Clever

I don’t know a whole hell of a lot. I’d venture to guess that I know more about the fact that I really don’t know most of what I should be an expert at. The things that I am versed in are far and few between and I’m almost positive (though Im sure I don’t know enough to say that I’m positive about it) that the things I do know are things no one should know at my age.

Twenty Fucking Seven.

Fuck this.

At this point should I really still be stumbles and pratfalls? I’m the father of a child that will be 3 in a month. Should I really be so unsure of what tomorrow has in store?

Jesus H.

I spent the better part of today cleaning my home. It was recently invaded by leeching family members who decided it was better to pay cheap rent (not for me, I’m drowning in bills) then to simply get a cheap apartment. What do I care right? I’m just the twenty something prick who can’t get it together.

It was nice however, because for the first time since I moved in I was able to cook for my daughter. The kitchen cleaned, the living room tidy (but with that slight messiness that comes with an almost 3 year old little woman with the energy of the sun, and the intelligence of a fucking brain surgeon) I served Emma spaghetti.

“Emma, do you want meat balls in your spaghetti?”

“Papa look at this!” ::throws ball::

“Good job honey, please clean that up now”

“Okay Papa”

“Emma do you want this spaghetti with meatballs or the one with mushrooms?”

“I don’t like that one Papa.”

“I understand my love, tell your father which one you want him to cook please”

“I want, I want Meatball Masgetty Papa.”

“You mean Spaghetti? Spa-Get-Eeee?”

“No Papa, listen. MA-SGET-EE.”

“I see.”

Her room is done. My room is done after I spent two weeks or so airing it out, because the smell of lazy bastard took about that long to clear out. Along with half a box of incense, a fan, and some scent-diffusers I managed to make it smell hospitable again.

My next project is Emma’s studio, where we will dedicate the dining room to arts and crafts. I’ll most likely line the walls with butcher paper and paint splatters. We’ll work on getting her an art easel. This is the room where she keeps her drums and her keyboard. Sometimes she drums and sings, or blows into a horn. Other times she just pushes a baby on a stroller.

I’m attempting a number of projects that were left abandoned like a derelict vehicle on the side of the highway out in the high desert. My life is a busted radiator. I was on the fast track to something and all of a sudden the fucking steam blew my hood wide open. The only option I had was to walk.

I still walk. I got lost. A diner off the main road sidetracked me. I got held back by my own fear and self degradation that I didn’t realize that all I needed to do was let my vehicle cool off, call Triple-A, and breath deep.

It’s hard walking alone like that sometimes. One tends to really wonder what the fuck brought them here. I did too much of that and almost hit a point all too familiar.

I almost forgot myself.

I once did that. I gave in to what I thought I needed to do. When things changed I was not ready to roll with the punches and I’ve got one hell of a glass jaw.

This time I managed to bob and weave but I’m against the ropes again. I’m looking for a way out and I’m trying to balance as best I can.

How do I mend a relationship with someone who spent 23 years convincing me I was a joke?

How do I spend almost 27 years of my life believing that they were right?

I’m up late right now. I’ve got a cup of coffee. I’m listening to an old play list that I put together a long time ago. I used to listen to it and hope that my life would be different. The songs reminded me of when Emma was born. They reminded me of the apartment she was born in. They made me feel happy and sad at the same time.

Now they are kind of funny, and they play me into a memory of myself on a pseudo date I was once on. I was incapable of looking my company in the eye. She was talking to me and I felt that she enjoyed my company, but all I could do was think about how damaged I was at that point. All I could do was my best to pretend that I was fine. I was so uncomfortable with myself that I was afraid if I looked her in the eye she would figure me out.

I don’t have that problem any more, but a funny thing happened today.

Emma got into my socket wrenches and drill bits.

I told her to put them back, they are not toys.

She listened.

10 minutes later the door to her room was closed. I opened it to find her look up and shooting her little fists behind her back.

Busted my love, who is so sneaky.

“Emma what do you have in your hands?”

::wide eyed half smile::

“Persephone show Papa what you’ve got”

“Papa I was fixing something”

(Emma has been watching me work on the house all weekend, and I want to smile at her so much but I am doing my best “stern father” impression. I feel for a moment like if I look her in the eye for too long she will see right through me, and know that I am too proud of her to be upset.)

"Emma, you’ve got something that is silver that is mine, so you’ll give that to me and not play with it again, the other thing is okay for you to play with, but I want you to show them to me. I am not upset."

“Here Papa.”

"Thank you Emma. Do it again and you’ll get a time out."

“Okaaaay Papaaaaaa…”

I think it worked. I think she saw me and respected that she was doing something I specifically told her not to do and that is why she hid what she took. I accept that this is how it goes, and I enjoy it, but I wonder if I play my roll as well as I should.

I wonder if one day she’ll think back and realize “Damn, my dad was a mess. Always lost in thought.”

I see through my mother like plastic wrap. I see through my father like the X-ray of a cancerous tumor. I remember when they were sentinels. I remember when they had weight and infallibility.

For now I’ll do my best impression of the man I should be, maybe I can do it long enough to convince Emma that I really am him but something tells me she’s too clever for that little trick.

Bleh

Its me.

Im still going. Kind of.

I've been busy doing nothing with my life. That is a lot of us I think. Though, I dont know why that is exactly.

Im so frustrated. Im so far past the point of being bummed out its fucking ridiculous.

I told myself and other people that I would be way passed this point by now. I'd be better off somehow and it turns out I was only fooling myself.

I wrote a draft of many things only to erase it and replace those words with what you are reading now.

The irony.