Thinkin 'Bout Thinkin

Uncoupled Couple

September 6, 2022

Observations

I sit to eat and I see it in front of me

A couple, not mad but not happy

No words are spoken or looks of adornment

Just looks off in the yonder, is there torment?

Oh wait! The food arrives words are spoken

Is food what creates conversation like a token

“Too much salt.” he says, “I have high blood pressure.”

I shake my head in dismay and try to measure

How IN happy they are? How happy they AREN’T?

It looks like someone is after them with a warrant

How did they get to this place?

No talking. No looks at each others face

“Check please.” They’re done and get on their way…together

How together are they really? They look to be completely severed

This isn’t a couple, just two people sharing space

I wonder when it went wrong and when things changed pace

No comments on Uncoupled Couple
Yesterday

August 30, 2022

The Usual

By: W. S. Merwin

My friend says I was not a good son
you understand
I say yes I understand

he says I did not go
to see my parents very often you know
and I say yes I know

even when I was living in the same city he says
maybe I would go there once
a month or maybe even less
I say oh yes

he says the last time I went to see my father
I say the last time I saw my father

he says the last time I saw my father
he was asking me about my life
how I was making out and he
went into the next room
to get something to give me

oh I say
feeling again the cold
of my father’s hand the last time
he says and my father turned
in the doorway and saw me
look at my wristwatch and he
said you know I would like you to stay
and talk with me

oh yes I say

but if you are busy he said
I don’t want you to feel that you
have to
just because I’m here

I say nothing

he says my father
said maybe
you have important work you are doing
or maybe you should be seeing
somebody I don’t want to keep you

I look out the window
my friend is older than I am
he says and I told my father it was so
and I got up and left him then
you know

though there was nowhere I had to go
and nothing I had to do

1 comment on Yesterday
To Be Stabbed by a Fork

August 22, 2022

The Usual

In my experience, when someone is met with a traumatic situation (physical, mental, or emotional), healing from it tends to hurt worse. For example, falling off your bike might hurt in the moment, it’s days later that you have bruises and a visible limp when you really feel it. The same can be applied to mental and emotional trauma. It may not dawn on you until days or years later that you’ve been carrying around an emotional or mental bruise that you need to heal from. Of course, there are those cross over incidents that may also hurt physically and mentally. I have a crossover event, and it involves a fork.

The scene opens with me in a relationship. At this point in the relationship, it’s very toxic. There’s more yelling, tension and distance than there is care, love and affection for one another. It’s the middle of the night and we are in the living room. We are sitting on separate adjacent couches. We are arguing about yet another topic that we shouldn’t be arguing about. We are splitting hairs and the volume of the conversation is beginning to increase. There comes a point where I don’t feel heard, so I begin talking over her. This quickly rises the total volume of the conversation, and we are now yelling at each other. It all comes to a head. She quickly stands up, grabs a nearby fork, and is standing over me. The threat of violence wasn’t uncommon. I’m thinking, “Here we are again.” With a steely look and holding the fork in my face, she yells, “Where do you want me to put this!!!” To call her bluff, I hold my right arm out. She wasn’t bluffing.

There are moments in life when you say to yourself, “Yep! This is going to hurt.” When I was a teenager, flying down a hill on my bike, hit a rock and KNEW I was going to fall. As I was beginning to fall, I remember saying that to myself. That incident left me with plenty of road rash. Another time, I was jumping out of a swing that was way too high (thankfully, no broken bones). In this moment, as she reared back with the fork in her hand, I was thinking this, and I wasn’t wrong. With an electric jolt, the fork dove into my upper bicep. I could feel the prongs of the fork fight through the muscle fibers. It reminded me of putting a fork into a steak. And for the non-steak eaters, plunging a fork into a mushroom. It only took seconds but felt much longer. I remember hearing a, “Pop!” as she pulled the fork out. After pulling the fork out, she throws the fork across the room and screams, “That’s how you make me feel!”

I look at her with disbelief and look at four square holes in my arm. She sits back on the couch, and I sigh. I stand up to find a paper towel for my arm. Within the 5 footsteps it took me to get a paper towel, I feel a warmth running down my arm. I’m bleeding and bleeding a lot. She tells me again, “That’s how you make me feel.” I’m suddenly hit by the gravity of the moment: I was just stabbed with a fork by someone who claims to care about me in order to prove a point. I break down crying and feel completely alone. How can she justify doing this? I continue weeping and she begins to be concerned. She suggests we go to bed. I take a shower and cry myself to sleep. Over the next few days I’m unable to flex my arm or carry much of anything.

It would take about a month to heal physically, but I didn’t account for the mental and emotional damage a moment like that can produce. I continued to carry those wounds around for many years. I didn’t realize it in the moment, but I was a victim of domestic violence. If you’re noticing the signs, get out of that situation. There’s never a need to stay with that person. Healing always seems to take much longer, but fighting to get past it is more than worth it. Thanks for reading!

1 comment on To Be Stabbed by a Fork
Miss Being Missed

August 2, 2022

The Usual

To miss someone while also being missed is nice, right?

Thinking of the person and of their embrace so tight

When you finally see them and the buildup of

Touch, smell, rub…the bursting of love

When was I last missed?

Not by family or colleagues, but by the one I kissed?

I miss being missed. When did it happen last?

My current feeling is it happened deep in my past

I realize now, that to be missed is to be wanted

Do I actually want to be missed or simply to be wanted?

No comments on Miss Being Missed
My Friend Kicked a Wall, But It Was Drywall

July 25, 2022

The Usual

Funny situations tend to happen when friends say, “Hey, watch this!!!” Usually destruction of property (or of your friend) or trouble follows (that usually involves your friend). Many times, the demonstration is an example of a false talent, but is usually worth the laughs. I had an instance like that happen in the same house as the rat situation (from a previous entry). Unfortunately for her, I’m glad that it happened to her and not me.

It was summer break and during this time kids from divorced parents appear. It helps to keep the break refreshing. Jessica was one of those visiting kids. She was tall and heavy-set for her age. She always came up with ways to impress me and my younger sister. We never asked for it, but she had plenty to show and tell. For example, one evening, after we both had dinner, we reconvened back in the cul-de-sac. Once there was a break in the conversation, she says, “Hey! Want me to show you how to throw up?” My sister and I looked at each other with a confused look and said, “Sure?” GROSS ALERT!!! She proceeded to stick her finger in the back of her throat and gag herself until she threw up. I learned that she had baked beans for dinner.

One boring day, we were in my garage. The cars weren’t in there, so it served as a nice place to get away from the heat. Suddenly, she says, “Hey! Let me show you guys something.” My sister and I looked at each other and said, “Sure?” She tells us to get out of the way. We stand by the car entrance. She puts her back to the wall. I begin to use my context clues and believe she’s going to run to the opposite wall…and do what? I remember thinking, “What is she planning?” Suddenly, she takes off running towards the opposite wall at her full speed. She gets to the other wall and with both feet jumps at the wall. With a loud “BOOM” her feet hit the wall and she lands back on her feet. What exactly had she done? Well leave a large hole in the wall is what. She had inadvertently kicked a large, wide-footed hole into the drywall.

My first thought was, “Did she really want to show us how to kick a hole into the wall? I know how to do that.” My second thought was, “THANK GOD IT WASN’T ME!!!” After Jessica regained her balance and saw the damage she had done, she turned to us with wide eyes. Then, with her hands covering her mouth, she began apologizing. I told her it was fine (of course I was only telling her that because I won’t have to face my dad…ain’t God good?). Eventually I asked her, what were you really trying to do? She went on to explain that she had seen the different footprints on the wall and was going to demonstrate a “wall run” of sorts. I was more confused because I don’t know how her big ass could’ve accomplished a wall run of any kind, but at least she tried. I just nodded and gave her an “A” for effort.

Once my dad got home from work, I told him in a congratulatory tone, “Here-yee, here-yee!!! Your son, Nichalos, is NOT, I repeat, NOT, responsible for the damage you are about to see! Nor did I encourage the defamation of properteee!!!Feast your eyes on this!!!” While it might seem dramatic to be so excited about damage someone else did, kids who have parents with a heavy hand know where I’m coming from. After my dad saw the damage, and with a sigh, walked to Jessica’s house. My dad and Jessica’s dad discussed the damage and Jessica’s dad paid for the damages. I remember when he came over and saw what had happened, him asking her, “What were you thinking?” I don’t think he would believe it if she told him. I laughed on the inside.

As with all seasons, summer came to a close and Jessica left. She came back one more summer before her dad moved and I never saw her again. She always had plenty of “showing” to do. I’m glad she did because it made those summers that much more entertaining.

No comments on My Friend Kicked a Wall, But It Was Drywall
I Thought it was a Mannequin

June 28, 2022

The Usual

The following story (and thoughts therein) occurred during the summer of 2020. For some, this might be a sensitive topic. It isn’t my intention to side one way or the other. My only my intention to share my experience with what happened and my conflicting thought process. As always, I’m open to conversation because I feel like if more tough conversations were had with folks from different backgrounds, we wouldn’t feel so divided. Shall we begin?

I’m backing out of my parking spot with a podcast playing about how personal debt is actually the cause for recessions (riveting material). The weather is nice with mild humidity. I can tell that it’ll be a scorcher this afternoon. I begin my drive to work by making a left turn into very mild traffic (the silver lining to the pandemic). As I drive down a local road, I notice a tall figure at the bus stop. I’ve passed this bus stop hundreds of times before, so this figure stands out. The figure is completely brown and reminds me of a mannequin that’s been sitting out in the sun for too long. I continue trying to make out this figure and finally realize that it’s not a mannequin at all. It’s a thin man who’s standing motionless and naked.

My first thought was to call the cops. Not because he’s a danger to others, but because he obviously needs to some help from a mental facility. But, given the climate at the time (George Floyd and other instances of excessive force by police), would such a call ensure that this person gets the help that they need? Would the first responder that arrives be ill equipped to handle such a situation? If the situation were to get out of hand, would this man end up another victim? These were among the many thoughts I had. To me, this thought process is shined a light on how overburdened police are. They are called to handle everything from mental health situations to domestic violence incidents to cats in trees (or is that the fire department?) to you name it. Did I end up calling the police? Of course not. How come? I didn’t have the confidence that he would receive appropriate and, more importantly, the safe help required. I didn’t want to expose someone who needed help to a potential hostile situation. I don’t like the situation I was placed in. My hesitation shouldn’t be a “thing”. I should be able to make a phone call, and know that this person will be okay. Unfortunately, in that situation, it seemed best to just leave him be and to enjoy the weather.

Some reading this might be thinking, “Dude! Not all cops are bad! You should’ve called them to provide him with some sort of help instead of nothing!” Unfortunately, given the intense climate at the time and since it isn’t an absolute guarantee that he would be shown empathy while being assisted, I couldn’t take that chance. I’m using the unfortunate logic that SOME police use when getting into situations with people of color. To me, this situation highlighted a plethora of issues that I can’t all cover in this entry but wanted to touch on.

I foresee a part two to this entry in the future. It’s crazy how an incident from a place I’ve never been, and probably never will be, impacted my decision-making process many miles away. Maybe I was impacted by the media…hard to say. I wish this weren’t an issue worth writing about, but beauty and flaws are everywhere. Maybe one day, such a situation doesn’t warrant hesitation. Thanks for reading.

No comments on I Thought it was a Mannequin
I Pick To Ease My Anxiety

June 6, 2022

The Usual

In case you haven’t read my previous entries, I have an anxious and overthinking mind. The type of mind that will get anxious about telling a waiter that my order is wrong, then overthink it, believing that now the entire restaurant hates me. It’s something I’ve dealt with ever since I can remember, but there was a moment when I found a way to quiet my mind, even though it was destructive.

I didn’t move around the country or world as much as my fellow “military brats”. Yet, an unstable home can make the slightest change gargantuan. I had just turned 9 when me, mom, dad, and my younger sister moved from South Dakota to San Antonio. I remember wanting to feel excited about seeing something new, but I missed my friends and didn’t want to make new friends again. More importantly, I didn’t want to feel like the new kid again. My mind had made the move much more than it was and I didn’t know how to cope. Once we found a house and got settled, I began meeting different peers in the neighborhood. After a couple weeks, I hadn’t made any friends and was doubtful that I ever would (part of me didn’t want to make any long-term friends for fear of losing them in yet another move). One weekend afternoon, I was sitting on the wooden jungle gym in my backyard. I was just sitting and thinking. I begam worrying. I was scared and I felt lonely. Little did I know, my hands were wondering and had found something. My hands had gravitated towards the bottoms of my feet. (In my mind) The bottoms of my feet felt as if there were blisters running along the soles. I told myself that I had to solve this “problem”. The only way to do that is to pop them. I proceeded to pop these blisters. In reality, they weren’t blisters at all. It was simply the bottom of my feet, but I was compelled to remove them. I couldn’t stop. Little I realize, during this process, I didn’t feel lonely, scared or sad. I was simply focused on this made up problem that I had a solution for.

After many months of solving this “problem”, the soles of my feet were a bloody mess. It didn’t matter to me though because I had solved the “problem”. I was pleased to have found a solution. I continued to compete with these blisters over the next few years. Mind you, I was playing peewee sports, so I was constantly using my feet. In the evenings, when it was time to shower, I had to remove my socks. It was a struggle to peel the socks from the new red colored problems I had created. I remember looking at the red strip on the sock, knowing that I had a problem, but convinced myself that I was solving a problem. Even though she was the one doing the laundry, I would do my best to hid my socks from my mom. Although that part was stressful, it didn’t stop my from picking.

As the years went on, I migrated from picking the bottoms of my feet, to the sides of my feet, to my upper arm, to anything on my skin that looked like a problem. If there is a perceived bump present, I’m after it. I didn’t realize that what I was doing was a coping mechanism against my mind. The condition is called dermatillomania. To find any bump or perceived issue with my skin was really a gateway towards peace. All the time spent picking my feet was time spent seeking a calm mind. Focusing on one simple, bland thing removes the need to want anything outside of yourself. I’m still working on not solving the “problems” I see once anxiety takes hold. I’ve gotta take it in stride. Thanks for reading.

1 comment on I Pick To Ease My Anxiety
Addictions

May 31, 2022

The Usual

I help the neighborhood feel better

They all come in for different medicines, but I don’t sweat em

Here she comes, maybe five feet tall

But, to be frank, she isn’t small

She’s a regular, picks out the same chips

Maybe a sugary drink or something chocolate dipped

She tells me about her issues with diabetes

With everything on the counter, I wish she didn’t see me

She walks out while drinking a processed product

Who am I to correct her eating conduct?

Here he comes, another regular with a smile

By this point, I know his vice as he’s in the liquor isle

He puts the same bottles from weeks past on the counter

I’m glad I’m not a counter because the number of bottles he’s rung up would make his boss a doubter

He has the exact change, we exchange small talk

He’s after that depressant drug found in a brown liquid or malt

Next, a couple comes in hoping for big money

They ask for the local lottery tickets and a magazine with something funny

They tell each other how they are gonna hit it big this time

But they’ve come in for months driving the same civic with rust and grime

With hopeful looks, they use coins to scratch the paper

No winners, the smiles fade as they say it doesn’t matter

I feed the addictions and vices of my community

Eating, alcohol and gambling from the corner store…What more do you want from me because I too have a family to feed

1 comment on Addictions
On Manliness and the Military

May 21, 2022

The Usual

I’ve touched on the Air Force Honor Guard (AFHG) in a previous entry. That place served as a real place of growth for me. Not only did it help make me a better leader, but it helped me be a better person and, without knowing it, a better man. By the time I got to the AFHG, my understanding of what it was to be a “man” was, to say the least, very foggy. At that time, when I thought of manliness, my dad came to mind. In my eyes, he was always the buff, tall guy that the ladies loved. Since my self-esteem was in the gutter, I never considered myself ANY of those things and could NEVER be those things. To me, parts of the AFHG exuded manliness and I would do everything I could to escape it.

Before I got to the AFHG, while new arrivals were in training, the leaders of those flights would select who was going to which flight. Upon graduation, the member would discover where they were going and it was one of 3 flights: Body bearers, colors, and the firing party. When I arrived, things had drastically changed. There were still three flights, but each flight had a mish-mash of folks who could do it all. Since it removed the comrade from the individual flights, it was highly unpopular. But for someone like me, it allowed me to have options. Once I found out which mish-mash flight I was going to it was time to figure out which skill I would pursue. Each previous flight/skill brought with it its own environment. Colors were typically the tallest of the bunch, but also the goofiest (a term they held dear). Firing party was chill and low-key. Body bearers included the strongest of the bunch and (to me) oozed manliness. Which group would I choose? Due to my size, I had the added benefit of choosing anywhere I wanted to be. After working with each group, I decided to go with the firing party. I really wanted to join the body bearers, but I didn’t believe I was strong enough or, more importantly to me, manly enough. Although I could have improved my strength, but I didn’t think I could improve my manliness.

After working with the firing party for some weeks, I was chatting with Wilk. Wilk was an honor guard legend. He had been there for many years, was a body bearer, and had seen it all. He was easy to talk to, so I brought up my decision to go with the firing party. He replied, “Yeah I thought you were going to join us as a bearer, but when I saw you out there firing, I thought, ‘Okay, I guess he decided to go with them.’” I was rocked. Here I was not believing in myself and what I had to offer, but other men saw potential in me. Potential that I wouldn’t allow myself to see. I talked myself out of doing something I wanted, to the point that I didn’t believe I could fit in. I was saddened because I had let myself down and robbed myself of growth because I was afraid.

In retrospect, and after plenty of thought, I asked myself, “Did I rob myself of growth?” Taking a long hard look at myself in mirror, asking myself what I considered manliness, and asking myself, “Who am I?” encouraged growth. I don’t regret not pursuing the body bearer route, because it helped me to be own my own version of “manliness”. I’m not the cowboy tackling cattle, the mechanic putting an engine together, or the bodybuilder oozing confidence. I am who I am and being anything else would be a disservice to not only myself, but to those I influence.

1 comment on On Manliness and the Military
BREAK

May 11, 2022

The Usual

When a man needs a break, there’s no telling where he’ll go

Maybe for a run or say he needs to go to the stow

When he needs a break, he might disappear from the home, but still be in the house

Doing his best to think while being as quiet as a mouse

It’s telling when he needs a break, his mood shifts…along with the furniture

He’s not aiming the hurt towards anyone, just to get out of there

He might go for a walk or just sit on a stump

To just reset his mind from being a slump

He should say when he needs a break to prevent from breaking

And to prevent from destroying something he’s helping to make

1 comment on BREAK