Before I met Amber I never expected to get married again. No joke, I really thought I’d just solo the rest of my life or just at most have a “life partner” that’s close but I’m not legally attached to, because it was a terrifying thought to be legally attached to pretty much anyone.

Then I met Amber, and she’s my life partner. She’s it. She’s my ride or die, and now she’s my wife.

I love you, my wife. More! ❤️

Sometimes I’ll write something and erase and rewrite it over and over until the words I read back to myself are satisfying enough to discontinue this insane practice. It reminds me of Vonnegut talking about writing, except far more inept and idiotic. I want to get into casual reading again. I used to read a ton when I was younger and had a lot of free time. I haven’t been an avid reader in many years. The fact that I had an “avid reader” phase at all is pretty impressive for a person with untreated ADHD.

I should really go through the time-saving hassle of updating the “new post template” on this theme I’ve been using. Might as well make the path of resistance as short as possible so I can take more time to just write things out as needed.

Man, we’re in some scary times right now. It feels as though authoritarianism is just around the corner for “The Land of the Free”. Y’all-Qaeda is ramping up attacks on secularism and freedom of speech at present, seemingly because of one dead racist guy. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to say that. But who the fuck is going to censor me on my own platform? Hmm? You can report me to my host but they likely won’t give a shit, not like facebook or twitter would anyways. I can say whatever the fuck I want and your only choice, should you not like my words, is to avoid reading them. That’s your only recourse, and that’s how things should be. Go ahead, get mad, ball your little fists up in anger, and then move on. That’s what the first amendment guarantees me.

I guess that’s a wrap on writing about some of the biggest issues I’ve dealt with in life. I probably have a good amount more to say, but at the same time, I can write until my fingers are bloody stumps and it won’t change the reality of it all. I can just keep on carrying on and go about my life, and that’s really it. There are no interventions, there’s nothing that can be said or done to “fix” these things. Not to say they’re broken beyond repair, but maybe the people involved are. If it were up to me I would’ve reconciled with my mom a long time ago, but it’s not up to me. It never will be. And in all honesty, the longer it goes this way, the less willing I would be to change how things are. It’s better to know that I don’t matter to her than it is to assume I do and find out otherwise. Mostly I am writing these things as a release. I’m letting go of the thoughts and feelings associated. I’m giving them wings to leave me for good, to remove any doubt, and just move on with my life.

The reality is that life is messy. We don’t always get what we want. My mother didn’t teach me how to be expressive, how to communicate my wants and needs, because my mother isn’t capable of communicating her wants or needs. Thankfully I’ve grown past that and figured out that communication is completely essential to healthy relationships. Had I not figured that out, I would be in a far worse place.

Another day, another dollar. I would be lying if I said I particularly enjoy what I do. I guess I don’t hate it tremendously. I hate my mind not being occupied more than anything else. When I had jobs that didn’t ask much of my mind, I would fill my mind with books and engineering ideas. Now that my job is entirely technical, my mind is not so filled with books or engineering ideas. All of those thoughts belong in the realm of “other people’s assets”. I am a bastion of proprietary knowledge.

I am fairly certain that I know what happened with my father. I never met my paternal great grandfather, but I can say that those whom I have met in my family have shed some light on a few mysteries.

When my dad died, my grandparents couldn’t bear to part with the reminders of their youngest son’s early departure. Let alone that their grandson would never know the man. The family bore some emotional weight from that, and shifted some weight still. I can’t say that it caused my grandparents to die any earlier than they would have otherwise, but I can definitely say that their house felt incredibly hollow and quiet for their remaining years.

It’s always a bummer when the days get shorter and the temps get lower. Eventually the trees will shed their beautiful greens in favor of rust, orange, and yellow. I don’t mind the trees changing color, it can be beautiful at times. The lower temps, though, are largely what I’m not a huge fan of.

Friend of mine just went through a messy breakup. I guess not just per se, but it was in the works for some time and only recently culminated in what therapists in the biz call “The Final Discard”. I’m trying to be the supportive friend, but he keeps saying things like “I want her back”, and the reality is that he does not actually want her back. He’d take anyone and anything ready to settle down at this point, he wants someone, not necessarily her specifically.