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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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I’m a good tipper. I’ve had many friends who wait tables and I know they bust their ass. You have to really be a crappy waitress to get less than 20% from me, yes, because I’m appreciative, but mostly because I don’t have the patience to do what they do. Or the coordination. Or memory. I hear you’re supposed to remember what people order and shit.

It’s the waiting I have trouble with in my life. Sure, I’m easy-going (mostly). I try to be patient – and sometimes I succeed – but mostly I suck at it.

2010 has been kicking my ass thus far, and the past week hasn’t done much to show me that it’s about to change any time soon. I’m tired of my life, I’m tired of the waiting. The Year of Resolutions can blow me right now. I’ve been so depressed of late that nothing seems to be getting done…not checking sugars the way I should, haven’t been working, haven’t been going to the Y. Suck it.

Friends say I need to grab the Universe by the balls and give them a tight squeeze. I think that’s a great idea, I answer, as soon as the universe lets go of its vice grip on MINE.

I lost a close friend this week. Not lost as in “she died” or “I misplaced her.” There was a series of blowouts in recent months, and this past week served to show me that waiting on a satisfactory explanation was a waste of time. Months I waited, and for what? Nothing. In the end, rather than talk about it, I got cut off entirely – blocked – and that’s been quite the blow for me. I thought we had a far deeper relationship than that. Seems I was wrong.

I realized a while back that the very thing I was waiting for (an answer that would make sense) wasn’t going to materialize. No answer would make everything that’s been happening OK. I was hoping things could be salvaged, but then the decision was made for me, and here I sit, writing off what was a very important relationship.

I’m seeing lately that patience, which they SAY is a virtue, is really a sucker’s game. Waiting by idly for someone else to make a decision often brings disappointing results.

The question now is how do I know what is worth waiting for (or if anything is worth waiting for)? How exactly do I grab the Universe’s scrotal sack without the incessant junk-punching it’s giving me?

I’m gonna start with less waiting. I’m worth more. It’s counter-productive, particularly when it’s the kind of waiting that precludes me from making a move until the other person makes their move. I have shit to do, I have a life to lead…Lord knows what that looks like, but I’m sure I have better things to do.

If I’m not important enough to deal with, fine. If you’ve got other things on your plate, fine.

Just don’t be fucking surprised if I’m not still waiting on your ass when you’re finally ready to get to me.

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Days like today I kinda just want to say “Blow me, world!” and throw in the towel. Stick my head in the sand, make it all go away, leave me the hell alone.

Therapy was a bitch yesterday. I can’t even go into specifics. Let’s just say that one of many recurring themes discussed was my proclivity to take on too much of OTHER PEOPLE’S shit.

Then I listen to this song and try to let it soak in. The meditations of OK Go.

Dear Jeebus, let this garbage pass.

This Too Shall Pass

by OK Go

You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down
And you can’t keep draggin’ that dead weight around.
If there ain’t all that much to lug around,
Better run like hell when you hit the ground.

When the morning comes.
When the morning comes.

You can’t stop these kids from dancin’.
Why would you want to?
Especially when you’re already gettin’ yours.
‘Cause if your mind don’t move and your knees don’t bend,
well don’t go blamin’ the kids again.

When the morning comes.
When the morning comes.

When the morning comes.
When the morning comes.

When the morning comes.
When the morning comes.

Let it go, this too shall pass.
Let it go, this too shall pass.

Let it go, this too shall pass.
(You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

Let it go, this too shall pass.
(You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

Hey!

Let it go, this too shall pass.
(You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes.
(You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes.
(You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes.
(You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes.
(You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes!

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Happy Easter to you and yours. Hope it’s a great day.

March’s Resolution for the YOR was exercise…five days a week. I’m saying it was a successful month, despite being sick for the last couple of weeks. I plan to continue on with it, even if the local Y isn’t yet offering Tantric Yoga classes.

I meant for this month to be totally different when it comes to the April Resolution. I’m gonna put that one off till maybe next month. Instead, I’m going with something that the Matrix Therapist mentioned last week in our session.

Reconnecting.

I haven’t yet figured out the metrics portion of this Resolution. Basically, it all comes down to my girls and reestablishing a connection. Long story I’ve alluded to before, but in my really Dark Days, I thought they were better off without me around. A self-fulfilling prophecy. I was very mistaken, it’s plagued me for years, and I’m trying to do something about it. Again.

But there’s more to the reconnecting than my girls. I have quite a few people I need to reconnect with, and this is the month I start making that happen. I have emails to write, blogs to read for the first time in forever, phone calls, texts.

My myopia tends to shove friends and even family to the outskirts of my attention. And the more depressed I get, the more powerful those blinders get. This might make sense somewhere in the dust bunny farm known as my brain, but it’s counterproductive. My support group is largely online. The bulk of my friends are elsewhere, so it’s time to reach out and bring some of these long-lost folks back to the fold.

So don’t be too surprised if you suddenly see me on your blog, or if you get an email from me from out of the blue. Crawling out of this Funk ain’t easy, but I’m still trying to push through it.

In the meantime, here’s to hoping Jesus doesn’t see his shadow today, or there will be six more weeks of Apocalypse.

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Happy birthday, Mom. And happy birthday to my girls. I wrote this post back in August of 2006. Won awards and shit, which was nice (and surprising). Seems appropriate to rerun it today, on the 23rd anniversary of the day I felt life was worth living for maybe the very first time.

- Karl

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I’m in a weird place at the moment. Effects from my California trip are still coursing through me. I’m really not happy with where I’m at in my life. Not happy with a lot of choices I’ve made (and continue to make). Not happy that I live in a little tiny town, have been here for nearly three years, and still know virtually no one.

I need to DO something. Quit letting fear rule my freaking life. Get a plan. Make lists. Put my ass in motion. Ugh. Ugh.

Right. So there’s that. Strange, I don’t typically get into the deeper shit here on 2HT. The crap I could lay down here is legion. I should probably start relying on my other more personal blog again. Or maybe this space is changing…evolving. Perish the thought.

As per Angela’s Inner Babs, today I’m going to write about one of the perfect days in my life.

I got married very young. I’d turned 20 only a month before, in fact. And though my wife and I were already very much in love and would likely have married, anyway, things were accelerated when we discovered she was pregnant. With twins.

Before that revelation came to be, we’d both decided we were joining the Air Force. But Uncle Sam doesn’t allow for pregnant women to join the Air Force. Imagine that. So we decided that I would join alone. Me, the wild and crazy kid with the long-ass tri-colored mullet, dangly earring, and Miami Vice wardrobe. In the military. Money was too tight to mention (as Simply Red sang) so it would be perfect. Uncle Sam would pay for the certainly HUGE medical bills related to my wife’s pregnancy. No way could we have afforded it otherwise, even if I continued as a civilian with the three jobs I had.

So I took the battery of tests and joined the Air Force with a “guaranteed” job, meaning I could pick any five jobs I wanted and be guaranteed one of those five. The fighter pilot option was out since I’d be enlisted. (Not to mention I don’t have perfect vision.) I chose the five jobs that had the longest training schools, thinking that those would be the most difficult and valuable, and thus the highest paying jobs once I returned to the civilian sector.

Blah, blah, blah. That’s not really important.

I went through basic training, missing my wife like hell the entire time. When I graduated, I went to Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi to begin training as an Air Traffic Control Radar Equipment Specialist. In other words, a radar repairman.

For the first two months of tech school, you weren’t allowed to have your spouse and family join you. I guess it’s an adjustment period of sorts. It sucked. I missed her so badly I physically ached at times. And I felt so out of place because I was generally two years older than everyone else, and that made me feel even worse.

I missed my daughters’ birth. I fucking hate that I did, but it was the choice my wife and I made at the time because of my Air Force training. If I’d gone home for the birth, my training would be delayed and then it’d be even longer before I could bring them to Mississippi. I still remember well the Master Sergeant from my squadron knocking on my dorm room door – me in a t-shirt and skivvies – to tell me that I was a father. It flabbergasted me then, as it does now. I saluted the MSgt, in fact. “Airman, congratulations, but you don’t salute me because I’m not an officer. And you don’t salute ANYONE  indoors.” Oops.

So, the perfect day? As you’ve guessed by now, I’m sure, it came nearly two months later. I busted my ass to find an apartment for my new family and I signed the lease and got the keys. And the day finally came.

My wife’s uncle was, coincidentally, a colonel in the Air Force who happened to be the commander of ALL the training squadrons at Keesler. My wife pulled up in front of the Triangle (a gathering place for us dweeby trainees) while her mother and my new daughters waited at her uncle’s house. I stood there, hugging her tightly for ages, soaking in the feel and the smell of her all over again. I’d been so starved for her the last 3-1/2 months I was crying. We kissed and hugged and kissed again and then got into the car to drive across base to visit a place no dweeby trainee had ever been: the Officer Housing Area.

I had a cast on my left leg. I had fallen down some stairs and tore the ligaments in my left foot. Had to wear the damned thing for six weeks. I’m just now remembering that I had it on that day.

Then came the moment when we got to her uncle’s house. I went in and there were a number of people there I didn’t know, members of my new extended family. I gravitated immediately to my mother-in-law, who I’d also missed a lot. We hugged and cracked some pleasantries, all of them immediately passing from my mind because what I was really looking for was…them.

“Sit down, Daddy,” said my MIL. I did. Sat down on the sofa.

Within a few moments, I had these two tiny perfect packages thrust into my arms. Little strangers wrapped tightly in little tiny clothes, wiggling around on my lap. Somewhere there is a photo of that moment – I’d have to sift through boxes and boxes and boxes to find it – where I look utterly shell-shocked with these creatures in my arms.

How on Earth could these beautiful teeny people have resulted from anything that I did? An idiotic oaf like me? Astounding. Bloody impossible.

Yet, there they were. In my lap. Living proof that I didn’t totally fuck up at everything.

Even though the day is muchly a blur in my mind’s eye, I do remember that absolutely everything about it was perfect.

I even remember the next morning, waking up at the girls’ slightest breaths – before they could even whimper, let alone cry. I left my sleeping, exhausted wife in bed and sprinted to their crib. I stared at them in awe as they stared right back at me, and I found my eyes welling up once again (as they did many times in those early days).

It took me some time to muster up my courage and dare to pick them up, but I did. I was determined to let my wife rest and to prove that I could do this. I brought them out to the living room and placed them on the blanket upon the carpeted floor. And I changed their wet diapers as if it were the most glorious and amazing privilege on Earth.

And it was.

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One of my oldest blogging buds, James, and I have a lot of commonalities, particularly our battle with depression (and bipolar disorder). He wrote a post, listing some of the things he’s grateful for. Think I’ll follow suit because the Depression is rearing its ugly head yet again.

Feel like withdrawing from society, ignoring all social media, etc. etc. You’ve heard it all before. You’ll probably hear it again.

Sometimes you need to take stock of the good shit in your life in order to maintain some semblance of sanity.

• Despite the last week-and-a-half, I’m relatively healthy. I’m normally not hocking up half a lung. It’s a good year for me to quit smoking, since I still have my health. (And yes, that will certainly be one of the Resolutions for YOR.)
• I have good friends. I may not touch base with them nearly as much as I should, but I know that they’re there for me should I need them.
• I have a working computer. It’s ancient, it crawls along, but it works. And that’s saying something for a 4-yr-old laptop. I’m currently in the process of what will likely be a 17-hour defrag. I’m praying this is the year for the replacement to come along. (MacBook Pro, anyone?)
• My brain works. Yes, I fight depression, PTSD, bipolar disorder, ADD, social anxiety, and who knows what else. But compared to many who have it far worse? I’m thankful that my mental faculties are pretty much operating at full capacity. Usually.
• My car works pretty damn good, considering it’s 10 years old. I’m not a person who gets hung up on vehicles, since they’re a utilitarian kind of thing as far as I’m concerned. Get me where I need to go (and back) and I don’t really give a shit that there’s a swamp in the back seat or that rust is perhaps the only type of molecule holding the roof together. Well, that and the bubble gum.
• Rumor has it that Apple is developing an iPhone for Verizon. I hope it’s true. Another rumor holds that the 4th generation iPhone will be announced on June 22nd. My upgrade pricing became available in January, so I *could* get myself a 3GS, but why? When the next iPhone is due to be released in a matter of months, I’m not tying myself to a 2-year deal for LAST year’s model. I’ll be good and patient and wait. I’m praying that Apple announces not just the next AT&T iPhone in June, but the Verizon iPhone, as well. Cuz when they do? Hasta lasagna, AT&T.
• I have a place to live. That’s not to be taken for granted. I’m fortunate.
• Food. I have that, too, even if lately everything tastes like cardboard to me.
• Daughters. Despite the troubles I’ve caused in those relationships, I couldn’t be prouder of my girls. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: they are my crowning achievement.
• Family. Like most people, I have my share of dysfunctionality in my family. Hell, sometimes I feel like I’m the sane one. But I love my family, and I know that I’m lucky to have them.
• Health care. I’d be screwed if not for the V.A. Thank God I have them for my physical AND mental health. Otherwise I’d be broker than I already am.
• SillyBring is only three weeks away and then Shannon arrives!

There are many other items, I’m sure, but these are the things that spring to mind. I have a lot to be grateful for, even if my miserable curmudgeonly self doesn’t mention them as often as I should. Wish I could throw this one in there, though:

• I get laid three times a day.

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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.

Seriously, It’s Not Me. It’s You. MEN SHIRT by karlerikson

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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Had a great weekend in Destin with Kim, Becky, and Angel.

How long does it take to get over losing the love of your life? I don’t have an answer. I suspect it’s something along the lines of never getting over it, just learning to deal with the pain. Saturday was the one-year anniversary of Kim losing her beloved Gregory, and I’m really glad that she was surrounded by some of her close friends.

We laughed till we cried.

We cried till we laughed.

We ate a shitton of food and suffered gastrointestinal battles.

Angel made Kim laugh while she was drinking Maalox and nearly the entire inside of the car was coated with the stuff.

Much drinking. Including a Jack Monkey.

Great conversations, some of which left me really sad. Got me to thinking a lot about my daughters.

And I’m sick now. I must have blown my nose a thousand times over the weekend. Fever this morning, sore throat, headache, coughing like crazy. Totally worth it, though. Hopefully, everyone else comes through unscathed.

Love the women I hung out with. Very thankful Kim invited me to spend this difficult milestone with her. And I’m thankful she had Greg in her life for a while, even if it’s so unfair that he was taken far too early.

Remember to tell the people close to you that you love them. If there’s anything Kim has taught me (aside from the laughing), it’s that life is short. You never know what’s coming, so make it all count.

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