Facebook Q & A (May 23, 2022)

Did you know that, if you have a Facebook group, there's this whole other messaging system hidden under a weird tab that luddites like me had no idea existed? Well, there is! Maybe I'm just an idiot... but, I'm only just now discovering it. At least I think I'm just now discovering it. Anyway, there was a comment there the other day, that I wanted to discuss here. Not sure this is worth an entire article, but -- I wanted to share.

Rather than copying and pasting the comment verbatim, I just wanna address and respond to a couple of the points/questions.

Right off the bat, this person apologized if I felt like I was being pressured into creating daily content... and, that made me feel kind of bad. I know I haven't always been the most gracious host, but I want to assure him (and anyone else reading this) that, that couldn't be further from the case. The only person pressuring me to adhering to such a silly schedule was... me. Prolificy (if that's even a word) hasn't always been my strong suit -- I often begin projects with a whole bunch of excitement, only to abandon them just as soon as the novelty wears off -- or, it starts to become routine... which, I suppose is the same thing.

If you've been following the stuff here and at the channel, you may have noticed a few projects that have gone this exact way. Various podding projects, off the top of my head: Learn Me the Legion with Al Sedano, MazeLighting with Ed Moore, ... to the Choir with Dave Schultz, and Questerdays with Chris Bailey. Projects I started with such passion and excitement... that I just kinda petered out on. Now, that not to say that those projects are, ya know "R.I.P. Dead" or anything... at least not as far as I'm concerned. I really only mention them now to establish/reaffirm my normal "pattern of behavior".

With projects like Chris is on Infinite Earths and X-Lapsed, I was able to prove to myself that I could keep plugging away... even after the novelty wore off. Granted, there are a lot less "moving parts" involved... and I don't need to worry about coordinating with a partner, but -- these two projects really broke me out of my usual "creative" M.O. Any and all pressure to continue was strictly from me. If you're reading/listening to anything I do -- I want you to know that I couldn't be more appreciative. You're not "holding me to" anything... you're only making this "creative" endeavor a little less lonely -- and I couldn't thank you enough.

--

Second, they apologized for what I'm currently going through in my real life. And, again -- that made me feel really bad. I wasn't looking for pity, necessarily, when I shared some of the details of what's going on "behind the screen"... though, in retrospect, I can totally see how it may have come across that way. I'm a huge believer in transparency. Frankly, our willingness to be honest and open is one of the very few things that makes us unique. I feel, if you're going to invest any amount of time enjoying my nonsense, the very least I can do is be genuine. If I'm reviewing something that resonates (or fails to resonate) in any way -- based on something I might be going through... I try to best paint that picture, and... I dunno, frame what I'm saying, uh, contextually? Does that make sense?

Maybe I shouldn't do that. I don't know. Maybe I should keep real life separate from comic discussion. Maybe I should open up a LiveJournal to write all the "real" stuff. Does LiveJournal even exist anymore? I dunno. In any event -- I share from my personal life here, because a) I'm not great at hiding my emotions, and b) I don't really have any "real life" friends to bend the ears of. I'm not looking for pity, as much as I wouldn't be looking for praise if I were sharing stories of grand success.

--

One of their paragraphs -- this was a fairly lengthy and wonderfully thoughtful message, started with the words: "If this truly is the end...", and again -- it caused me to take pause. Ya know, I've said it before -- I'll say it again: I'm not a great writer... and so, as honest and whatever as I try to be -- I'm not always sure that I get my intended point across. That's not a lack of understanding of a reader/listener -- that's just me not being very good at this. In looking back at my last few posts here, I can totally see how/why someone might think this "truly is the end". That wasn't my intention. At least not in my own muddy and addled brain.

It's more the realization that -- sticking with something (especially a hobby), even if it no longer makes you happy -- is unhealthy. I mean, very few people like their jobs, right? As in, "like-like" them. Can't wait to go in, can't wait to put in the work. I'd have to assume those folks are in the minority -- but, even if you hate your job -- ya gotta go in, r'else ya don't eat. With a blog and podcast -- those aren't things that put food on my table. Those aren't things that keep a roof over my head -- and so, when the passion wanes a bit (or more than a bit), it's time to maybe put it on the shelf... for a bit.

Writing was something I loved to do -- I lived to do. I couldn't wait to wake up in the morning -- grab my cup of coffee, and hunker down over my laptop to put together my next piece. It went from that to... being something I still wanted to do, but wasn't near as excited about it -- to something that I tolerated doing, because it filled the time, and gave me purpose... and something I could sorta-kinda "control -- to something that brought me no happiness at all -- and finally, to something I absolutely detested. That's not where a writer (fake-ass or otherwise) ought to be.

I did a little exercise yesterday -- a bit of naval-gazing, if you will. I grabbed a few random review pieces from over the years, and compared them. It was pretty illuminating. In my older "work", I was reading the words of someone who clearly enjoyed what they were doing. Even when the book I was discussing was less-than-ideal, I could feel the passion I had for the "craft" of blogging. I still wasn't very good at it -- but, dammit, I was having fun. There was a less cynical "wit" in my writing. I realized how much I missed being that guy.

I feel like, until I can be that guy again, I need to -- ya know, just not write. Or, not force myself to write.

There are still things I really wanna accomplish here. I want X-Lapsed to continue. I wanna keep working our way through Dazzler. I wanna stop letting my partners down, and get back behind the mic for our shared shows. I'm not done. Whether I like it or not, this will very likely always be a part of me. I just need to get 100% back to the point where I do.

--

There was much more to this Facebook Message -- largely complimentary, which -- honestly, made my morning... but, rather than stroke my own fragile ego here by going line by line -- I'll instead just say thank you.

I hope this has been, um, illuminating? If anybody has any other questions/comments for me while I continually work at reframing these efforts, please don't hesitate to reach out.

Thanks for reading.

Soundtrack of Life - Sweet Freedom

A relatively new addition to the "Soundtrack of My Life", Michael McDonald's Sweet Freedom wouldn't have even been included had I created this list when I first intended to. I've always thought it was a great song, but didn't really have any sort of personal attachment to it nor did it have any sort of special meaning to me. If you've ever listened to X-Lapsed, you'll know that this is the song I've been using as an outro for years now.

Early on during the run, I was asked why I'd picked this song. Usually my podcast music choices serve a purpose, ya know? Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads makes sense as the intro to X-Lapsed, as it asks a bunch of questions... as though the asker has no idea what's going on, or how they wound up here. This very much fit the tone of my show, as a fella who had no clue about how things in these books got to this point. It's also an amazing song... might even be on my list of "perfect songs". That said, it's not necessarily a "Soundtrack of My Life" song, unless I take the full X-Lapsed context and experience along with it... frankly, at this point, I've used the show to "define" myself for far too long.

Sweet Freedom, though? Like I said, I was asked why I chose it for the outro. I believe it was my friend Jeremiah who asked during a guest-spot he did very early on in the run. I had no answer. Part of me wanted to lie and suggest that there was some "deeper meaning" to the choice... one that he'd have to figure out. You know, all of us fake-ass creative types wanna seem far more profound than we are. The truth, however, was simple... I just liked the song. I've always enjoyed what we now refer to as "Yacht Rock"... though, I didn't realize it was even considered a genre. Since around 2017 or so, upon realization that it is... a genre, I went deep down the rabbit hole. It's been one of my top stations on Sirius XM ever since. If ya don't know, and I'm sure ya do - Yacht Rock is basically soft rock from the late 70s into the early 80s. It's a bit nebulous, I guess, there are songs I consider to be part of the genre that many don't... and vice versa.

Anyway, familiarizing myself with the works of Michael McDonald (solo or as a Doobie Brother or part of Steely Dan), I was stunned by just how amazing his voice is. Humans shouldn't be able to hit high notes like that... and yet, he does. Sweet Freedom not only had the excellent vocals, but the music was wonderfully upbeat -- most Yacht Rock has a more melancholic tone. Sappy and sad rather than hopeful and bright. Sweet Freedom stood out... and I'd listen to it as often as I could... including, at least once, every single day when editing together the latest episode of X-Lapsed.

I can't listen to it anymore, however -- which, I guess makes it a kind of ironic addition to the Soundtrack?

Now comes the "why?" of it... and yeah, it has to do with my dog. Again. Sorry about that. Maybe the sooner I get it all out of my system, I can get back to "normal"?

He passed at around 1am. The afternoon before was when it became clear that he was dying. Like I mentioned a few posts ago, he had been degrading for a little while... and, his cancer had become terrifyingly aggressive. He still had the same little personality though. The things we tell ourselves when faced with the obvious... humans are pretty amazing in that way. I don't know that any other living organism can experience and exhibit "denial". He was still eating every day... though, less and less. His little back legs were wobbly. The cancer mass grew itchier and itchier -- he would scratch at it constantly. We tried putting him in the wheelchair we'd bought him a year prior... but, he wasn't having it. I tried using his inflatable donut collar in hopes that he wouldn't scratch at his face... that didn't work either.

This... oddly, only fueled the feeling that, he was still the same boyo. He was the most stubborn little thing... as it turned out, he'd remain this way until literally seconds before his passing.

Where was I? The afternoon before. I went into the bedroom to change clothes so I could head out and pick up whatever it was we were going to have for dinner. I found him sleeping in his normal spot, next to my side of the bed. I could immediately tell that something just wasn't right. Something with his breathing. I just knew we were about to go through the one thing I'd been scared of every day for the past fourteen years. I'm kind of fatalistic... always worried about death, and assuming that it's always just around the corner for the people I care most about. I'm not as concerned about my own mortality... but, if I don't get a text from the wife telling me she got where she's going -- I enter into a panic. How she still puts up with me, I'll never know.

But here we were.

I picked him up and brought him into the wife's office... just to confirm that I wasn't letting my paranoia run off with me. Unfortunately, this was one instance where I'd turn out to be right.

Our pup absolutely loved going for car rides, which I'm aware isn't all that hot a take. If these were truly his final hours, we wanted to give him one more ride... and so, we did. He was unresponsive and confused... his breathing had returned to normal... but, it was still clear that he wasn't going to "kick out" this time. He'd managed to trick us several times before -- especially in later years. We'd all but counted him out... and, he'd miraculously spring back -- reminding us that he was made of far stronger stuff than we'd ever thought. This time? Well, I can lie to myself in many situations... but, not this time.

Anyway, we loaded in to the car and just drove around. Like I said, it was the afternoon -- I'm pretty sure I was still wearing my pajamas. Eyes puffy and red. We must've been a sight. My wife was holding him in the passenger seat... we were both talking to him... but, like I said -- he was unresponsive.

We pulled up to a red light, the Lake Pleasant and Happy Valley intersection... and, I swear to you what I'm about to say is true - Sweet Freedom started to play on the radio... and his tail started to wag... the ol' happy "pug thump". Halfway through the song, he'd lifted his head up -- and for just a moment, there was clarity in his eyes. He knew we were there... he knew he was out for a ride. When the song ended, the tail stopped wagging, and his head went back down.

He'd always been a musical pup... a connoisseur of music, even. His breeder was a pianist, so he'd been surrounded by music since the day he was born. There were always certain songs that would cause him to perk up... and do the "pup head tilt". Some songs he hated as well! He knew what he liked... and what he didn't! A couple off the top of my head -- he had a love/hate relationship with the theme song to The Office. It always got his attention... it was just whether or not he was in the "mood" to hear it. The opening to Days of Our Lives was one that he always enjoyed though. It really was weird to see these reactions. And now, here's Sweet Freedom being forever linked to his final moments.

Throughout the evening and into the night, there were a few more cognizant moments... but, none like during Sweet Freedom. I swear, during the couple of minutes that song played -- he was "back". More aware and alive than he'd been in days/weeks at that point. I think it was probably the last time he really "saw" us.

For this reason, it's now part of the Soundtrack of My Life... and the one song on it, that I can no longer listen to. At least not right now. Maybe when I'm in a better place... or more at peace I can add it back to the rotation... remember what it "gave" to me, rather than focusing on what that day took.

I know these can't be pleasant reads -- and, I know strangers on the internet couldn't care less about a dude crying over his dog, when they likely came to this site to hear me talk about how Rob Liefeld can't draw feet and how cool 1st Issue Special is. So, sorry about the change in tone -- and thank you for reading, if you still are.

Soundtrack of Life - Til I Hear it From You

Back when I was doing the From Claremont to Claremont program, I had this idea to include odd bits of flavor into the mix. Rather than it just being an eight hour non-stop comics discussion, it would become a 12 hour comics and "other stuff" discussion. I was working with a slew of co-hosts, each one focusing on one title. I thought it would be interesting to add some "getting to know you" type stuff -- part in attempt to attract engagement, part just because I thought it would be a good time. I really had some grandiose plans for FCTC... thought it would be far more successful, and be around for a long time. It was not... and is not.

For the first episode, we included a rather boilerplate "Tell me your history with the X-Men" bit... which, stood to reason. For the second, I literally swiped a page out of Marvel's Bullpen Bulletins -- and conducted the same interview Marvel would put their editors thru back in the mid-80's "Pro-File" segment. For the third episode, I tasked the fellas with putting together what they'd consider to be the "Soundtrack of their Life". Songs that either meant a lot to them, or that exemplified a profound moment in their lives. As with the first two episodes, I would provide my own answers during the final closing segment.

Since Episode 3 is incomplete (what's done IS available in segment form), and at this point -- very likely to remain that way, I never got the opportunity to share mine. I did create one though. And, hey -- why not share a song or two from it here?

Today's song, off the "Soundtrack of My Life" is Til I Hear it From You by the Gin Blossoms (1995). A song that I'd always dug -- I feel like the Gin Blossoms are a highly underrated band. Well worth a dive through their discography, in my opinion. -- Til I Hear it From You was almost literally the Soundtrack of one of the tougher days I'd experienced just a few years ago.

This was almost exactly three years ago - May, 2019. It was the day that Reggie suffered his aortic dissection... or, the day after, rather -- it was the day I found out about it (that's almost another Gin Blossoms song right there!). I'm not sure I've written/said much about this day "in public" -- I know I've spoken about Reggie's passing, almost exactly one year later in May, 2020 -- but, I don't think I've told this one yet. Ehh, not like it matters -- I'm still gonna tell it now anyway.

Very early the morning of, I'd woken up to use the restroom. This was and is a regular occurrence -- happens to dudes of a certain age... and, from what I hear, it's only going to get worse. I'd never check my phone, as a) I wanna get back to sleep as quick as possible, and b) I'm legally blind without my glasses... so, it'd be a big to-do anyway. This morning, however -- for whatever reason, I did.

There was a text message from an unknown New York-based phone number. Now, here's the thing - I know almost literally nobody. I don't talk to anybody -- very, very few people have my phone number. I assumed this was either a wrong number, or some malicious attempt at getting me to click a link or something. I took a closer look, and as I rubbed the sleep outta my eyes, realized that it was Reggie's wife -- and that something bad had happened.

I didn't realize quite how bad. I saw the word "aortic", and just assumed that he had a (mild) heart attack. I was sure that by the end of the day, he and I would talk -- and, he'd quickly be on the mend -- before we knew it, everything'd be back to normal.

I couldn't get back to sleep. I didn't respond right away to the text, either. Instead, I headed downstairs -- fixed a cup of coffee -- and set about getting started with my day. If you've been following this site, this was during the time I was working on Action Comics Daily. As luck would have it, I found myself about a week ahead of schedule -- and didn't exactly need to do any writing that day. That said, I was still planning on writing something. That something was the script for the Mary Worth "Aldo Kelrast" episode of The Cosmic Treadmill -- which I'd been chipping away at for a week or two at this point.

As I sat down to start pecking away -- I decided that... maybe I should do a little bit of research on whatever an aortic dissection is. If you don't know, it's a ridiculously terrifying event... with a very scary mortality rate. It's how John Ritter died. Also, comics artist Mike Wieringo. It was becoming clearer and clearer that this might not be something that one could come back from. At least not easily.

Now, I'm a simple guy. Very analogue -- in that, I have a hard time reconciling the internet and real life as being, in many ways, the same thing. Part of me still thought that nothing had happened to Reggie... and that, later that day we'd be trading DMs like any other day. Because... the internet and real life aren't the same. Right? I'm not sure if it was my being in denial... or being just plain stupid. In any event, I was about to get a lesson in how wrong I was.

Throughout the first half of the day, I was texting with his wife, Lizzy. She was sending periodic updates... which, I wasn't able to wrap my head around. I mean, it still wasn't real -- it still wasn't true. I felt like I was, in a way, basically just "playing along" with the lie.

The house became kind of claustrophobic. Walls started to close in. Not sure if that was a result of reality setting in... or, just me being me. Either way, I needed to get out. But, where to go? I literally have nowhere to go. My only hobby is comics... and, so much of that was predicated on digging around shops looking for stuff that Reggie and I could talk about on the air. Maybe reality was setting in.

Anyway, I got in the car and figured I'd just drive around for a bit. When the radio came on, Til I Hear it From You was playing. A line from that song, if you're not familiar with it, is: "I'll just figure everything is cool, until I hear it from you." This became kind of the anthem of the day. Nothing could possibly be wrong... until I heard it from him. Does that make sense? The song played... I listened... I heard that line, and -- I dunno if it's denial or density (probably a mixture of the two), but I dunno -- it felt appropriate. It also kinda fueled my irrational bias that - if I didn't literally see it, it wasn't there. It wasn't going on. Reggie's family wasn't waiting in some hospital to find out what's going on. You understand?

My travels that afternoon took me on a loop of the city. Phoenix's freeways are literally called "loops" -- you could drive for hours and wind up right back where you started. I did pull over at a comic shop -- but, I didn't go in. I just didn't see the point of it. During that drive, Til I Hear it From You played no less than a half-dozen times. At one point, it was playing on three stations at the same time. Every time I heard it, it... it's weird, it went from providing me this odd bit of comfort... to almost mocking me. It began to get under my skin.

While nearing the end of my journey, I received another text message update. It was a long one -- so, I pulled over to check it. This was the message where everything set in. Reality, fear, horror... it wasn't the sort of news I was expecting. I mean, I'd spent the entire day trying to convince myself that "everything is cool", right?

In this message, I learned that Reggie had not regained consciousness... and, while the doctors were confident he would survive -- they weren't so sure about the return of some motor functions. Which is to say, they didn't know if he'd ever walk again. I'm almost positive there were also questions regarding brain function -- but, I can't recall any particulars off hand. That was when I finally broke down. Up until that moment, I was able to trick myself into thinking this was nothing more than a hiccup. Granted, I'm an idiot -- and, an avoidant... so, it might stand to reason. But, it was with this message that reality set in -- and, it set in all at once. Like a hundred pound weight had been dropped on my chest.

I replied... thanking her for the update... and struggling to tell her how I couldn't imagine what she was going through. I was literally without words to describe how or what I was feeling. Shellshocked and instantly exhausted... I just didn't know what to say. I mean, what couldja say?

As I headed toward the house, Til I Hear it From You played one more time. I can't hear that song without thinking back to that day. It's relatable... or at least it was, before I got that dose of reality. It was the soundtrack to a profound and painful day. "As far as I know, nothing's wrong -- until I hear it from you." used to mean something... until it didn't. Thanks for reading.

If this piece made even less sense than I usually do -- I should mention that I'm typing this up on my phone. My laptop grenaded, and I've yet to buy a replacement.

Housekeeping (May, 2022)

 Reggie once told me about a rap 'zine he used to write for. There was this fella who, for his second article turned in a repeated spiel of "All Work and No Play makes Jack a Dull Boy". Which, ya know -- sure, it's the internet, and it wasn't a paid gig -- and that's surely something someone might be able to get by with in lieu of providing, ya know, actual content... but maybe not for your second article. That's something that needs to be earned... and, I hope that over the past six and a half years (and near 2,500 articles), I've earned myself one'a those.

If you've been following my work of late, I apologize. In addition to being its normal flavor of terrible -- it's been bitter, angry... petulant.

A lot of misplaced aggression "in the margins" of my stuff... and, while I don't know that I owe an explanation for that -- I'd still like to try and give one. If for no other reason than to provide myself with a bit of a cathartic release. This is going to be... part monologue/part diary. I totally understand if you can't hit the back-button fast enough.

I've deduced that this hobby might not be the healthiest thing for me. If you listen to X-Lapsed, you may have heard me speak recently about my unconscious attempts at using what I do (here and on-the-air) as, for lack of a better term, a "surrogate" -- for something missing in my real life. This isn't a healthy place to be.

I spoke about this realization... and how I would try and reframe things a bit differently in my head to stop myself from doing this. I said those things with the best of intentions... unfortunately, it didn't take long to realize that this would prove far easier said than done.

Rather than beat around the bush... I'll just come out and say it. My wife and I have been trying to have a child for a while now, and it's just not happening. Frankly, I'm fairly certain that a litany of my past screwups are responsible for this fact... in that, I wasted away our prime "baby-making years" being rather useless. Now that things have turned around (I'm a little less useless now), I fear that it might be too late. My past behavior(s) may have robbed us both of something we wanted so badly.

I'm struggling with how to continue this piece... I can really only speak for myself, but I also wanna make broad sweeping statements. If I were a decent writer, I'd figure out how to make this work. Since I'm not, well -- I'll just give it my best shot. I feel like, as a person approaches middle-age -- and begins to realize that some of the formerly open windows have started to (or already have) shut... it might make them a bit, I dunno, "straw graspy". As in, grasping at straws (duh). In my case, I subconsciously began to think about things like legacy... not that I have all that great of one to carry on, but -- the opportunity to, I dunno "do right". It's kind of the futility of man in action... you (or I) think about what sort of mark (if any) we would leave behind. It's egotistical and selfish in a way, yeah -- but, it's one of those byproducts of having a child. A "bonus", even.

Honestly not something I'd even given a thought to... until the semi-recent realization that it just might not be in the cards for us.

As adult humans, free time is something of a premium. We all have our daily "stuff"... whether that be work, school, family -- usually a combination of the three. Setting aside the time to do something like this -- well, it's not always easy. Even now, as I sit here typing this self-indulgent piece -- it's brutally early in the morning. Since I don't always have the time to do this -- I make the time. It's thankless... and ultimately pointless, but I've made it part of my daily "stuff". I've made it a surrogate. A surrogate for something I need to constantly nurture... a surrogate for something I can leave behind.

Yes, I do tend to over-romanticize things... why do you ask?

Anyway, I've been at this awhile... and, while I do tend to overthink on "the numbers" or level of engagement... I've mostly been able to not let things like that interfere with a) the work, and b) my offline life. Lately, however, it's been made as clear as a slap across the face that -- my creative endeavors have very little meaning or purpose. Which, when looking at the content I provide and the niche that I serve, totally stands to reason. The rational part of me "gets" that. It's the less-rational part, the part that is using my "work" as a surrogate, that doesn't... and, ultimately can't "get" it.

Can't "get" it... and, of late, can't get passed it. Or, is it "past it"... I'll never know. Like I said, I ain't a good writer.

In the midst of coming to grips with our reproductive uncertainty (I was actually typing away at a script for the X-Lapsed Point One Patreon show on my phone while the wife and I were waiting to see her doctor), our dog passed away. I've mentioned this a time or two here -- but, haven't gone too deep on how it affected me. He was "the" constant in my life for fourteen years. He was my writing buddy, my gardening pal, my yoga partner... we were inseparable. He unwittingly became the surrogate child. I know people talk about "fur babies"... and, yeah, that might conjure up a cringy image, but... he was.

He'd been on the decline for a while, and was requiring a lot more of our attention. He had suffered a spinal injury... actually shortly after I started this blog. The emergency vet assured us he'd never walk again... and that, we'd have to flip him over every few hours so he wouldn't develop sores. In my limited experience, emergency vets tend to want you to put down your pet for just about anything. Naturally, once we were two steps out of the place, he spotted a rabbit and forced himself outta my arms to chase it.

So, while he was okay and mobile then (our real vet just had us cage him up for a month, which did the trick)... he still did suffer the injury... and it would eventually catch up to him. It took six years to do so... if nothing else, pugs are stubborn. They even say "no" to their own dinged-up spinal cords! Up until late last summer (2021), he was okay. A little wobbly every now and again... but, could take care of himself. Maybe he wasn't jumping up onto the couch anymore, but he was mobile and happy.

Then the cancer came.

The cancer manifested as a small mass between his right eye and snout. Our vet warned us that it could be cancer, but also that it might not be. We held out hope that maybe it was an infection. Pugs have wrinkles, there's a big fold right over their noses, right? We hoped that, maybe we didn't do the greatest job cleaning out his wrinkle... and, maybe this little mass was the resultant infection.

Then it grew. And grew. And grew. It all happened so quickly. One day, this mass was suddenly bigger than his eyeball... and, there was, what appeared to be a tremendous sack of fluid built up under his right jowl. We rushed him in. The vet assured us that he wasn't in pain, but also told us that he had very little doubt that this was cancer. We were given the "keep him comfortable" diagnosis. Exactly one week later, he was gone.

In the final few months of his life, he required a lot more attention and help. I was more than happy to be there for him... as, I can say with zero uncertainty that he'd saved my life on more than one occasion. While he was also a primary focus in my life... it was intensified here. Then, he was gone.

I was (and still very much am) lost. When you're lost and flailing, you look for anything that might provide you with comfort... or, at the very least familiarity. For me, it was -- the blog and the shows. Like I said, this is not healthy... and it also sets too high an expectation on return. The blogging/podding "artiste" doesn't write for an audience, but for themself. When it stops being that way, it might be time to reevaluate. I'm a ridiculously slow learner.

When I spoke of this over on X-Lapsed, my takeaway was "I'm going to try and do better". It was like a veil was lifted... and, with this knowledge and understanding of what I was feeling, I was now mentally/emotionally equipped to press on. To try and not worry about anything but "the work". And, as I said above -- I had the best of intentions.

Intentions, unfortunately, don't always make'a the words come out.

What does any of this mean? I haven't the foggiest idea. Will there be content here or on the podcast tomorrow? Again, who knows? I thank you and apologize for wasting however much time it took you to read all'a this... since I don't actually have any clear closing statement or deduction. All's I know is that, if I'm going to continue with any'a this, I need to have a healthier relationship with a) myself, b) the content, and c) my expectations.