful hard wood floors that squeaked, and I knew all of the squeaky spots. Beautiful arched doorways. Giant windows, whose glass was just starting to ripple. My large red furniture will never fit as well as did there.

I viewed the whole set of pictures.

Recalled every ounce of labor and every hour I spent fixing it up. The walls I painted, the walls I did not. The foundation work on the outside. The garage doors and roof.

I miss the old house and the memories inside. Good times spent there with friends, roommates and lovers. I miss the freedom I enjoyed while I lived there. Ahh the wonderful college years.

I miss knowing that anything was possible since no decisions had been made yet.
I miss seeing my friends everyday.
I miss my cat Misha(the one that tried to kill me).
I miss working part-time.
I miss my motorcycle.

I am proud to have a nice home.
I am happy to have a wife and son.
I am happy to no longer be the newbie, coop.
I am happy to the problem solver.
I am happy to be able to buy clothes. Although I still find it difficult to get used to.
I am happy I had a motorcycle. And happy I only had one wreck and did not get hurt.
I am happy I have a tattoo. And still love the location.
I am happy to have had my nipples pierced. And happy they are not longer pierced.

Hear's to memories, and the journey we are on. Aho!

I was very mean to my mom

Growing up I gave my mom tons of shit. I was mean. I would push and push and make her cry. At times I was viscous. I really think I did it on purpose. I really think that sometimes I would try to see how quickly I could make her shout or scream.

During her biggest outburst (I can't believe I am calling it her outburst, when I pushed her to it) she beat the vacuum cleaner with the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner. She shouted "Why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you make me so angry?" This time I was scared. She had never acted out phsyically, she broke the vacuum.

I did stop being an evil brat. An eighth grade english teacher telling a story about her own life made me realize that life did not have to be so difficult. I was making life difficult. For myself, my brother and sister and especially my mother.

Why was I so mean?

Maybe because I was being bused at the time (middle school).
I was force bused to a very difficult situation (tons of blog content in this story) and did not have any control over it. Very bottom of the barrel, lowest point on the shit rolling downhill mountain situation. Perhaps the only way to release my emotion was to be mean. Like a violent game of pass it on.

Maybe it was because I blamed her for not knowing my biological father (again tons of blog to come).
I don't know if I actually knew that at the time. But I knew something was missing, something wasn't right. And I suppose I blamed her.

It was a mixture of both reasons. She sent me back to that school EVERY day. She kept the truth about my dad from me.


I am sad with a hint of anger. But mostly sad.


I have not yet been able to bring this up with my mother. I want to apologize and try to explain my behavior, try to understand my behavior. (Here come the excuses) But she lives hours away. Every time I visit it just doesn't seem like the right time. Why would I want to bring up something so unpleasant? If I call ahead and annouce my desire to discuss the past I will build such an expectation that I don't know if I could go.

My past is really messy, can I possibly clean it all up?

2:00am ramble

Now you know what scares me the most about blogging. But I am still so intensely concerned about my thoughts being taken out of context that I will blog about it and let go.

I have been diagnosed Bipolar type II. While that makes so many things in my life make sense, it still causes me to bounce between emotions. I can feel very intense joy, sadness, anger, fear, and shame. And another feeling in the next second. How I feel about a situation or person can and does change often.

Why am I blogging?
I want an audience. I once said, "Is it bad that I want to be validated by a stamp the size of the earth? Isn't there worst things to want?" Around that time I also wanted to move to LA and pursue acting. Until I read in a self help book that that desire was wrong. The book did not actually say the word wrong. It was more of the way it discussed this anonymous person. What the book really said was that John Doe's problems would be with him in LA whether he suceeded in becoming an actor or not. Going to LA was a defense mechanism to escape or run away from his problems.

I had a similar avoidence to Psychology when I learned that many individual study Psychology to work there own problems. By the time they accomplish this they are so far along in the program that they ususally finish the degree. So from Psychology I fled.

I can't wait for the day that I have readers and they give my feedback.


Hmm. I'm afraid to share or write anything down, yet I want an audience. Maybe starting to write a blog at 1:00am is not a good idea.

My intentions and biggest fear

I will attempt to be as brutilly honest with myself and you in this blog. Please call me out if I start to deviate from this plan.

I will explore all aspects of my shadow. Thus devulging my inner most secrets to you all. Somethings will not be nice; somethings may be scary. But all things will be my truth.

So let's begin...
I have an intense fear of writing anything down. When something is written is can easily be taken out of the context that it is written. My deepest fear is that I will one day be on trail for a serious crime and this blog even this very sentence will be used against me.

Even admitting that fear, is a real test. Posting this now... This can never be taken back.