April 04, 2006
I didn't sleep worth a shit last night. I don't know what caused it, but I suffered some of the worst belly pain that I've had since my surgery and the painkillers I took didn't touch it. The night is long when you spend most of it in misery, curled in a fetal position on your sofa.
I did manage to watch Florida crush UCLA in the National Championship basketball game, which was a weird experience for me because I rooted for the University of Florida. As a bleed-red-and-black Jawja Bulldawg, I hate Florida with a white-hot passion, but there's just NO WAY that I could pull for UCLA. Florida Gators may suck, but they don't suck as powerfully as a team from California does.
And I don't care if Joe-Kim Noah is one of the ugliest semi-white boys ever to walk the face of the planet. He played a damn good game last night. UCLA had their asses handed to them.
I've already started receiving medical bills from my hospital visit. The operation cost more than $18,000. That's just the beginning, because I haven't seen the tab for the hospital stay, the anesthesiologist, the ambulance ride or any of the other numerous entities I owe for saving my life. My half-assed Blue Cross medical insurance will pay as little as they can get away with, so I look forward to a lot of hassle with them over the next couple of months.
The bastards DID raise my insurance premiums by ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS A MONTH, even though they haven't paid a dime of my bills yet. They didn't pay squat to Willingway, either. I ate that entire 38-day stay right out of my wallet, and let's just say that it wasn't cheap. Fuck me dead. If I were an illegal immigrant, I'd get all that shit for free.
I give up on my son. I've called him a dozen times lately, left messages on the answering machine and never received a word in reply. I haven't seen or talked to him since February. He's 12 years old. I've got to accept an unpleasant reality: If he wanted to talk to me, he would. Obviously, he doesn't. I guess he has decided to divorce me, too.
Even though I feel like warmed-over crap this morning, I'm going to do some more work in my yard. I finished with the garden yesterday, but when I bought the last of my plants, I also purchased six hummingbird feeders and I'm going to hang them today. I like watching those aggressive little bastards eat, fuck and fight. They are beautiful birds and very entertaining to boot.
I finally found some lantanas for my flower beds, too. I bought nine large pots of them and I plan on having the flowers in the ground before the week is out. Lantanas require very little maintenance, they stay in bloom for a long time and they are butterfly magnets. Plus, they spread like wildfire, all by themselves. They'll add some nice color to the front of the Crackerbox.
Gawd, but I hate to see myself in the mirror anymore. I could pass for anorexic. I believe that I've answered the Paul Simon question about "How many times you think you can run that body down?" because mine appears ready for the scrap pile after 54 years. Hell--- I've averaged one near-death experience per year since 2001 and I damn sure look like it, too.
That's fucking depressing. I used to be a hunk. Now, I resemble a matchstick man. I don't think the hunk is ever coming back, either. Every time I think I've made one step forward, I take two steps back. I ain't been right since the prostate cancer. I don't think I'll EVER be right again.
Sorry about the pissing and moaning, but I'm in a foul mood. It's just another day of the same old shit, and I'm getting mighty tired of it.
When I was trying to get on SSI for my very bad back, I went to the SS office one day and talkled to a black man in the waiting room. He told me that he has been trying to get SSI benefits for 3 years and has not gotten them yet. I told him that I have been seeing these people for six months and still can't get it. He told me stories about mexicans that got SSI benefits, the first time they applied. He said that he has seen it happen a bunch of times. He was also in the same boat as me, born in Georgia, worked for a big ass company for 30 years and he got sick and can not work anymore. After seeing twelve different doctors and going to three pain clinics, and two years later, I finally got on SSI. I hope he did. He seemed like a very nice man and a hard worker. This government of ours suck. They will take care of everyone, but Americans, that sucks. I have paid into SS for over 42 years and it took me three years to get benefits. Something is wrong with this picture. We need to stop this type of shit, cause one day, it may happen to you and your family, Cat
Just who is the adult and who is the child here, Rob? He's only 12 years old! What's YOUR excuse?
An old adage in the military was a bitchin'roop was a happy troop. If that is true I must be the happiest sumbitch alive
Don't worry, he'll come around one day. Hey about the hummingbird feeders. If you're making your own juice, the ratio is 1/4 cup sugar, 3/4 cup water. Don't bother with the red coloring, it's not good for them anyway. We even get them here in Alaska. How the hell they make it up here beats me. People used to say that they tuck in under the feathers of geese and ride up for free.
Never say die when it comes to your kids, mate - that's what that worthless cunt you married WANTS you to do, so she can point to it and say, See, I told you your daddy was a no good sumbitch.
At least my ex-cunt hasn't tried that to the degree yours has ... actually, it's kind of funny, she's been civil to me the last few months. Maybe it's the fact that she and her worthless turd husband had to declare BANKRUPTCY a few months ago?
Don't give up on your son. He is too important. It pains me to even read that you THOUGHT about giving up on him. His mother may be a bloodless cunt, but he is your flesh and deserves a Daddy that loves him and keeps on trying despite his mothers efforts to the contrary.
Rob I don't think it's so much that he doesn't want to talk to you. I think it's more that he doesn't want to upset his mama, he does have to live with her. He'll come around soon, I know he will. And I know you would never really give up on him. It's ok to feel depressed about it.
As far as a hunk, You have the most mesmerizing twinkling eyes I have ever seen, coupled with a shit eating grin, that makes you a hunk.
Now if you weren't such a crabby old coot, you'd be downright desirable baby!
Geez... guess I'm the only one who understands whatcha meant by "I give up".
Rob, if you want to give up worrying about it, taking it personally and letting yourself be hurt by it, DO IT.
I sure as hell don't want to depress you or knock you down, but the reality is that, yes, he could already get in touch with you if he wanted to badly enough. (Same as Eric Jr. could his Daddy, but doesn't...)
If the rest of you don't believe that part, wait til Quint's a little older and really really wants to do something. Won't be any stopping him, especially if it involves a girl. Just watch.
Rob, yes he could pick up a *&^$#!! phone and dial it, but another sad fact is that kids are really self-absorbed, kinda. I don't mean that in a bad way, I just mean that they don't know, can't see and probably wouldn't truly care if ya explained it to 'em, how their actions, or lack thereof, hurt adults. There's no room in their busy, scheduled, structured lives for it to occur to them spontaneously. I don't think their brains are even fully formed enough yet for them to think of it. (It is a sort of complex thing to deal with. I mean, how often do ADULTS fuck it up, after all?)
In their world, adults are omnipotent, all-powerful and impregnable, immortal even. They don't need protection, they can't be hurt, nothing bad will happen to them and besides, everything is gonna be okay, like they get told 50 times a day about bad stuff.
Not to mention, kids don't really have much empathy to begin with and poor Quint is NEVER gonna learn any from that stupid-bitch mother of his, ya know?
Kids just can't compute in their pointy little heads that their words and actions (or again- lack thereof) can and do hurt people a lot.
I don't think for one second that Quinton is doing what he's doing on purpose to hurt you or shut you out. I know it does hurt you, but he doesn't mean for it to. I honestly believe he'd be surprised, if not shocked, by how badly he hurts you, his big, strong Tall-dog Daddy. (Talking from his perspective on that... not being a wise-ass at all. Love you too much for that.)
Think about how parents in general are always protecting kids from bad shit. They don't discuss family disagreements, or tell them what they really think of Granny/m-i-l or that they got hurt by so-and-so saying or doing such-and-such to them. Parents always seem to hide that stuff from kids. Understandable, but not very educational, is it?
Then, there's YOU. You are one of the strongest, toughest, most self-sufficient, cast-iron-ass and brass-ball-havin' men I've ever known.
You make that point every day whether it's you saying that yourself or just surviving your life. You are a man's man so much that you make John Wayne look like a sissy.
(And, I truly mean that. You KNOW you're my only living hero...)
So, between kids just not having much empathy, let alone Quint not having anyone to learn any from, plus the fact that you are just INVINCIBLE to the boy, how is he supposed to get that not calling you is such a heartbreaking thing to you? (Yes, even though you may have told him. How often do you parent-people hear the excuse, "I forgot"?)
Not that I'm totally defending him, now. Little turd could pick up a damned phone, fer shit's sake.
But, I said alla that to say this...
Be done with it. The worrying about it, the hurting over it and taking it personally and as much of that kinda shit as you can be.
That's not you giving up on QUINT. It's you giving up the superfluous horseshit that a.) you don't need and b.) worrying about won't change anyway.
Besides, Love... it's only gonna get worse as he ages. (Yes, "ages". When he "matures" is when he'll realize a lot of this stuff and start making contact like he should...)
Take this situation with Quint for what it's worth...
What it's worth is you realizing that if he's this "too busy" with the shit she's got him doing now, you best get braced for when he discovers girls for real...
We haven't laid eyes on Eric's 17 year old hormone-with-feet since before Christmas, 2004.
Yes, damned near a year and a half.
Since he started getting laid, in other words.
Wanna guess how many times the little turd has called his Dad?
You'd only need one hand to count 'em.
(And, yes, Eric Sr. does try to get hold of the boy, but he doesn't live at his mom's phoneless house and he can't seem to keep the same cell number for 15 solid minutes... He even knows about Xfire and how to leave comments and he's never done that even once...)
It's not you, it's not your fault and please believe me, Quinton doesn't even know it's ABOUT you.
You're being taken for granted, yes, but... there's a better way to look at it than with tears of hurt in your eyes....
Understand, that to him, it's okay for him to go on and live his little life and not worry about Daddy, because while this soccer game or trip or whatever it is he's doing might not be "available", or there later, Daddy will be.
(Think of it like this and you might still be teary eyed about it, but they'll be tears of love, instead of hurt...)
What you need to concentrate on is making that be true.
Making sure you ARE "always" there. And, I don't mean sitting, waiting, with your hand poised over the phone, waiting for it to ring.
I mean THERE, alive and ready, when he finally grows his head outta his bee-hind.
'Cause, he WILL do that, in spite of the bitch-from-hell's best efforts.
And, you do NOT want to miss what he's gonna do to her when he realizes all that she's cost him, in terms of time with you that he could have had, had she not been such a selfish cuntbag.
Darlin' man, with a heart as big as a horse blanket, you have many other things, yes MORE IMPORTANT, things to worry about right now.
Taking care of you.
You just expend your energy on making sure you're doing what you need to do to stay alive and this shit with Quint WILL sort itself out, I promise you.
You are too good of a man and Daddy for him not to come back to.
You just make sure you're there when he does.
Love you, Rob.
(consider yourself hugged, okay?)
Aw, you're just having a bad day.
1. The garden sounds great. I love the vision of lantanas and hummingbird feeders. I love those little buggers myself. They're such amazing little critters.
2. Self paid insurance is a bitch. They raised my rates too. I now pay almost as much for single payer insurance as I do for my rent. Effin insurance companies are effin vampires.
3. Your stomach prolly hurts because you were cheering for Florida. You upset the natural order of the universe or sumthin with that. Not to mention you started working in your yard like you're a 20 year old construction worker, three weeks after major surgery. I think you're supposed to wait six weeks before you start doing shit like that.
4. You're never gonna be a 20 year old stud again. Keep eating those 12 course meals like you did the other night and you'll gain the weight back and start feeling stud-ly enough for a 50 year old. You were looking good in the photos from Catfish's last blog meet. You haven't had time to fall so far that you can't get back to there.
5. Did it ever occur to you the kid isn't getting the messages? I think it's possible or that he's only getting them through the BC and is too afraid of her to call you. It seems the LEAST likely that he simply doesn't care but he may be mad at you for not being there for him even though you can't be. 12 year olds are so complicated.
You certainly should not stop trying to communicate but I would suggest you start writing to him or send cards in the mail instead of leaving msgs. Buy him something you know he'll like and send him a package. Keep the connection alive without pressuring him and it will all work out in the end. Kind of like that song -- Hang on loosely but don't let go....
I've said it before and I'll say it again, a boy will want to know is father. Quinton is only 12 and he lives with his mother. He will put two and two together eventually. You keep calling and you keep right on leaving messages and you keep right on attending those games when you can.
One day he'll show up at your door. One day he will know the truth and know that he lost precious time with you because of, ahem, a certain womin.
Hang in there. Yeah, I'm married, but I can tell you were a hunk just from the photo at the top of the page. You may still BE a hunk, albeit a skinny one! Don't write off the book because the cover has a few scars. The inside of the book is still as hot as ever, if you know what I'm sayin'! : )
Hate to see you down and hoping the garden keeps you up!
Don't give up on your boy. He'll be back. I know it hurts you and I can't say that I blame you. I get so damn tired of vindictive ex-wives. Just would like to slap the bitches. It gives the rest of us a bad name! You'll gain some weight, as well. Your cracker ass suffered a major assault upon it. Give yourself time to heal!!! I'm sure all us girls would think you're still a hottie!!!
Don't give up on your son, with your situation, and who knows what is going on where he lives, it might be too overwhelming. He is almost a teenager where things are magnified 100%. Keep trying to be in contact, that is important, and just love him come what may. At the end truth and love will prevail.