Ten Things Which I Dislike

I was unable to do this in the Facebook App as it has taken quite a bit of time to think of ten things and you know I can't just list ten items without extrapolating on any of them, so here ya go. As for Cherish and Vanessa, who are pictured below with yours truly, well I have nothing but the most of like for both of them!

1. Punk Music
I just don't get it. Oh sure, I'll admit they have more musical talent than I do, but so does that step stool over there, so I'm not sure if that counts for anything. And no need to bother me with all those punk bands who are really good and you're sure I'll like them if I just check out. I'm 46 years old. They're not good or I would have figured that out by now. Also, I am currently listening to the Smoking Popes. They utilize guitar solos and interesting music. They're not punk.

2. Bright Sunshine Ricocheting Off White Snow Directly Into My Eyes
I'm not interested in being blinded every time I look around during sunny winter days. That doesn't mean I'd prefer cloudy winter days, I don't, but it does mean I like being able to see without sharp pain coursing through my forehead. And yes, I know sunglasses help, but whatever, these are things I don't like, so save it for the comments.

3. Just About Anything Which Instantly Blows Up Social Media
I'm talking to you Tiger King fans.

4. Stopping To Think About What I'm Currently Writing.
Talk about the worst kind of interruption when trying to write a decent sentence or two. I never liked proofreading so the idea of having to go back and proof everything is anathema to anything and everything I believe in when it comes to writing. I guess that's something I could change if I chose to do so.

5. Listening To Someone Drone On And On About Not Believing Me For This Or That
This one really does get under my skin. I say a lot of stupid shit so I understand these sort of things, but it still annoys me to no end. Jennifer has a cabinet in her dining room with the usual things people might display in a dining room cabinet. For years now, she has accused me rather vehemently that from time to time I go upstairs and I rearrange these items. I don't know where she got this from and I certainly don't know why she thinks I might stoop to such a low humor denominator, but she does. This is something that I never did. At least not for the first few years she accused me of it. Now that's just one example and this one no longer bothers me as much because I'm so used to it I chuckle at its ridiculousness. I wish I could say the same for all the other instances.

6. Needing To Listen To Music But Having To Keep The Volume Down
There are times when I understand this must be the case, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I spent more than a few moments of my youth and most probably my adult life being fascinated by the idea of the whole city of Chicago having to listen to whatever it was I wanted to play for them. A loudspeaker for all the city to hear whenever they were out and about in public. It'd be great as I wouldn't always need to bother with headphones nearly as often. And let's be honest with each other, within a few weeks, I would be deified as some sort of musical God. On the very rare chance I needed to placate a citizen, I would randomly ask strangers if they would be interested in playing a song for everyone else to hear. And sure, most of the time I'd end up rolling my eyes, letting out a brief chuckle and going about my day, but on even rarer circumstances they might do well and I would play their song for them. What a lucky day that would be!

7. Having To Track Down Something I've Lost
I know this is something most people probably dislike, but it's just so damn annoying. I bet there are aholes out there who can't find their keys and then turn it into some fun hunting exercise. Utilizing their Mensa powers to backtrack to where they may have been when they were lost. Giving themselves a reward when said keys are located. Skipping out to the driveway and hopping into their sensible vehicle and driving off to the rest of their day.

8. Hard Cover Books. Fiction Or Non-Fiction.
I don't care how much I would like to read the book, I won't be reading it until there is a paperback version. I just don't care for how much effort is needed to handle books with hardcovers. I don't want a workout, I just want to read something. And I sure as hell don't need to be dealing with this stupid dust jacket. What the hell does a book need a jacket for? Is it too cold in here? Jacket or no jacket, the book will eventually be coated in dust.

9. Donald J. Trump
This one is obvious I know, but...it's second to last on this list for a reason. This person is so morally reprehensible that he has severely impacted my opinion of those who support him. I know you're all good people. I only know good people for the most part, and since you're a friend, than you're good. Prone to being conned by a two-bit moron, absolutely! But good nonetheless!

10. Wondering If That Spaghetti Dinner I just Shared With My Three Brothers Might Be One Of The Last Dinners We Share
I came up with number nine on this list long before I had most of the other numbers figured out. I knew well enough to just put the number ten before it, but then I went upstairs and ate dinner with my brothers. We social distanced to probably not enough extent, but we chatted for a good long while about whatever it is we felt like chatting about. It was nice. It's always been nice to do this, but when you're unsure whether or not you'll be here or they'll be here a month from now, it's quite a bit nicer. The same sentiment applies to my sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles and friends and coworkers and the guy selling Streetwise down the block and neighbors you've known for 43 years and the neighbors you don't really know but you see them often enough to stop and say a word or two and Slav and Han who work at the Walgreens at the end of the block and the nice folks at the post office on Lawrence and all the random folks I used to see on my commute to and from work and the friends that I don't see any longer who were once a much more important presence in my life (and hopefully theirs as well) and the fine folks at the Salvation Army on Union street and that person that probably just walked by my house and the workers across the alley at the tire shop and the people who work at the Subway on Lawrence who are awfully slow but who make my sandwiches exactly how I want them and whoever those folks were who were in that model airplane club that Dan and I used to go to back when I was in grade school and Judas Priest's Ian Hill who I met in the parking garage with Dan after a show and ex-girlfriends I suppose and Bowser and Flame and Pookie and that conversation with Dan and Mark and Hillary and Michael which we just shared when I went downstairs to get my laundry from the dryer.

This is something I dislike very much. I'll gladly deal with the first nine for the rest of my life if I don't have to worry about number ten.

And speaking of ten, I love you all 10!

Some of you may understand that sentence.

Father's Day

I'm having the kind of night that used to be so commonplace, but now rarely happens. Just hanging out at home alone and listening to some music at a pretty decent volume. I'm spending some time with a few albums that have been on the back burner for far too long. I like to be immersed in my music and the only way to do that is to play it as loud as possible given the circumstances and time. Saturday night is usually a good time. Oh sure I could put headphones on and listen as loudly as I want for as long as I want, but it's not the same. Nowhere near the same, mostly because it doesn't sound as good and, more importantly, I can't belt out the lyrics while pretending to be able to sing well.

I started out with half a Frank Black album, followed it with the entirety of Living Colour's Times Up album, one Megadeth tune, a few Melvins songs and for the past hour and a half Natalie Merchant solo stuff. Her music, lyrics and voice are incomparable in my humble estimation. Bigly under appreciated.

Anyway, that's not the point of this blog. It's Father's Day!

Oddly enough, I had an actual conversation around the water cooler at work on Friday with my friends Andy and Marianne. Father's Day came up and I told both of them that my Dad and I were going to go fishing on the river to celebrate, which seemed pretty plausible as far as I was concerned, but my story fell apart when I was asked which river we would be fishing on. Having no decent response, I finally blurted out that it was all a lie and that my Dad has been dead for like 30 years. Andy laughed and said his Dad had been dead for just as long and walked away. Marianne just looked at me and shook her head in some odd state of disbelief.

It's only been 28 years if my math is correct.

So I won't be fishing with him, but I'll give you a small story that has been seared into my brain for too many years. My parents separated in 1980, so we all moved out to Batavia, sans father. At some point, I was able to go spend every other weekend with him in Chicago. I can't recall if this particular weekend was around my birthday or Christmas or perhaps neither, but my Dad drove my brother Dan, and I think our neighbor Andy and myself to Toys 'R Us where my Dad was going to buy me a present. After much careful deliberation, I finally decided on a Lego set that was some sort of rocket launch pad. This wasn't the crazy intricate Lego sets that they have nowadays, but as a kid way back then, it seemed like it was.

Once we got home, I got right to work putting that Lego set together, with a bit of help from Andy and Dan. I do not remember how long it took to complete but at some point it was finished and that rocket was ready for launch.  I vaguely recall what the final project looked like...the flat base was about ten inches square and just filled with that Lego circle pattern, the rocket was probably about seven inches tall and made up of circular Lego pieces. Don't remember what else was on there, but I assume some building as well as a launch station. That would be kind of lame if it was just a square flat board with one rocket sticking out of it, but whatever...that's neither here nor there.

This weekend must have been pretty early on in my visits to Chicago as my Father was still living on the first floor and not in the basement. Almost all of my weekend visits that I can remember were in the basement, as the top two floors of the building were rented out to tenants. Anyway, back to the story.

Day turns to night and my bed for the weekend was the couch in the living room. This may seem odd to you that I only had a couch to sleep on, but I was used to it, as that's the exact same sleeping option I had out in Batavia. The couch faced all the windows in the living room and the street light poured in  illuminating the room and the Lego set I was so happy to have and so proud to have completed.

That night my bedtime did not coincide with my Father's bedtime. Much like my night tonight, he decided to play some albums at a pretty loud volume for a quite some time. I don't recall exactly what he was listening to, but odds are pretty good that it was Elvis Presley. Needless to say, that night he wasn't exactly in the best of moods, which isn't really all that surprising since it probably hadn't been too long since his wife had left him and taken all six of their children with her. I can see that being difficult to endure for just about everyone, but perhaps even a bit more difficult for someone who had been dealt with the fun curse of being manic depressive. My father was not a happy man and it wasn't difficult for me to realize it that night while he was pacing back and forth throughout the apartment listening to music which should have been providing him pleasure, but clearly wasn't. Knowing what I know now about relationships, I would imagine the music was just sparking memories which were best forgotten, but clearly not enough time had passed for that to happen.

At a few different points while I was trying to fall asleep my Dad's pacing brought him into the living room and during those times I just closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Guess I knew that in whatever state he was in it wasn't a good one and it was probably best if he just assumed I was fast asleep. Of course I was just a kid so I'd quickly sneak a peak every now and again and if he had his back turned I'd just silently watch his actions. Though I couldn't understand the pain he was feeling at that age, it was all too easy to recognize the sadness and anger consuming him that night.

I don't know how long it was that this pacing was going on, but at some point I watched as he walked into the living room, passed by the couch and continued towards the far end of the room. With the street light streaming in on my Dad, I watched  as he quickly raised his right arm and then violently brought it down in a sweeping motion which completely destroyed that Lego set I had built a few hours earlier.  I can't recall exactly what went through my head at that time, but I know it was some feeling of devastation. It was one thing for him to be upset and angry at life that night, but it was a completely different feeling having him destroy the present he had bought me earlier that day. I'm not sure how to describe what I felt, as it was a new emotion I don't think I had ever known before.

I just continued pretending to be asleep and when he finally left the room I buried my head in the couch and started to cry.

So there's my Father's Day story.

I guess we didn't exactly have what many might recognize as the typical kind of Dad portrayed on all those boob tube sitcoms, but I'm not sure anyone really has that kind of Father. What we had for way too short of a time was a very troubled person who had an extremely difficult time finding some semblance of happiness in life. I don't know what he thought of Fatherhood when it first happened and I'm not sure he was ready for that sort of responsibility, but I do believe he did the very best he could and I know that he loved all of us kids regardless of his ability to show it.

My father was honest, he was kind, he was quirky, and he made all of us laugh quite a bit.

You can all keep your own Fathers and whatever it is they brought to the table. I wouldn't trade mine for all the Lego sets in the world.

So here's the requisite Father's Day picture of me and my Dad. This is from 1980 and taken at my Grandma Buban's house on Christmas. The awesome REO Speedwagon album is a present for my sister Jennifer. My lips are stained red from drinking Hi-C and yes, those are sweet Dubble Bubble gum patches on my knees.

Happy Father's Day!

If I Intend to Live Again

"If you intend to live again
Then take the outstretched hand
Of one who needs you
It's been so long, we've missed you

Why do you intend to speed your end?
Lie in the dark and let your limbs
Grow weaker, sinking low then deeper
How can you be so near and not see everything?"

Every now and again I feel as if I'm near, but it's only for short, fleeting moments. I don't see everything, that's for sure. I've been doing everything I can, as far as I know, to move on. Stuffing myself full of Science of Mind information. Eating well. Sucking down amino acids like they're delicious Sixlets. Waking up early. Going to bed early. Being productive. Writing more. Meditating. Exercising, when my silly back permits.

Sometimes though, none of that progress means anything. Believe me, the work I've done has helped tremendously, but it's obvious that I need to keep at it and ramp it up to some extent. It's only been two and a half months, but it feels like it's been ten years since I last wrapped my hand up inside of hers. It's worse every time Friday rolls around. Work keeps me busy and occupied during the week and then, all of a sudden, it's time for a few days off and I don't really know what to do with myself. I mean, I know what to do with myself, and I cross plenty of things off my to do list, but my mind doesn't know what to do with all that free time, so it just ends up seeking out the past. It's ridiculous how many things come back to you when you're in this state. There are all the obvious things, but my mind wanders into so many corners and crevices that I didn't even know existed. Everything seems to bring back a memory and this beautiful weather this weekend just made me think of all the things we could have been doing. I suppose when you spend that much time with someone the memory banks inevitably end up overflowing. What I'd give right now to access the spigot that would let it all pour out and go away forever.

Unfortunately, that spigot is my mind, and I'm not yet where I need to be as far as controlling it. I'll get there and I know it really hasn't been all that long, but I need to be more mindful of the things I allow into my mind.

One of those things is music. I've stayed away from a good bit of the music we shared, but I've been lazy as far as filling up my iPod shuffle. Clicking on one of my Buban Bash party playlists and filling it up just isn't cutting it at this point. Case in point, last night, when I was on my long journey home from my friends birthday party in Logan Square, I ended up walking down Halsted for quite a while, as the bus was nowhere near where I needed it to be. I'm listening to my iPod and these three songs came along in consecutive order...

The Mad Lads. I Don't Want to Lose Your Love.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DqeeiWPCVsM

"If you leave me baby, I'll keep on loving you anyway.
I wouldn't feel bad girl falling on my knees begging you to stay."

Rainbow. Since You've Been Gone.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVlweGKZEqw

"I get the same old dreams, same time every night
Fall to the ground and I wake up.
So I get out of bed, put on my shoes, and in my head
Thoughts fly back to the break-up."

The Beatles. I Need You.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I7nIWKApT30

"You don't realize how much I need you
Love you all the time and never leave you
Please come on back to me
I'm lonely as can be
I need you."

I guess I can be thankful that this one didn't start playing next, as it was on the iPod.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7th5Tm5-64

Fortunately, the Joan Baez version of The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down started playing instead. A few minutes later, I got on the bus, had insufficient funds on my Ventra card, exited the bus, and then called up an Uber. Forgot to account for all the bus and train rides this weekend. Oops a daisy.

I don't need to be hearing this shit constantly on my iPod. I constantly have to have my finger on the forward button, so I can skip through all the songs I don't want to deal with. If I didn't listen to music so much, I wouldn't have this problem, but I do, and I'll continue to do, but no more autofilling that iPod of mine. Loving music and barely being able to tolerate it don't go hand in hand very well. Those three songs are great songs, but I'd be fine if I didn't hear them again until 2016, at the earliest. And who the hell wants to hear those kinds of songs at a party? What was I thinking when I started assembling that playlist? It's supposed to be a party, a celebration, a fun time. No one wants to hear songs about love having disintegrated. Keep it happy, keep it upbeat. That's the message I'm trying to embed into my mind. Keep it happy. Keep it upbeat. Reversing a lifetime of negativity doesn't happen overnight. Rome wasn't built in a day and my mind isn't going to reverse all of that damage in two and a half months.

So I'll be more mindful of what I allow myself to hear. I'll be more mindful of what I'm allowing in. And I'll definitely be more mindful of what I'm allowing out, what I'm letting go.

"There's no point in beating yourself up.

The choice was made, deed is done, day is over.

Time to move on, and with no regrets.

Take with you the lesson but leave the judgment.

Just try again tomorrow."

And yeah, I know, I know, I'm not supposed to post these sorts of weakness/feeling/break up type of posts, but I don't really give a shit. It's my blog. It's how I'm feeling. Writing about it helps for some reason. I don't know why. I do enjoy the writing process, so I suppose whatever helps is a good thing. Sorting out your feelings is also a good thing, you should try it some time. Actually, we should probably do it all the time. 

And also I know everything happens for a reason and that everything will work out for the best in the end and that my thoughts determine what happens in my life. Sometimes it's all easier said than done. Someday (hopefully soon) that won't be the case. 

And also yeah, yeah, I know...I probably shouldn't post blogs during Blackhawks playoff games, but I'm not watching and perhaps you folks will read it later on after they've won. 

Throwback Thursday Concert Edition

Many of you probably don't know this, but I have quite an affinity for old school heavy metal music. I owe it all to my brothers Mark and Dan. Mark used to buy me concert tickets when I was just a wee little lad living all the way out in Batavia. I probably didn't even have a paper route yet, so I certainly couldn't afford the exorbitant ticket prices of the 1980's. As for Dan, well Dan lived his life for music and metal (still does), and he always shared that passion with his younger sibling.

This is my ticket stub for the Ozzy Osbourne show at the UIC Pavilion on Saturday, April 5, 1986. I ran out of fingers and toes to count on, but it looks like it was about 29 years ago. That's a long time ago. Not long enough ago that I can't remember Metallica opening up during their Master of Puppets tour and completely putting Ozzy to shame. Nothing against Ozzy, but this was his tour supporting The Ultimate Sin album, and that's just not going to go down as one of his finest creative musical periods. Master of Puppets on the other hand...well I'm sure you already know how good that album turned out to be. Needless to say, at the time, heavy metal was my life.




















Not only was I into heavy metal music at the time, but with that metal territory comes responsibility, so I was also deeply involved with the occult and doing what I could to please my master, the supreme being of the 1980's, Satan! Bringing hellfire and damnation down on society were the only goals I ever conjured up for myself back in those days and I lived my life to bring those goals to fruition. As part of my plan, I kept tabs on any and all hints of Satan manifesting his will on the public, by reading the local papers. I poured over the Windmill News and the Beacon-News for signs of doom. All seemed to be going as planned until one day when I flipped the page to the comic section and saw this...

And then, just like Calvin, my whole being and purpose in life came crashing to a halt, much like Vince Neil's car. I no longer knew what to believe in, which is a pretty powerful realization for a sixth grader. I did my best to cling to the music, but I was empty inside without Satan as my guide. I threw out my metal spiked leather wrist bands. I burned my custom built codpieces. I gave up the fast cars and the faster women. I sobered up, became an altar boy, turned away from the dark side and dedicated my life to searching for the answers as to why I was placed upon this giant, revolving hunk of matter we like to call Earth.

I haven't found all of the answers yet, but I'm getting closer and I will find them, that's for certain. We all have to evolve my friends. I managed to evolve beyond Satan's grasp and I've learned to evolve beyond just listening to heavy metal music. It took a long time, but I did it...

Which is why I'll be heading to the beautiful Riviera Theatre Friday night to go see Belle & Sebastian. This will be the third time I've seen them and the one constant at all of those shows is my good friend Jody. He's about 80x the music nerd I am and he knows a good band when he hears one. Joining us will be his lovely wife, Sally, and my good friend Nicole. We shall, most definitely, have a wonderful time listening to one of the greatest bands I've had the pleasure of listening to over the past ten years or so. And it's going to be even more awesome, because my friend Skid has upgraded us, free of charge, into the VIP seating area! That Skid is one damn fine human being! Good things happen to us when we expect them to happen.

This show is also a lesson in the power of giving. Many years back, I let someone borrow some Donovan albums, as they were working on learning some different acoustic music. I barely knew this person, as he was neighbors with an ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-girlfriend. In exchange, he recommended I borrow a five EP set by some band called Belle & Sebastian. Little did I know that I'd soon embrace that band just like I did Donovan. Now they are both on constant rotation and will forever be on constant rotation until my wandering days are over.

Go see a live show. It'll make you feel better. I guarantee it!

Don't Talk of Love

My parents divorced when I was a wee little lad of five or six years old. They had their reasons and they were good ones. I did what I could to save their marriage, but no matter how many times I dressed up as a ghost and tried to scare them into staying together, it just never worked. I don't even know why I thought that would work. It seems so ridiculous in hindsight, but to my little kid self it made perfect sense.

Crap...hold on...I'm sorry, I confused my memories with that one Brady Bunch episode where the kids make scary noises and one of them dresses up as a ghost to scare off a prospective home buyer. I don't know why I thought that's what I tried, but I'll be damned if it didn't work for them. The house was saved and the family went on a great vacation to Hawaii and Marsha got laid by that Filipino dude in the sauna. Everything came up roses for the Brady clan. 

Not so much for the Buban clan. 

I'm not sure what the current divorce rate is in the United States. I looked it up, but there were a bunch of numbers and I'm not all that smart and numbers are weird and stuff, so let's just stick with that 50% rate that's always thrown about. That's just for the married folk. Most of those people probably had many relationships before they were married and all of those failed as well. The important number here is that the relationship failure rate is probably more like 94%, assuming my math (that I really didn't actually do) is correct. I'm just saying there are a lot of failed relationships out there. It's just not easy to make these things last. Relationships are like cellphones. No one wants some old crap phone that's two years old and oh my God it takes forever to download like any website now! Screw that. Out with the old, in with the new. 

My last cellphone lasted two years and two months exactly before it died. Oops, that was my last relationship, not cellphone. Regardless, now I'm fucked because my contract isn't up for at least 30 more years and I don't really want to pay for a new phone/relationship. The old one's dead. What am I supposed to do? 

The point is, for this Buban, the relationships just don't seem to work. I don't know what the problem is, but if any of you ladies are looking to have a couple prime years of your life ruined, please call me up. I'll see what I can do! And what I'll do is somehow make you miserable over time. It'll be a slow build up to miserable and unhappy and you'll deny those feelings for quite a while, just like all the rest, but inevitably you'll wise up, dump me, and go buy yourself the new iPhone9 or something shiny to make yourself feel better.

Now it's all about being haunted by memories of her gone bye. 

I hate the end of relationships. The sleepless nights, the loss of appetite, the restless mind that never shuts off. It's like doing a bunch of coke, except without any of the fun. 

I still remember the Buban Bash from years ago, when I first got a glimpse of her. My first thought was that she was the most beautiful person I've ever seen. I was drinking that night, but there were no beer goggles in play. She actually was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, and we get some good looking chicks at that party. It wasn't until another year or two when we started dating, as apparently I never picked up on her imperceptible cues of interest. Our first date was brunch on New Years Day. I wowed her with my charm, sincerity, good looks, humor and sharp dress. Of course I was wearing the same clothes I had worn the night before when I hung out with her at my sisters house, but she didn't seem to mind too much. And she wowed me by actually showing up. Afterwards, I was so happy about having been on a date with her, I left and walked five miles through the snow to my sisters house instead of taking the bus. That was stupid, but I was pretty happy. 

Needless to say, one thing lead to another, and love blossomed like...well, like Blossom's gigantic tits later on in life. 

But now when this winter is winding its way towards obscurity, so too has our relationship. 

Once again, it's all over. I'm going to miss staring into those big ol' brown eyes. I mean, my God, you could stare into those things forever and not get tired of it. I'm going to miss being awestruck by her beautiful smile. I'm going to miss a lot of what we had, but for the most part, I'm just plain going to miss Mary. I'm going to miss her being happy and excited to go see Judas Priest in concert (she even bought herself a shirt, though I've never actually seen her wear it). And damnit, now I've got an extra Belle & Sebastian ticket again. I guess I'll never learn. Same thing happened when my last relationship ended. I hate that stupid band and their concerts and their breaking up my relationships. Take your ridiculously good, catchy songs and get the hell out of my life! 

Speaking of songs, I should make a mix tape of all the songs I associate with my failed relationships. It would have to be one of those 120 minute long tapes, as there are plenty to choose from. Just another thing to hate about breaking up...the amazing great songs that I won't listen to for far too long. Frankie and Johnny. Bus Stop. Holy Diver. She's a Rainbow. Don't Get Me Wrong. Any Simon and Garfunkel song.  That reminds me...I've got two almost finished metal mixes that were supposed to be for her, as she liked the first one I made so much. Yeah...she didn't know much metal, but she liked it quite a bit. Shoot me now. I fucked up. I'm stupid. Hell one time, I left the room and came back to her playing some Rainbow tunes. 

You all probably thought this was going to be one of those Dave got dumped, now he's going to trash the hell out of his ex blogs, didn't you? Oh I thought about it, but she's untrashable. I don't really have anything bad to say. She's a good person. We had our fun. We had a lot of fun. We also had some dumb times. And we had some crappy times. And we had some boring times. Nothing new there as far as relationships go. 

I did my best to try and save it, but it was too little, too late. Actually I don't think it was too little, as I offered up quite an extensive platter of things that I mistakenly thought would help get us through. Get us back to where we needed. Get us back on track. It was too late though. It was over. Elvis had left the building. 

I swear to God, one of these days I'm going to get to dump the person. I guess I almost did it to her a long time ago, but I didn't. That was a smart decision. At least this time, I don't think it was all my fault. We both can share the blame, but I'm sorry I didn't recognize and resolve some problems earlier, including the ones I didn't know about. I guess I learned something maybe. Stop being a stupid ass, Dave. Stop taking things for granted. Stop pretending that when there are problems, they'll just magically fix themselves. They don't. Pay more attention. Make an effort.

And sorry about writing a blog about this, but you're getting off way easier than the last one, so consider yourself lucky if you ever happen to read this. 

So thanks for two plus years of a really, really great time and best of luck to you in the future. You were a good one, Mary. You are a good one, Mary. But now you're a gone one, Mary, and I'm still here. 

Stupid relationships. I'm going to go dress up as a ghost now so I can disappear. 

A winter's day
In a deep and dark December;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.