Scar Tissue

I was very tempted to write a blog post about a recent comment on my blog, but refrained.

Careful... careful what monsters you poke a stick at. Sometimes they know a whole lot more truth than you care to have revealed. Those skeletons in the closet? I'm the guy that knows what color and texture the bones really are. I'm the guy that knows what those skeletons look like in the light of day and none of them are pretty.

But instead I'm just going to do a mini update.

There's been a lot going on the last month...

Lots going on with business... lots going on personally. Lots going on with getting my ass beat in chess (fuck you, chromeoly... you're almost FORCING me to read a freaking book to learn new strategies).

I've got a new taskmaster behind me. She's become one of my best friends, and like most best friends, she can be a SERIOUS pain in the ass... I'm sure we may fight at times. We may yell and scream or drink tequila shots till the morning sun at some point. But I know damn well she's got my best interests at stake.

And I have hers in mind as well.

The thing is... once again I've become so focused on surviving with everything else in life except what I need to do mentally. And the truth is.. if I'm not doing that, I'm not surviving at all, I'm merely existing.

I've been assigned to 500 words on toilet paper and did it.

But I've avoided the threatened assigned topics of ear wax, air ports, and sneaker tread.

This doesn't mean, necessarily, that I'll avoid them for good... just that I've dodged those particular literary bullets for a while. And the only reason I've avoided those assignments is by doing what I know I have to be doing all along. Not "should" be doing, "have" to.

I'm finding my groove again. Lil bit each day... discovering something big... wiping the dirt off... uncovering it all. Quite honestly, it's a feeling I haven't had in a long while. I let a bunch of that other surviving shit get in the way.

I read recently that if you fall in love with someone you give them a piece of your heart that you'll never get back. And you have to truly be willing to do that to make it work. I read that and thought about it for a long while before I gave in and agreed with it.

To fall in love with someone or something, I think you really do give up a piece of yourself. I've always thought love is sacrifice... and loving writing or playing music or any other pursuit of passion

There's always a fear of giving up so much of yourself that you don't have enough left to push blood through your own veins. But hell, there's worse things to be scared of.

***
I began this post on Saturday morning, before going on an out of town trip for my wife's birthday.
While out of town, (Baltimore City to be exact), I lost my wallet - I'm about 99% sure it was in the back of a cab around midnight on Saturday.

The sheer and utter bullshit to go through of having a credit card, my driver's license, social security card, parking garage pass, credit union identification... all of that was lined up in front of me.

Driving to my office this morning, some loose cash in my pocket, passport in my coat for id, and my former hole-punched license, I had it in my head that it'd come back to me somehow. I also started playing with the symbol of losing my id... losing my actual identity, and what that could mean.

Then I got a call from my wife a little before eleven o'clock this morning.

Her voice was unsteady. She was very unsettled.

She'd went out to our mailbox and sitting squarely inside, without a note or anything else was my wallet. The money was gone, but everything else intact.

Sometimes when you lose your identity, it can come back. Other times... well who knows. Maybe sometimes it's better it doesn't...