Oh, Snapchat.

How I hate to love you. And love to hate you.

That sense of joy—and dread—when that yellow heart appears. Or disappears. What is the metric that determines that? Exactly?

When you’re best girl is pissed, and doesn’t respond for a week. The yellow heart transfers to the next best girl. And your best slips a notch. Or six.

Then she’s back. We’re messaging. The bond is stronger than ever. Eight days go by. Nine.

Number two is going to get the red heart after all!

Day ten, flip. Messaging both girls heavily. Did she flinch when the icon changed? Not to the red heart, but to the smiley?

Clearly, I spend entirely too much time thinking about how Snapchat functions…

Hours later, she was still thinking about it. She couldn’t believe the audacity in such a request.

He hadn’t even asked her. He had only shown her what he wanted on a piece of paper. Buried. In a to-do list. She could still imagine the twinkle of mischieviousness in his eyes.

Yet…

What harm would it do? She had to admit that her tits were pretty fantastic! She tried to remember if she had bragged about how perfect they are to him. And they probably wouldn’t always be. And she knew him well enough to imagine what joy and delight seeing them would bring to his eyes—maybe she was a little curious to see that expression.

Besides, it’s not like he asked to touch them. Even if he did, would that be so bad? Hell, she might even enjoy it. She felt a slight tingle just thinking about it.

What an act of kindness! Neither of them would live forever, why not share a tender moment? After all, she did like the audacious jackass… and lord knows she had shown them to bigger assholes than him.

So, yeah. She was considering it.

Maybe, she’d surprise him. Show him suddenly when he least expects it… and smile when his jaw hit the floor.

Nothing happens when you die. Nothing.

Ask how I know.

If you’re lucky, you left something behind. A legacy, if you will. Or maybe a mystery.

The only thing that is certain is you are no longer there to protect your secrets. Your lies.

There’s no light. No angel. No second chances.

Or, there is a third possibility.

Maybe no one will even notice you are gone. No legacy. No mystery. Simply a void. But really, who among us is that lucky?

I’ll never forget how much you cared. You were the only one who checked in on me.

Hell, I didn’t even care. Maybe that’s the problem.

And now. You’re gone. There are hints on the socials that you still care, but you are careful to hide them.

And now. There is another. She cares. She checks in on me—even when I don’t care about myself. Yes, maybe that’s the problem.

Like you, she’s beautiful. And charming. And fascinating. And crazy smart. And she’ll leave some day. And that keeps me guarded against her.

And it’s hard to care about someone who doesn’t care about himself.

Yes. Maybe I’m the problem. And that’s fine. And once again, I will say goodbye to the one who knows me best. And slink back into the shadows. Where I belong.

I enjoy my solitude. I really do.

Buuut…

Never have I ever felt so alone.

I really like(d) you. I enjoy your perspective. Your insights.

And now I’ve made a big mistake. And you’re gone. And I’m alone.

I guess I don’t learn.

What i'm listening to:

Would?
Alice in Chains
Dirt

Last night, we talked as we always do. For about an hour. We’re a million miles apart, so it’s all we have. The highlight of the day.

And the thunderstorms were approaching Kansas City. You were looking forward to them, and the sound sleep they bring.

Then you did the thing. You put the phone out on the balcony. And shared the thunderstorm with me.

We listened to the storm. Together.

It was the littlest thing. Yet it meant the most. I am so incredibly grateful for you.

Some days, I wonder if everything I do is wrong. Or everything I know. It wouldn’t surprise me if it’s both.

I am making strides in the right direction. Awareness is curative, right? Being aware of old patterns helps deflect them, right?

Take, for instance, women… because why not?

I want women in my life. Naturally. And while I adore the women currently in my life, only one or two actually have the means to respond immediately to join me on my whims.

To spend a week naked in a Marriott bed. Or to fly to Ibiza. Or to backpack across the Carpathian mountains. Or the Adirondacks. Or to simply sip Mai Tais on a beach in the Caribbean for three days.

Yet, perhaps there is power in this awareness as well. And this budding realization that the universe will provide… if only we ask and meet it part way.

Manifestation. Women of means and a desire to travel the world cannot resist me!

Wait, let’s rewrite that. “Cannot resist” is confusing. What is a powerful antonym for resist?

How is this?

I am irresistible to women of means with a desire to travel the world.

Wait, even better…

Women of means and a desire to travel are compelled to join me on adventures.

On a similar note, how powerful is it to realize that one (you, I) can eject from our lives in an instant? Simply walk away from those women, jobs, lives.

Are there consequences? Certainly. Do we get trapped in the agony of overthinking consequences BEFORE we act? Certainly. Yet the power is there.

And it is calling.

What if the universe will help us mitigate these consequences… if we only meet it part way. Maybe not even halfway. We just need to make the effort to turn the ship towards the life we want. I want. And the water and the wind will do the rest.

Food for thought. Food for action. Nothing is permanent. Nothing should be. Incredible.

What i'm listening to:

Sailing
Christopher Cross
Christopher Cross

There’s this one girl...

She is stunning. She is smart. She is fit. And she’s an inspiration.

Okay, I barely know her. She modeled for me nearly a decade ago. And she looked fantastic in that green bikini. Most of all, I recall those abs.

Oh, she was also a drink slinger at a bar I used to frequent. Those were the days!

Fast forward to today. She’s a successful entrepreneur. Living her best life. Moving to San Diego with a second home in Kansas City—one she uses as a top tier AirBnB when she isn’t staying there.

And good for her! She hustles. She doesn’t let emotion cloud her decision-making process (too much). Honestly, her life is the inspiration for what I want! A true example of manifestation! And she’ll be the first to tell you to focus on the positive and dismiss the negative.

Admittedly, I don’t know much, yet I am starting to see the value in surrounding yourself with the right people. Yet, there’s a slight paradox my overthinking mind doesn’t hesitate to reveal to me—nearly instantly. If she is surrounding herself with the right people, and I am not yet “the right people,” and still struggling with stupid, stupid minutiae, then why would she want to mentor me?

How does one encourage someone to mentor himself, without convincing? How does one make this leap? Is positive manifestation enough to cross the chasm?

Can an old dog learn a few new tricks? And obtain that rich life he deserves?

You know what? This is my year. Let’s find out!

Obligation is a sin, but commitment is beautiful.

After many moons of floundering, I’m finally getting the ship turned around. I’m back on course. Or getting there.

They say hesitation will kill you. They are not wrong. It nearly killed me. I’ve learned one needs purpose. As glorious as it may feel, in the moment, to stay in bed—all day, the inactivity can be addicting. And maddening. Which provided me a glimpse of why too much “self care” is bad, and creates people you never see again. And eventually saps the motivation to do something relatively effortless, and potentially leisure enabling, like writing.

Ten pages become five. Five become one. One page becomes 300 words. Then 100. Then... well, I’ll do it tomorrow. Or Sunday. Or in September.

Reenter intention, stage left.

Okay, jackass. You have so many great ideas. And this book is going to be fucking brilliant! A modest seller, at least. It will enable you to buy that house you’re eyeing that goes on sale next month.

But...

You haven’t been working enough. You’re out of cash. And you no longer want to be where you’re at.

So, now it’s time for a second job. Positive cashflow. This poor writer narrative isn’t working for you. It may make you better, funnier, and more authentic, but it’s beginning to piss a lot of people off.

Finding something that isn’t an “obligation,” can be challenging, but I think I have found it. It was billed as “freedom.” And I believe that. Part time, with a lot of windshield therapy. Time to think. Time to take notes. Time to commit. Time to set goals.

As such, I am committing to walking away from my current situation on October 1, 2022. I don’t know what that looks like beyond that. All I know is I no longer want to live where I am living. A summer home in the north woods would be nice, even a permanent home; but travel is calling again. And those glorious Marriott beds.

So, it’ll be a summer of work, and limited travel. A means to an end.

What i'm listening to:

My 16th Apology
Shakespear's Sister
Hormonally Yours