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Today my wife and I celebrate the eighth anniversary of our wedding. Last year on this date I wrote a love letter to Lisa on this blog. I don’t usually try to one-up myself. I want to grow and improve, but I think each new experience should be embraced on its own merits. It’s natural to compare today to yesterday, this year to last year, second kid to first kid, but each one is unique, and comparisons only go so far to tell us what things are really about.

So, I don’t intend to try and best last year’s note. Instead I want to acknowledge this day for what it is. A celebration of another wonderful, challenging, growth-filled year. I knew 12 months ago this year would bring change, challenges, and surprises. It did. It’s been one of the hardest years we’ve faced, and one of the best. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times? Cliché, but fitting.

Thinking of our wedding, I recall a moment during our reception. We were married in Lisa’s hometown of New York City in June 2002. Many arrangements were already made before September 11, 2001, and we had no intention of changing our plans. Most of our guests were not from New York, and many had never been there, so we decided to have our reception on a boat circling Manhattan. It afforded the best possible views of the city, including a sobering moment as we glided past the site of the World Trade Center attack. Some might think such a stark reminder of recent, horrible tragedy would be the last thing you’d want while celebrating your wedding. For me, though, the only honest way to cope with loss is to face it. Sadness is a part of life. We lose things we love. On Sept 11, 2001, nine months before we were married, we all lost a measure of our innocence. For some that loss was deep and acute: losing a family member, a loved one, or a friend. For others it was remote and abstract, but still painful. Looking at the hole in the city where the towers had stood, still fresh with twisted metal not yet repaired or removed, was a reminder that there will be dark times. The best we can do is weather them together, and look ahead to another day. Each year is a new opportunity. Every day a little death, and every day, rebirth.

So, we begin another year. Our ninth year married, our 17th as a couple. This year we’ve had our own minor tragedies, and triumphs. I know next year will be the same. I am hopeful the bright spots will outnumber and outweigh the dark ones. Whatever comes, we will face it together, arm in arm, with our children beside us.

I love you, Lisa. Happy anniversary.

So the big concert on Saturday (OK Go) was a wash, thanks to a dead car battery the day of the concert. Thankfully, it didn’t happen in Orlando. Had I got out of the show at 11′ish Saturday night, and my car wouldn’t start, I would have been fucked royally. Instead, it happened in the short span of time it took me to get cigarettes from the smoke shop Saturday afternoon.

I was counting on the show to break me out of my funk, even if only for a few hours. But no. The universe had other ideas for me, apparently. After not being able to jump-start the car the first time, I left it in the parking lot and came back a few hours later with a friend. It started up fine the next time, with help of Mom’s car battery.

Got the car back to the house and I stayed home Saturday night, feeling especially melancholy when 8 o’clock rolled around (show time). Sunday I went to the auto parts store to get the battery tested. Surprisingly, when you hook up your battery to a charger – and acid starts frothing out of the top of said battery – it’s not a good thing.

Far better that it was the battery than something more expensive, like a starter or alternator. Still, my weekend was fucked, as was my mood.

I totally forgot about Kevin coming to Orlando this week, too, so when he reminded me Monday via Twitter that he’d be at Downtown Disney Tuesday night, I was like, fuck. Suddenly, not only was I miserable for missing OK Go, but I had to message Kevin and let him know I’d have to bow out. A 90-minute drive, mixed with overpriced dinner (no matter how enjoyable the company), was out of the question.

Sorry I couldn’t hang, Kev. Hope you and Katie are having a smashing time in Florida.

Yesterday, I met with the Matrix Therapist. Didn’t feel like going, much like I haven’t felt like doing most anything lately.

As she ushered me toward her office, she uttered the words “Temple of Tryptophan.” (NOTE: the new design has been up for just over a week now.)

Me: Oh my God, you’ve been to my blog.

Matrix Therapist: It’s not the first time.

Me: Oh my God, you’ve been to my blog…again.

(NOTE TO SELF: Don’t ever write any dirty dreams about the Matrix Therapist here.)

I explained to the Matrix Therapist just how bad the anhedonia is.

Me: Every time I use the word “anhedonia,” I inevitably have to explain to people what it means.

MT: So stop explaining. Tell them to look it up.

Me: I linked to the Wikipedia definition the last couple of times. Doesn’t seem all that difficult to figure out. I mean there’s hedonism – people seem to know what THAT means. Put “an” in front of it…hello, prefixes, ever heard of ‘em?

MT: So what’s going on?

Me: I can’t enjoy anything. TV, music, books, computer. I tried making that list of shit to get out of the house.

MT: And how did that go?

Me: Much like throwing bricks in the Grand Canyon. I went to the movies…

MT: What did you see?

Me: Iron Man 2.

MT: You went by yourself?

Me: I have nobody else to go with.

MT: How was it?

Me: It was okay^*. But I found myself wanting it to be over long before it was. Like I’m itchy to move onto something else, though nothing else is satisfying, either. I was just going through the motions.

MT: What else did you try?

Me: Bookstore…more motions. Gym, karaoke…motions, motions. Then, I drove in the pouring rain yesterday to go to the library. Got there and they’re fucking CLOSED Sundays and Mondays.

MT: Were you mad?

Me: Frustrated, but it seems par for the course. In my opinion, the library should be open on all days we have mail delivery, but then, no one ever consults me. So I just said ‘fuck it’ and went home.

It’s this isolation I feel that is part of my paralysis. Once again, I’ve put too many of my eggs into one basket. I lost my best friend recently – one of the only local friends I have. I have other close friends, but they’re all living in my computer, so to speak. And though I do answer my phone most of the time, I rarely reach out by calling them first.

Hate dragging people down into my muck.

In the first of these mugshots above, I was optimistic. Everything was great. I loved 2010, a far better year than 2009 had been. I had a girlfriend, a best friend, the Year of Resolutions, my life was back on track. Or so I thought. Within weeks, no girlfriend, lost my best bud, Mom broke her kneecap, I went manic, fainted twice from low blood sugar, lost my job.

Me: I’ve been ready to write this fucking year off for months. And it’s only getting worse.

MT: Have you thought about going back to school?

Sure, I’ve thought about it. But here’s the problem: go back to school for what, exactly? I’ve often said that the next time I go back to school, it’ll be only classes I WANT to take, as opposed to taking courses toward a degree.

Then there’s all the headache associated with getting a hold of all my previous transcripts. I’ve been to more than a handful of schools (Air Force traveling).

MT: You don’t need that stuff just to take a class.

Me: Oh? Hmm.

But this is how I approach everything, really. I think of something that might be even remotely interesting, then I flashforward and talk myself out of it because whatever it is is insurmountable.

MT: Let me ask you this…what do you feel is lacking from your life?

Me: Local friends, companionship…

MT: OK…

Me: But what do I have to offer a woman? I’m 43, unemployed, living with my mother, and I’m about as much fun lately as The Meat Thawing Network.

And again, we come to this impasse. So the MT starts talking employment, and that’s a whole other kettle of fish. Working. I haven’t worked in a “real” job for 10 years now. That was a 4-month stint as a technical writer in the corporate world, where I started having another breakdown toward the end of that gig. Two years before that, the Great Nervous Meltdown of ‘98. All I imagine when I think about working a “real” job again is freaking the fuck out and having another breakdown. I lack confidence in my ability to work a normal job.

So the MT suggests a few non-traditional things, such as research studies and mock juries. Oddly, she never even brought up gigoloism. She also suggested working in the local bookstore. And while the bookstore might seem a natural fit (I’ve worked in one before, albeit decades ago), the thought of “normal” working hours, having to get dressed and presentable and leave the damn house, gives me the heebie jeebies. Research studies may be the way to go. Put me in a giant maze and make me chase for cheese or some such shit.

I’m simply lost. Overwhelmed and mired in shit. And nothing I do feels right, let alone fun. A total lack of engagement.

Hmm. Perhaps there’s no pressure being a lab rat. After all, I already feel like one.

^* Iron Man 2. SPOILER ALERT. Decent flick, not as good as the first one. Robert Downey, Jr. is great, natch. But I felt it was too slow in many places, lacked a lot of the charm from the original. The action sequences were too few and far between, and the last half hour was just spastic with too MUCH happening. Watching multiple Iron Men duking it out sort of takes the “special” out of Iron Man. And seeing Mickey Rourke – some muscle-bound semi-dreadlocked tattooed gold-toofed Russian – as a nuclear physicist was stretching my disbelief beyond normal limits…even for a comic book movie. Overall grade: B-

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Enjoyed last night’s episode of 2HRadio with Cissa, where we talked about all sorts of things, including last weekend’s SillyBring. She and Shannon both wrote about the weekend on their blogs.

We had six of us for Sillybring: CheekySweetie, Shannon, Cissa, Whostolemyzen, NoelleD, and of course myself. Even though I brought my camera, I didn’t get any shots (aside from when Shannon and I went to Gatorama).

So let’s go with a couple of good photo sets from Cissa and Shannon, because they had the presence of mind to take lots of pics.

Here’s Shannon’s photos on Flickr.

And Cissa’s.

And my photos from Gatorama, which include the grinning Pepe LePew, who is getting laid. Lucky fucking skunk. If I want to get laid, I have to recruit crack whores…and even they are a tad picky.

Because I’m lazy and undergoing a series of anxiety attacks the last couple of days, I’m going to bulletize SillyBring.

• Shannon’s first night in Sebring nearly brought a live possum to her chair on my front porch. It was a big fucker, too. I shooed it away like it was a dog, half chasing it across my yard so that Shannon wouldn’t freak. Fortunately, despite having a run of bad luck lately, this particular possum was not, in fact, rabid, and did not leap for my throat and bite through my jugular. I assured Shannon I’d never seen a possum before, let alone had one walk up my sidewalk straight up to me…I don’t know that she believed me.
• Gatorama once again proved to kick ass. It was the one time I had my camera with me throughout the weekend. I was too busy enjoying everyone else’s company beyond that. We both got to hold a baby gator and croc, see TONS of gators in the lake (all of whom seem to be Jewish, since they swam for bagels like they were heroine), and the fucking skunks (literally). Also hung around long enough to see the gators being fed, which was something else. All in all, a fun afternoon with a VERY Floridian activity. Gator jerky available in the gift shop, please come again.
• CheekySweetie arrived a day before SillyBring to hang with Shannon and I before the other ladies got to town. Love, love, love her and enjoyed having two of my fave women together in one location again. Her laugh always gets me to smiling and laughing myself…much needed.
• Met up with Cissa, WhostolemyZen, and NoelleD at the Blue Lagoon for lunch (corn nuggets!) on Saturday. Fun and hilarity ensued (for pretty much the next 24 hours). WhostolemyZen and NoelleD and the others soon realized that corn nuggets are much like crack. Cissa was not overly impressed. Witches, whaddya gonna do?
• The next few hours were filled with shopping at Ross Dress For Less, Michaels, and some other clothing store. Shannon has been losing quite a bit of weight, and wanted some girl power to help her find clothes. The mumu looked great, but she went with different looks for some reason.
• There was much Foursquaring going on all weekend, of course. Vying for Mayorships in new venues was exhausting, but I wound up Mayor of a couple more places, even if it meant ousting some friends in the process. That’s right, bitches, I’m now a Super Mayor!
• We all spent quite a bit of time in our hotel room…2 bedroom suite, 2 bathrooms. It was perfect for the 6 of us to gather and hang. We also spent some time in the pool and hot tub. Mmm.
• Dinner at Don Jose’s Mexican that night. My Mom joined us all. It was Angel’s first time at a Mexican restaurant!
• The Why Not Lounge was perfection that night. Ladies drink free from 10-midnight (y’know, thinking of my ladies) and the people-watching was out of this world. People straight out of “Deliverance” were at the next table. I was just waiting for the banjo music to start. There were lots of big eyes (as SillyBringers stared openly at family members grinding on each other during songs, incredibly drunk folks who couldn’t talk or sing but tried anyway, and an amorous couple getting it on in the ladies’ bathroom) and laughs. Oh, and branding…can’t forget the branding. Shannon and Cissa and I sang karaoke, while Angel, WhostolemyZen, and NoelleD said “There’s not enough booze on Earth to get us up there.”
• Next morning, the girls came back to Shannon’s, Angel’s, and my hotel room and hung out some more, doing girly things like hairwraps for Shannon and Angel. I figured I’d forego the hairwrap, since my hair is maybe half an inch long.
• We went to Bob Evans for brunch (yay for blueberry crepes), lots more laughter, and ultimately our goodbyes. We took a few more photos outside, hugged and kissed each other farewell, then Cissa and WhostolemyZen and Noelle D took off for home.
• Shannon and Angel and I hung out at my house for a little while before Angel went back home. Then Shannon and I, though sad to see everybody leave, kinda vegged out and napped. I may have uttered the words, “I’m too old for this partying shit” once or twice.

And that was pretty much SillyBring. Shannon stayed another day, we enjoyed some mindless TV after our naps on Sunday. She made a delicious steak dinner for my Mom and I. Think we played some more “Price is Right” on the Wii before hitting the sack, exhausted. Next morning, more mindless TV (including RuPaul’s Drag Show). Enjoyed Shannon’s company immensely.

Then it was time to drive Shannon back to Orlando International to fly home. We listened to the Kick-Ass soundtrack on the way, having both LOVED the movie. Dropped her off at the Southwest check-in, hugs and kisses, and that was that. I drove home, sad to see Shannon go. Sad to see the extended weekend come to a close. Sad to be back in Sebring all by my lonesome.

And not to be a bummer, but my depression has really been taking a nasty turn for the worst, ramping up throughout the week ever since Shannon left. Nothing seems to be clicking for me…no matter what I try, I’m not feeling it. Reading, TV, music, being online, even rubbing one out – fucking anhedonia can suck my left one.

My naps aren’t all that great because (I think) of the Abilify. Which sucks, because naps are one of my escapes from reality. I feel paralyzed and overwhelmed, too. So much to do, some of it complicated, all of which led to anxiety attacks yesterday, where I had to constantly remind myself to breathe.

You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to forget to breathe, yeah? I thought so, too.

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Here’s a corny old Jewish joke about the unconditional love of mothers for their daughters (told with a little sarcasm):

Two women who haven’t seen each other in years run into each other on the street.

“How’s your daughter,” the first woman asks, “the one who married that surgeon?”

“They were divorced,” the second woman answers.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“But she then got married to a lawyer.”

“Mazal tov!” the friend exclaimed.

“They were also divorced… But now everything is alright, she’s married to a very successful CPA.”

The first woman shakes her head from side to side.

“Mmmm, so much nachas (joy in Yiddish) from one daughter…”

++++

My mother is back in Queens after a winter as a snowbird in Florida.    My intention was to live it up in my pseudo-bachelor pad all winter.   Life got in the way.    When I left Queens to come to LA, it was for a short trip.  I expected to return to New York in ten days, not still be in LA three months later.

My mother called five minutes after she walked in the front door.

“I am so mad,” she said.

I had left behind six bundles of dirty laundry and a broken dishwasher.

“Oops,” I replied, suddenly remembering that I promised to take care of things before my mother’s return, and never did , much like the “shower curtain incident” last year.

I wasn’t worried about my mother’s anger.   After all, she’s my mother.    I have been lucky with my parents.   I know a few of you got stuck with shitty parents.   I am pretty confident that my mother is going to continue to love me even if I caused a fire and burnt the entire apartment to the ground.

Unconditional love by a mother.

++++

Of course, that same love can also ruin you.

++++

Sophia and I had a fight last week over… yeah, the dishes.    One day I need to write a post on that one issue.   When we argue, I can feel the love disappear.   There is hate in her eyes.   The next day, when tensions subside, the love returns, as if a dark cloud has lifted.   This disturbs me.   It makes me feel very insecure.   I know, I know, your girlfriend or wife isn’t your mother.   Only your mother will give you that unconditional love.

Perhaps that is why I am looking up codependent in wikipedia.

++++

I am very jealous of all the parents out there. You must feel this unconditional love for your children. It must be such a special feeling.   No one else can ever feel this special bond of unconditional love.

Maybe dog owners.   Remember Lassie?    That was unconditional love, right?

++++

If there is one piece of advice about blogging that I can give to newbies without any reservations, it is this:   Never look for unconditional love online.   You won’t find it.   Through trial and error, I now operate on the assumption that I could lose 75% of my readers or online friends in one week by simply writing the wrong type of post or tweet.   Thank God for V-grrrl.   She’s like Mikey in those old Life Cereal commercials.   She doesn’t like anything, but still likes my posts.   I write half of my posts with her in mind.

++++

It is Easter. The idea of unconditional love is an integral part of Christianity. It describes the belief in God’s love for humankind through the forgiveness of Christ.

Unconditional love is also central to Judaism, although the Jewish God sometimes confuses Passover with April Fool’s Day.

++++

In Exodus, there is a moment when Moses shows his unconditional love for his people. Moses has just lead the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, and has given them the Ten Commandments.   What does he get in return?   He finds them partying with the Golden Calf, much like parents returning home early from their vacation to find their high school son having a wild party in the living room with more hookers than listed in Tiger Woods’ blackberry.

Does Moses show unconditional love?   Well, maybe not at first.   He curses them, throws the tablets at them, and several sinners die in a fiery blaze.   Let’s just say that anger management classes had not yet been developed.   But to give the dude credit, God later makes Moses an offer that most of us would jump on: “Let my anger burn against them and I shall annihilate them, and I will make you into a great nation!”

Basically, God is offering to get rid of all these schmucks and start over again with Moses in the chariot driver’s seat.  But Moses, for some unknown reason — maybe love is blind — begs for mercy:   “These people have sinned a great sin by making for themselves a god of gold. And now, if You would bear their sin. But if not—erase me now from your book that You have written!”

Translation: “Sure, these Israelites are are a bunch of sinning, high-maintenance assholes — just wait until one day when they have their own country — but I’m one of them, and I love them — despite it all — so just kill me too while you’re at it.”

Unconditional love.   Neurotic, maybe, but isn’t all love?

++++

I know someone is going to comment here that the most important person to love is yourself.   Despite my kvetching, I do love myself.   I find myself very amusing and lovable.   But you just can’t hang around with yourself ALL the time.

My guest this evening is none other than Hilly herself, one of my oldest blogging buds. That’s her and I in the photo, just before she left Florida and went back to The C.A.

It’s Hilly’s first time on the show in quite a while and there’s no telling what we’ll talk about. Being back in California, television, love…the possibilities are endless.

Showtime: 10:00 PM EST, 9PM Central, 8PM Mountain, 7PM Pacific. Chatroom opens 15 minutes before showtime.

Call-In Number: 724-444-7444, Call ID 23738

Show Link: http://www.talkshoe.com/tc/23738

List of future guests can be found here.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED: To avoid browser problems (which some people tend to have with Talkshoe), you should do the following:

1. REGISTER AT TALKSHOE BEFORE THE SHOW.

2. DOWNLOAD THE TALKSHOE CLIENT.

3. If you have trouble logging in, feel free to call in and I’ll leave you on mute. You can listen to the show live that way.

The Talkshoe Live client works great and (for my money, though it’s free) offers a better chatroom experience.

Look forward to seeing you all there tonight. You’re all welcome to call in and chat.

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So yesterday, I went to see Hot Tub Time Machine with a bud. I have a weakness for time travel stories. If I had to pick a favorite time travel movie, it’d be Back to the Future, naturally…love that shit. But I also have a fondness for Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Time Cop, and the Butterfly Effect.

Hot Tub? Was so-so. It brought some laughs, many of them were gross-out laughs involving bodily fluids, but whatever. Not Hangover funny, but not a total loss. It’s just that, well, when you have a movie called Hot Tub Time Machine, can you be all that shocked at what kind of a movie it is? It’s a hot tub with a built-in time machine; there’s really not a lot of plot going on.

I’m an 80’s kid…graduated in 1984, so this was prime pickings for me. I LIVED in the time of jeri-curls and Miami Vice. Hell, I wore a linen jacket myself with pastel-colored t-shirts.

Bottom line: worth a rental, perhaps a matinee. Definitely NOT worth full night-time prices at the movies.

The premise that always interests me with time-travel tales is changing the future. If I went back in time, and I had my 2010 brain in my teenage body, what would I do? First off, I’d be getting laid like there was no tomorrow. I know stuff now that I didn’t know then. How to kiss a girl, for instance. Better yet, I know where the G-spot is. I’d be the most popular guy in school! My street cred would zoom through the roof!

Things I’d Do If I Went Back in Time

1. I’d totally make it with Janeen Heaney in 9th grade. James Bonner may have gotten the girl back then, but he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. I’d say screw the anonymous love letters I left in Janeen’s locker for two years. I’d go right to her face, bring her flowers, whisper sweet nothings in her ear, and make her cum so hard her toes would curl…maybe even pop off. She’d tell her girlfriends and pretty soon every girl in school would want to fuck me. Karl 2.0, yeah, baby.
2. Buy stock in Apple. In the 80’s. I had an Apple IIc back then. Perhaps now I’d easily afford a new MacBook.
3. Punch Kevin Ferrick in the mouth. 8th grade. Schoolmate and next-door neighbor. Him and the *other* Kevin (Downs) were merciless. I wouldn’t save their asses if I had another shot.
4. I’d preinvent the fucking Snuggie. I hate them, but I’m not an idiot. If morons are willing to buy tons of backwards robes, I’ll be happy to sell them.
5. I’d stop Michael Hutchence from killing himself. Love INXS and miss him a lot. The new singer, J.D. Fortune, just ain’t doing it for me.
6. I’d actually get fashionable haircuts. And clothes.
7. I would start going to therapy right after my folks got divorced. Who KNOWS where I’d be now if I had been enlightened decades ago?
8. I’d totally ace school, be friends with the geeks, the jocks, and the outcasts alike. The teachers would all love me, so would the girls. And the guys would all want to be me.
9. I’d steal all of our stuff out of storage when we moved from New York to New Mexico. Lost virtually everything we had when I was 15…heirlooms, photos, games. All of it.
10. I’d totally sleep with my first girlfriend. I was inexperienced and a goody-goody. Fuck that.
11. Stop Coca Cola from making the dreadful New Coke in the 80’s. ‘Nuff said.
12. Prevent Poison from ever becoming a band. I know, the history books would thank me forever. Oddly, the stupid band is in the Hot Tub movie.

I’d still prefer the Delorean vs. the Hot Tub Time Machine, don’t get me wrong. But I’d make it work however I had to.

Now, a little meme, courtesy of Dave2.

1. Go to your first photo file and pick the 10th photo in it.
2. Tell the story behind the photo.
3. Tag 5 other people to do likewise.

My first photo file is random Karl photos from the past. And here’s #10:

That’s me, circa February, 1987. Air Force Basic Training, Lackland AFB, Texas. Silly photo booth shot that I took for  my (then) wife. Let me tell you, when you’re away from the woman you’re madly in love with for MONTHS, you LIVE for mail call every day.

I remember that my ex told me she didn’t recognize the guy in that photo until her mom pointed out that it was me. Then, she cried. “What have they done to him?”

What, indeed.

I don’t tag people, but feel free to try this yourself.

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This week has been a total write-off as far as exercise is concerned. I’ve been sick for a week now, and even though I’m pretty sure it’s just a cold, it’s been kicking my ass. Major snot factory, coughing, wheezing, headaches, sore throat, etc. (And yes, I’m keenly aware that smoking isn’t helping…that Resolution will come later this year. Not ready for that one yet.)

Being sick isn’t something I do well. It’s a rarity to begin with, perhaps once a year (twice if it’s a bad year). In this case, it’s been over a year since I was last afflicted with anything. Physical, I mean. Mentally, I’m afflicted many times over, of course.

We’re nearly done with March already, but I’m calling the exercise Resolution successful. I’ll start on it again as soon as I’m up to snuff. Let’s take a look at the Resolutions so far, yeah?

January: Diabetes. This is still going strong, mostly. I’ve been a bit lax on checking sugar this past week. Getting on the horse again, though. My sugar this morning (before meds or breakfast) was 211. High, yes, but again…haven’t been great about everything this past week. Sugar the last week has averaged 146.

I’ll be filling my weekly pillboxes when I finish here. Doing really good taking my meds most of the time, too.

February: Work. Meh. Not so great here. Plan to get to work today, as well. Gotta write a story. And I haven’t even begun looking for another writing gig, though I’m totally open to more.

March: Exercise. Already mentioned. I plan on continuing with this. I’ve seen how it affects (positively) my blood sugar…knocks it down quite a bit. And that’s a good thing. That was part of the idea behind the Year of Resolutions: that they’d interplay in various ways, all to make me feel better physically and mentally.

Now it’s time to think about April. We’re only days away from it and I need to come up with another Resolution. I have it narrowed down to a few ideas, but am open to more suggestions. I’m leaning toward something spiritual at the moment. We’ll see.

I’ll be announcing the winner(s) of the Funniest Sex Story contest tomorrow. Got some really good entries.

Lordy, I need a new computer. Finally fixed my problematic mouse by getting a new wireless mouse. Works fine now…must have been the old mouse’s receiver that was the problem. But my 4-yr-old Dell laptop is just sluggish. Takes nearly 7 or 8 minutes to fully boot. Maxed on RAM, dependent on an external hard drive.

Oh, Apple, why can’t you send me a shiny new MacBook Pro on a scholarship or something?

In the good news department, I’m mending things with a friend, and that feels nice. The last few months have been a whirlwind of a roller coaster ride. The Matrix Therapist noted that I seem “different” at our last session. Not sure what that means, exactly, but she said I seem “mellower.”

The new meds seem to be doing something, I’m just not sure what, exactly. My energy levels seem higher (this past week notwithstanding). My mood? Perhaps better, but not markedly so.

The new 2HT design is coming along. Not on the schedule I was hoping for, but then that’s what happens when your designer has sick kiddos. Fucking priorities…ugh. The development site is up and running. I’m thinking it should only be a couple of weeks, but can’t be sure. In the meantime, the runner-up from the Funniest Sex Story contest is getting a sneak-peek at the new design with a specially-made item from the 2HT store.

Speaking of which, there’s a new shirt for the dudes. I already had a girl’s shirt made up. Now the guys are free to tell it like it is, too.

Naturally, you can customize the color and style of shirt.

Lastly, I decided to end my relationship with my ad network. I love BlogHer, don’t get me wrong. I just got tired of being suspended for the occasionally offensive post, or for running a giveaway. If I was pulling in hundreds of dollars in revenue, that’d be one thing, but I’m not. I barely cover my monthly hosting costs. Just not worth it any more.

So that’s what’s going on with me at the moment. How about you?

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TODAY IS THE LAST DAY TO ENTER THE CONTEST for a $25 gift certificate! Make me laugh.

When I was in group therapy (hereafter known as IOP, for Intensive Outpatient Therapy), we did art therapy on a routine basis. A collage was the order of the day, so eight magazines were strewn about the floor, one mag for each patient.

“Choose one to use for your collage,” the therapist said.

Now, there were no rules associated with that. No choosing ORDER. You see a magazine you want? Bend down and grab it.

As is often the case, I have a tough time when I’m given more than a few choices. Those White Elephant Christmas gift exchange thingies? Maddening.

I remember for my 10th or 11th birthday my Uncle Giac (pronounced Jack, but in Eyetalian) took me to KayBee Toys in the mall and said I could have anything in the store for $20 or under. Holy Mindblower, Batman!

We spent nearly two fucking hours in that store before Uncle Giac said, “That’s it. PICK something!” I chose the Bruce Jenner Decathlon Game, in case you were wondering. What? I also had the Welcome Back, Kotter Game, where the goal was to collect cards that, put together, spelled “Up Your Nose With A Rubber Hose.”

So I’m sitting there, staring at the tableaux of glossy covers before me. Ladies Home Journal. National Geographic. Budget Travel. Weasel Fancy.

Which magazine do you think I took? I don’t remember the title, but I do know that it was the very last mag on the floor.

“What magazine did you choose, Karl?” she asked.

“Don’t know that ‘choose‘ is the word,” I replied.

“Not making a choice is still a choice.”

Everyone quit looking through their magazines and stared at the therapist. Me, I mulled that whopper over in my noggin. The ramifications of that statement were astounding to me.

Wait a second now. My procrastinating on making a decision – until it’s too late and there’s only one option left – is still a CHOICE? Fuuuuuck.

A forced choice, they call it. You’re forced to choose the only remaining item because you waited too long.

My entire life I’ve been doing that. I’m better about it now than I was then, but still, it happens regularly.

The mechanics BEHIND me making the forced choice are not all that difficult to surmise. I’m not worthy. I don’t deserve the choice to begin with. That’s not to say that a staggering number of options isn’t difficult for me to ponder; a restaurant menu is rough for me. But the essence behind the forced choice for me is that I deserve the leftovers.

And hell, I should be grateful for those.

Growing up, I was always small for my age. Wore glasses from 18 months (yes, months). Asthma. Braces, retainers, headgear (in school).

And in gym class for Dodgeball? Where there are two team captains and they choose teammates, going back and forth between the two teams?

I was always dead last to be picked. I was the forced choice. Time and time again. Not a feeling I’d wish on my worst enemy.

To be honest, I still feel that way more than you’d think. I still don’t feel worthy of options. I still think leftovers are all I should get. The forced choice.

Which is exactly the opposite of Harley.

Angel’s dog Harley was NOT a forced choice at all. He was chosen specifically because that’s who Angel and her family fell in love with, and also because he chose HER and her family. Out of the many options in that shelter, Harley was the dog they chose.

Which is why I think adopted children are so special. You didn’t just HAVE them, you CHOSE them.

I’m glad I got to meet Harley in his very short stay with Angel. Him departing while we were in Destin was heart-wrenching. But only because the love for him was so strong.

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Yesterday, in a move hardly characteristic of myself, I went to the YMCA to, ugh, exercise. Water aerobics.

First off, I’m not happy in a bathing suit. Yes, I hate sports, know nothing about cars, and I have body issues. So why the hell don’t I get multiple orgasms like the rest of you women? Huh? Not fair.

I didn’t even make it through the whole class, maybe 45 minutes. A bunch of old women kicked my fucking ass. My legs were burning, my heart was racing. The only good part was that it’s hard to sweat when you’re in a pool.

Apparently, you need an AARP membership before you can make it a full hour in a pool with floatie noodles and foam dumbbells. But I did it for 45 minutes, and that counts.

Tomorrow, I have two things to do. First, Tai Chi in the morning. Then, after over a month and a half, I’m finally getting my head CT. Yeah, from passing out and hitting the kitchen floor. The forehead is most certainly cracked; I can feel it. Plus, the headaches are getting more frequent…not where I usually get them, either. They’re in the front of my head. That’s not good.

I don’t know what they’ll do for me when they find out my skull is cracked. But at least I’m getting it looked at, even if it took a while to get approval to get a local CT scan done. Rather than drive two hours, I mean.

Work begins in earnest on the 2HT redesign this week. It’s one of the very few things I’m able to garner any excitement for. Most everything else feels hollow, like I’m just going through the motions.

Nothing seems to matter. Nothing seems to make a difference. I’m tearing up at the drop of a hat. Just last night, I was sniffling while listening to The Cars’ “Just What I Needed.” WTF?!

The fires keep coming, and I’m expected to put them out, to deal with the crises laying all around me. And I barely have the fortitude to get out of bed, let alone take care of problems or go do Tai Chi.

I feel unworthy. Unloveable. That fucking Permeable Teflon skin of mine. Bad goes in, good slides off. It’s automatic.

And when I have conversations like this, it gives me pause. I’m in green, by the way.

I hate when people tell me I need to agree with nice things said about me.

It’s that last bit that is so problematic for me. But Angel, she’s a smart cookie. Maybe you don’t see what she did there, but she used LOGIC. Because logic trumps emotion with me.

It’s the last sentence that really hits.

Your friends kick ass, and they love you, so you must not suck.

That’s a statement of logic. Three of them, actually.

1. Your friends kick ass. TRUE.

2. They love you. TRUE. I’ll accept this, even if I fail to see why most of the time.

3. So you must not suck. ???

That part, I’m struggling with. The first two statements are true, therefore…the last part must also be true. I mean, that’s the logical conclusion, right?

But soaking it up, as Angel says, is not just easier said than done. It’s nigh impossible. So she brilliantly played the logic card, and I’m fighting hard to negate it. Which seems stupid, mostly because it is. Why on Earth would I choose to reject love? Reject nice things? I don’t know the answer to that, exactly.

If I’m loveable, if I don’t suck, if I’m not the horrid vile person the voices in my head tell me I am…then what the fuck AM I? I’ve been this person for 43 years. If I take away the bad shit, what if there’s nothing left holding me together?

I don’t know how to be anyone else. I don’t know how to feel loved, to feel worthy, to feel…good. And it’s a very real threat to me, this loss of all the bad shit. Who am I without it?

I must not suck.

Does not compute.

And is this my midlife crisis, by the way? I’m due for one, I suppose. I’m middle-aged. It doesn’t FEEL any different than my usual depression and angst, though. I’m still not longing to sleep with 23-year-old’s or to drive red sports cars, so that’s something. Unless it’s a red ‘66 Mustang with USB connectors.

Seriously, if I HAD a midlife crisis, would I even fucking know it? I mean, I’m in crisis now. I’m at the middle of my life.

Shit. I am having a midlife crisis.

Fuck, who needs a drink?

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Tuesday night, Mom and I had our first TNT night out since her accident. The TNT’s, for those that don’t know, are otherwise known as the Dynamite Divas. In my head, I call them the Tuesday Night Supper Club, but it’s basically the Meatsuite mentality…just a couple decades down the line.

Every Tuesday, the TNT’s gather round a dinner table at a different restaurant. There’s laughing and crying and everything in between. I happen to be a member, even though I technically lack a vagina. Don’t mock, I paid my dues (which involved a coconut bra and grass skirt).

Mom did great, walking all the way from the car to the table (using a walker). Everyone was happy to see her out and about. Lots of laughter is a good thing.

At some point, the girls were discussing the obituaries. Half the girls read them daily. I suppose when *I* hit the ripe old age of 36 (the age my mother has claimed to be for decades now), I’ll have to read the obituaries every day, too. Isn’t that what old people are supposed to do? That, and eating dinner at 4:30pm, wearing shades that engulf your entire head, and donning black socks with shorts and sandals.

Seems a morbid thing to me, looking to see who died, but whatever. I’m not here to judge (outside my head, anyway).

The stress levels for me of late are through the roof. I maintain some vestiges of my mania, I think, though it’s getting harder and harder to tell. This Natural Calm shit isn’t making me feel very calm, but I’m still taking it…along with the multivitamins, L-Theanine, and melatonin. And my pharmaceuticals.

There’s this thing I do – a lot of survivors do it, actually – called Trauma Breathing. Essentially, it’s very shallow breathing, interspersed with a lot of breath-holding. I rarely breathe deeply. It’s a physiological manifestation of my PTSD. And from what I understand, it’s not good for me.

Somewhere down the road, and sooner rather than later, I plan to undertake meditation. I may find Meditation for Dummies somewhere cheaper than what I saw at Books A Million over the weekend. As an aside, I think it’s ridiculous that you’re expected to become a BAM “member” by paying $20, just so you can get 10% off all your purchases for a year. That means I need to buy at least $200 worth of books in order to make it worthwhile. And that’s a shitty business practice. Why not just GIVE me 10% off? I can already find everything cheaper online. Again, though, nobody ever consults me on these things.

The Resolution, right. Well, it’s not going well, I admit. But I did post my first work story yesterday, so that’s a good thing. (Please Digg and Stumble it, I’d be most appreciative. The more traffic I get, the better it is for me.)

A while back I started my Bucket List, which looked like this:

KARL’S BUCKET LIST

• Great Fucking Road Trip
• Bungee jump
• Meet Flight of the Conchords and get them on my show
• Go to Australia
• Get my own medical marijuana card
• Fix my smile
• Write my story in a book. Have at least one book signing.
• Do the largest dancing in my boxers video ever with dozens of women at least
• Have some random stranger recognize me on the street in any place other than home
• Meet Jaime Murray
• Do a video with @jennyonthespot
• Karaoke in Tokyo (EDIT: a country song)
• Fall in love and get married
• Party in Vegas
• Get paid to do a talk show on radio

I’m going to keep adding to this and editing as need be. I really liked a post that Adam wrote a while back. He was contemplating all the things he wants to accomplish before he’s 40. Adam and I seem to have a lot going on at the moment in the Change Department.

I’m already past 40, but I think I’m going to create a second list of things I want to accomplish before I’m 50. Some of them may crossover onto my Bucket List, but that’s OK.

Making goals is not something I’m well-versed at. I’m not a future-thinking kinda guy. I can barely think about what I’m having for dinner tonight, let alone goals for the next 7 years. It’s a Survivor thing, I’ve learned. Just focus on getting through THIS MOMENT. Survival IS the goal. But surviving isn’t enough, people. That’s not LIVING, that’s just existing. Maggots do as much.

But still, this is the Year of Resolutions, a time when I’m working hard to make mental shifts. I want to see the positive instead of constantly focusing on the negative. Fuck, I want to be – dare I say it? – happy.

So here are some of the things I’d like to get done before I’m 50.

1. Do stand-up comedy. My friend, Mic (who I still call Mike, but whatever), is doing this now in L.A. As a teenager, I’d walk to and from school with Mike and Rob and my brother, Chris. We’d make each other laugh constantly. And play Dungeons & Dragons. Mike’s been telling me I should do stand-up for a while now, and I’ve always pooh-pooh’d the idea because I’m laden with anxieties and neuroses. But lately, I’ve been feeling more and more like I want to try this.
2. Finish and publish a book. Doesn’t have to be my autobiography, but it probably will be. Haven’t touched that damn manuscript in a decade, but I plan on changing that.
3. Get back to England. I lived there for three years, and loved it, even if that was also the time that led to the end of my marriage. I have friends there still, and now I have NEW friends there, thanks to the InterWebz.
4. Drive all of Route 66. This is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Big road trip.
5. Become my own boss. I love writing, and I’m happy that I’ve had the opportunities to make a living at it. Ultimately, though, I want to answer to myself. Sure, I don’t know shit about business or even budgeting, but I can get there. And I’m hoping to get a business venture launched in the near future, something I’ve been mulling over for a while now. (That’ll come after I relaunch SecondHand Tryptophan, which is happening in the next month.) Ultimately, this is about not being poor any more.
6. Move out of Sebring. I never intended to stay here this long. I’ve come to appreciate the town, but it’s not enough for me. I want to be somewhere else. Not sure where, exactly, but it needs to be bigger than Sebring. And it’s probably going to be somewhere relatively warm because I’m so not a snow person.

I think those are enough for now. Again, it’s another list in progress.

I’ll bring these lists with me to my Matrix Therapy session this afternoon. The MT was off last week, and I’m in heavy need of some therapizing. I’m also bringing my old IOP journal, the one that lists my med regimen, including the meds that were WORKING. If I don’t find some fucking relief, and soon, I don’t know that I’ll be in any position to get any of the things on my lists accomplished.

In the meantime, who needs a drink?

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