Of a gone down day.

Burnished in steep regret–

Sad for the time whisked-away


Empty hearts

Selfishly, concave.

Wishing, hoping.

Against the want of desire.

Blighted and alone

Wondering what steps can be made.


Samples in remembrance–

Thin wires of pain–

Wanton reckless hatred,

Souped within and boiling.

Living anew for the next day.


A fed soul.

Buckled-down against the future–

Wishing, hoping.

To hold off the bitter wind,

And watch the sunrise.


My wife’s perspective on my turbulent state.

Self Prescribed Creativity

house isn’t quite as messy. still trying to manage time better. my husband and my relationship has been pretty tattered. divorce was mentioned. i still have the initial response to anything difficult to just commit suicide. at least at this time i don’t actually want to go through with it or ever think much more into it, but it’s a sad realization to know it’s always there in the background.

still i wont quit that easily. i have a nice little life growing. happy reminders all around me. i also always knew going into this relationship tat there would be difficulties when both of us have such huge issues. i just thought we’d get better and more stable together. for a while i wasn’t feeling like that was his plan. it just seemed like he was letting himself fall deeper and deeper into someone dark. he wasn’t taking care of…

View original post 110 more words


I’m largely oblivious to the world, I guess. A big dumb puppy. But I’m vile, angry and resentful too. Pretty fucked up, no? I certainly think so.

I have a muddied personality, filled with dramatically mixed signals and a cruel desire to inflict hurt on myself and others. I puzzle about why this is, and vow to be ever more vigilant against it. I try, with great effort, to unravel myself and expose the state I experience as “now.” I hope to understand why I react the way I do, why I convulse with hatred sometimes, why I take out my feelings on those I trust and love the most. I hate this about myself. But hating myself changes nothing.

I am ashamed. I have brutalized my lover with anger-filed words. I have cast her into a mysterious realm of not knowing if it is worth it to be my husband anymore. Life might seem to be floating along, but somewhere underneath, the anchor I have tied to her strains and groans against the pull of tides. She deserves better then a beautiful, broken man who is too fat.

I know she has a lot of growth as a person still ahead of her, and I can already see how beautiful and inspiring she is, and will be. I don’t want to be the thing that poisons that development, or holds the sun away from her petals. I sometimes feel like I don’t appreciate her enough. And she does such wonderful things…

Though we are very different. We enjoy distinctly separate styles of music. We can hardly watch a movie together. I hate Coconut. She loves it.

I still want her to know how much those contrasts offer a different view to me… that I still appreciate what she brings to the relationship, EVEN IF IT IS VASTLY DIFFERENT from what I’m used to. That’s why you marry someone… because they give you a different spin on life (along many other things). They help you see things where you would have no idea they were hidden. She shines light into the place behind the dresser, and finds my stuff that I lost back there a long time ago.

I have confidence, but it’s fragile. I try to put my best-foot forward. It fails sometimes, I get squished sometimes, but that’s a part of living. I am sticking to my guns, and just hoping I can hold on as the force of gravity pulls me down, harder and harder, as I race away from the surface of the Earth.

Mixed metaphors and colloquialisms don’t accomplish the goal.

I’m sad, because I feel like I deserve to be alone and miserable. I neglect myself, and my love for her. I am constantly berating myself over these issues. I make no progress. I swim in the soup of my own regurgitated failures.

Not much of what is said here comes from a place of validity. I’m mired in depression, and that’s no place to be judging yourself. I need to pay attention, especially at times like this, to my soul, and it’s fragile little state. It deserves to be loved, not hated. It deserves Birdy. It is valuable enough to have forged a life for itself, it’s being, it’s presence in the world. I am known. I am valuable, I fully intend to persevere.

Mixed up thoughts are crushing me down. For now, I can hold on to the positive. I love her so much, yet, I wonder still if I have already lost her, and she’s just too afraid to tell me…

I have no facts. I just know I will never stop trying to be her best friend, her trusted confidant, her biggest supporter, and her husband, for as long as I live.







Below are both performance comparisons and the Changelog for the work league I run. Through the season, I’ve seen where the settings and values need to be tweaked, and balanced slightly to achieve equilibrium. I have reflected these changed statistical categories by highlighting them, and then providing the 2013 season average for each comparable position player analyzed.  Not likely that I will change this much. Each top-scoring-performer in each score-able roster spot was scrutinized for comparison purposes. Flukes are bound to happen (See Jamaal Charles, Josh Gordon, Cincinnati Defense). This league is really about trying to make it fair, overall; and success to be based on your individual talent-assessment abilities. Feel free to comment if you notice something that sucks.






Letter to Erin

I hope you are enjoying yourself and the presence of those you love. It is unique to have such connections to other organisms. We feel, so deeply… it’s what’s amazing about us. Humans.

I am a person striving for tranquility in existence: I have a week-to-week struggle to “make it” financially. Even with my wife working nearly full time… my work is primarily commission based. I’m not a salesperson, and I deal the straight-dope without the confusing vocabulary. People genuinely seem to appreciate that, and I have at least 15 returning customers who ask for me by name, and had me back out 3-5 different times on separate onsite service calls; a percentage of each total bill in my pocket (16% of the profit, anyways). So, I make long-term relationships, not “flash in the pan” sales numbers off single house-call invoices. I don’t know how to be any other way. I’m a terrible liar, and I ruin surprises. My wife calls me a “retarded puppy,” which I found to be a most fitting description. Business a computer technician is slowing down for the holidays, closing the circle, I’ve been wondering how I’m going to make rent this month. It’s an unstable balance, but we have go out there and TRY, and are doing the best we can. Day to day. Survival is my priority, and Jacqueline and I have managed to do that pretty well.

My wife and I are struggling to be independent people, of late; healthy human beings despite our disabilities. She has Depression (Major), and I deal with BiPolar Disorder type 2. My WIFE? WHAT IS THIS TALK. And not even the first one… OMG. Get the fuck out of here. No seriously, back when I lived in Santa Barbara, shortly after I left San Diego, I fell for a married woman, and she left her husband to be with me. And she got a divorce in 2006. And we were married in 2007, but it only lasted until the end of 2009, and was never the same relationship again after I attempted suicide.


She felt like it was may way of hurting her, or something, like MY trying to kill myself somehow means she’s a bad person… somehow intolerable enough to be worth killing myself because of the person she was. Like she drove me to it or something, which was only partially true. There is never just one thing that tips the scales; to where being alive is uninhibited agony. And the reasons for feeling are lost in a blood-like soup of resentment, illogical thoughts and burning anger. Reason is replaced by introspective self-destruction. Spiraling endlessly, down into a place where the core of the evil inside me is king; where life becomes meaningless, wasted moments of an ever-ominous, hateful, unrelenting reality, driving you down into nothing until death is all that remains. Then I thought, hey, why don’t I just fucking kill myself.

So that was a bad idea. Turns out, taking a half-full bottle of Trazodone won’t kill me. Just made my brain clog-up with cobwebs, blurry images of people I hated, and soon, the police. Because my wife called the cops in and had them 51-50 me. Danger to himself or others. 7 days in the mental hospital.

After the divorce, that whole social network up there that my cousin had originally invited me into, was obliterated. The husband and wife I stole, were the core of a fantastic D&D group. LARPed with them, played countless hours of D20 class-games, and had adventures of the rampant imagination a plenty. Our characters in her husband’;s D&D campaign fell in love late 2003, and then, the two REAL LIFE people fell for each other as well. And then we told her husband that we were feeling things for each other. Then we talked about it, and tried to come up with something to do about this Bizarre Love Triangle. He wasn’t particularly happy, because the marriage was already falling, and it just had MY TRULY catalytic influence enacted upon it, and was then blown to smithereens. It was over, and I was with a woman 9 years older than I… and we had such beautiful sex sometimes; she a post-graduate on her way to a PhD in psychology. She was experienced. But her new-found husband is BiPolar, and she hates him for never being what she wanted him to be, the man who romanced her out of her dying marriage, the man who made adultery seem like a magical journey. The very man who when at his lowest, most sad and hateful of states: all she could manage was to truly loath his weakness, his lack of control, his broken mind (so full of squandered potential), his ever accumulating fat. She thought she was a better variety of human than I. To her very core, she believed she was just, plain, BETTER than everyone. So she had a few enemies, and had an intolerance for me, as time drew on, and her dreams about who I really was, finally died. And in the end, my dependency ruined our life together as well. She took my depression personally, and she listened attentively to the most evil and loaded of maliciously spun words my dark and troubled mind could spat-out. She took my anguish into her self, and hated me for it. I’m not sure how it came to be so sick, putrid, and rank a circumstance, but she fought with me, every day, screaming. Just screaming. Looking at me with the burning eyes of hate. . And she despised my parents, who I secretly loved, but hated them too because she wanted me to (at the time). And I tried to be an academic for her, but dropped out of school short of earning my BA at UCSB. It would have been in English, with Literature or Writing as a minor.


My dad says; “If there was one thing, just one thing I wish I could have back, it would have been letting you go to Santa Barbara, back in October 2002. I would have made you stay here, and you never would have met her, and you never would have gone through BiPolar disorder alone.”


Now, they’re the greatest of support structures. They help me, and have ever since my rescue from total financial failure in late 2010. They came in and saved me from my broken life. A life that my wife had left me with, abandoned, overweight, depressed, and in an untenable circumstance.


Jacqueline and I just got back from having Christmas Breakfast with them, as a matter of fact. They loaded me up with cookies and sent the two of us home with more Christmas goodies than I could carry in one trip from the car to the apartment.


I have a more concrete narrative locked away in my head somewhere. Where more facts are laid down. More reason is applied to the memories. Things are assuredly skewed, because I’ve grown in to my disdain of that time, of those faces, of the things I did. I learned things, and sure, it changed who I was. It did things to me that I will never forget. And memories I can’t just un-make. I’m not sure how to swallow it, but there it is. In short, my first marriage to Jennifer.


I will be relaxing, eating a cookie, and be getting ready for a big Christmas Bailey, Co. Feast. 7 bone prime rib, taters, spinach casserole, more bread than you could shake a Galapagos tortoise at.


Have a wonderful day, and I shall continue the tale of progress towards “NOW” anew again soon!



To There And Back Again

We went on a fucking adventure. I made them climb vertical rock-faces, scale steep hills and plow through thick, brambly brush. We were cut-up, beat-down and torn-to-pieces. I made my way, and eventually we, to the top of a iron-rich soil-topped hill, where chunks of gleaming, multicolored quartz was popping out of the ground everywhere you looked.  Some of the best pieces I have EVER recovered here in San Diego. EVER. I’ve been out to the Painted Gorge in the Coyote Mountains, and up to In-Ko-Pah Park, and never found anything this nice. Seriously. Splendid Ametrines, Rose Quartz, Citrine, Blue Chalcedony, Red Jasper, Black Agate and Pale white Feldspar.  We have them loaded for tumbling. Just waiting on the grits to come in.

So, here is a diagram of where we trecked, starting in the south, up the carrizo gorge train tracks, then off into the riverbed from there. Then up a hair-raising sheer rock face, and over a giant granite pluton, to the top of the iron-rich soil exposed at the top of the hill. We worked our way back down to the east/south and crossed the riverbed where it was broader. I tripped in the wash on the way back to the truck and fall down go boom.

Our Hike to Gemstone Wonderland


The RED geologic unit on the map was supposed to be pre-Cenozoic granitic and metamorphic rocks, surrounded by the PINK area: Mesozoic granitic rocks. Nearby volcanic activity in the Round and Table Mountain volcanic areas lead me to believe that mineral Pegmatites might be found mixed in with the granite in the RED area. So, although we did not locate a pocket, we still found a seam of quartz coming out of the top of the hill. There may be a much richer deposit somewhere underground, but my geologic knowledge only goes so far.

All in all, it’s the BEST SCORE we’ve ever had here in San Diego. Comparable to our Mojave Desert trip we did a few months back.

Looks like this in Google Maps:

Terrain Path of Our Hike

All in all, it was neat to be standing in a place where few of no people have ever gone gem collecting. It was fantastic pickings, and all on BLM land. With the exception of a wierd little gated motor-home community, this place is about as remote as you can get.

1.51 miles round trip. Well worth the pain.

The Take



I can be regretfully arrogant from time to time. Especially being the commissioner, it may have been a fortuitous fate. I went 6-8 on the regular season, and missed the playoffs in the league I created. My roster Looked, more or less, like this through the year:


QB – Cam Newton / Michael VIck
WR1 – Larry Fitzgerald / Andre Johnson / Roddy White / Antonio Brown
WR2 – Marques Colston / Vincent Jackson / Hakeem Knicks / Stevie Johnson
RB1 – Lesean McCoy /  Jamaal Charles / Le’Veon Bell / Alfred Morris
RB2 – Danny Woodhead / Pierre Thomas
TE1 – Jason Witten / Jordan Reed
DEF/ST – Seattle / Miami / Denver
K – Dan Bailey / Matt Prater / Stephen Gostowski


Obviously, at key moments this year, some of those guys hit big zeros. Important also, exceedingly close match-ups were lost. The streak of failing to win stat-corrected games is at 0:3 over my time in fantasy-land.


So, my apologies for my arrogance. I just want to be the best. This year, I’m not.

Down, Down and Playoff Bound

I’m off all meds at this point; have been for days. I worked right through my psychiatry appointment 2 weeks ago, and could not get any refills without seeing my psychiatrist first. So, I set myself up for disaster. Now I’m here, suffering through the withdrawal symptoms of the Effexor. My brain feels crushed against the inside of my skull. My stomach is constantly upset. My energy, despite the Aderall, is in the tank. I can hardly focus on anything, and I feel on the edge of sobbing every second of the day. I literally broke down into tears twice last night for almost no reason at all. Fear and anxiety are running totally rampant.

This has been in the background. I’ve been pressing on, and working, and putting on my happy face, and fighting to maintain stability. Thankfully, I see my doctor in about 45 minutes. I should have my medications today, and be back on track towards a healthier state very soon. At least, in my head…

Someone in my apartment complex falsely accused me of hitting some guy’s parked car on the street outside the building. I’ve been through the rigmarole with the insurance company, explaining that this report is based on hearsay, and claimed on my vehicle despite a sworn statement fingering a vehicle that does not match the vehicle I own. My vehicle has no damage on it. My vehicle is white, not brown. My wife has pink hair, and would be pretty easy to identify, as she was claimed as the responsible driver in said made-up incident. It stands to reason that grotesquely ignorant people are going to make up bullshit to create some drama in their otherwise pointless, un-evolved, pathetic lives. I utterly detest liars. I am planning to move the fuck out of this building relatively soon. Fuck this place and the garbage-people that reside here. Morons.

My reality is wrinkled from time to time. Not sure why this happens, but it does. The unknown of the next moment in time, while often benign, can sometime create a resounding impact, sending ripples across the surface of the pond. I have no reason to project, but instead, I cope with things as they arrive. I strive to be ready, rather than planning fruitlessly for the unrealized fate of us all.

In the Ideus (Bailey Family) league, I’ve clinched a playoff berth as the #4 seed. My record is 8-5, and I play my Cousin Jessica (10-3), the #1 seed. We’ve split our regular season match-ups (2), with a 20 point swing each way, per game. I’m in the playoffs for the second consecutive year (of the 3 the league has been in existence). I made it to the championship last season, and got annihilated. I’m tired of losing. I’m bored of second place. It’s my time to win. Just win, baby.

In the work league, in which I am the commissioner, I am FIGHTING for the #4 seed. There are 5 teams with the same, qualifying record (potentially). I hold the tiebreaker with the most points scored amongst them in the regular season. It’s come down to the final week, and 2 playoff berths are still available. Ideally, I’ll finish 7-7, and clinch my spot 7 days from this moment. I have some pretty tough, not opportune scenarios to contend with. The ebb and flow of fate is casting me, mercilessly, to and fro.  Win one, lose two, win two, lose one. It’s come down to the final contest; luck is no bartering damsel. I have to ponder my possibilities, and do the best my ill-equipped brain can to achieve my postseason dreams.

I distract myself with work, play, and study. I try my best to find safe-harbor from the pain in my mind.

My wife and I had sex last night, and I came like a teenager, rapidly, through the first few moments of being inside her. Right as I felt her body beginning to warm up, the way girls do when they start the sensual climb, and then I started coming. It just rolled, and rolled, and kept pouring out of me, and it never truly climaxed, but felt like a dull glow through my body. My hardness remained through the sequence, but failed me just as she was getting worked-up. I felt like a disappointment, because I hate going first. I remind myself that this is rarely an issue. My self-maintenance in the absence of intercourse has been stagnant. I was longing for her, specifically. I imagine, if regularity returns, that this prematurity will fade, and the stamina I am accustomed to in familiarity, will return.

I am about ready to head out to the psychiatrist’s appointment I have scheduled. I hope to discuss a new, less heavy-duty, med routine. I want to cut one or two of them loose. I can’t function as I am now, but also can’t be medicated beyond accessibility. Balance is a difficult goal to achieve. But I’m going to do this. I have counseling scheduled for the 17th, and I fully intend to make positive steps in the direction of positivity, stability and happiness.