Another Sucking Day of Suckiness

As I just mentioned to my friend JPW over at AlabamaAssWhuppin' (if you have not been there, GO…he expounds on all things Drive By Truckers, Alabama, and the disaster that is the current leadership of this great country) I promised myself that my next post would be political, not personal. Well, as I have many times before, I am going to compromise my integrity, break a promise to myself, and dwell on personal matters yet again. Today is my middle child’s birthday. She turns seven. And as usual, I am no where to be seen. Yes, my dollars helped pay for her new bike amongst other things, but my eyes, arms, and heart are not any where near the festivities. ACHE. I just ACHE. I want to watch her blow out the candles on her cake, I want to watch her tear open her presents, I want to see the joyous expression on her face, I want to hug her and tell her how proud I am of her. Instead, I will have to settle for a phone call (already made) and a quick video IM session. And as I have mentioned before, I will smile and be excited while simultaneously wanting to sob.

For Her

I know that I promised another post about what a miserable Dad I am following my recent visit to Ohio and it seems like this might be a way to kill two birds with one stone…

Since the separation and divorce, all holidays seem to hurt. However, this one ranks right up there with Christmas and the kids’ birthdays. The pain is a strange mixture of guilt, longing, and regret that sits right below the surface and fucks with you. It makes it difficult to concentrate or perform basic tasks. Sometimes it even makes it difficult for me to talk; it so consumes my mind.

Needless to say, I miss her. She carried and gave birth to three of my children. Her sacrifices are immeasurable. She is an amazing mother. Her capacity to understand the needs, desires, and actions of our children baffles me. Often when we were together and I wanted to run through the streets of our neighborhood screaming, naked, and possibly on fire because of the chaos involved with having three small children, she would just sit simply as if in the eye of the storm and resolve every issue, kiss every scrape, and correct every perceived wrong between whichever factions might be warring at that particular moment.

I’ve heard some say that that particular capacity of mothering is a natural instinct. I disagree. Spend time at any Wal-Mart on any given day and you will see plenty of mothers who lack that skill. They take the course of least resistance whether it is smacking the crap out of little Ruprecht or appeasing him with whatever toy/piece of junk has caught his eye that moment. She is different. There is an unbelievable calm within her. Maybe she should have gone into the counseling profession, perhaps professional golf, or medicine. She certainly would have been great in an E.R. I am thankful that she wanted to be a mom because I know that as bad as a father as I am, she makes up for it by being the mother and woman that she is. I stand in awe.

I'll have the burrito and a side of meth...

Well, I have made another trip across the heartland to visit my children (don’t worry, I will have a post up soon explaining why I am perhaps the worst father in America) and the thing that really hit me is the impact that meth is having on our country. I stopped to camp near the town of Marshall, Illinois and ventured into town to grab a bite to eat before crashing for the evening.

As far as I can tell, Marshall is a typical small Midwestern town with an agricultural based economy. The trees that line the main road have yellow ribbons tied around them and there are numerous signs thanking local kids for their service in our armed forces. The local diner had maybe a dozen patrons on one side while there seemed to be some sort of Elks/Oddfellows type meeting going on in the other half of the restaurant. I sat down at the counter and was greeted by a rather large young women (don’t get me started on the obesity problem we have…wait, meth cures obesity…hmmmm) who told me it was her first night and to bear with her. No problem. I immediately noticed the other waitress who was on break and sat totaling her checks a couple of stools down from me. She bore all the signs of meth addiction; the lesions, nubby teeth, a jaw seemingly working on 4 packs of Big League Chew, and of course the saucer eyes. I pegged her for a tweaker immediately and tried to enjoy the craptacular salad that I had been served.

Eventually, the meeting from the other side of the restaurant broke for the evening and all these 50, 60 and 70-something salt-of-the-earth, Midwestern males stood in line to pay their tabs. Watching the meth addled waitress attempt to take care of these guys was simultaneously humorous and heart wrenching.

Do not misunderstand me here, I like drugs. I think they can be fantastic and have been known to ingest as many as humanly possible on some occasions, but meth sucks. It is not fun. It is not euphoric. It does not open your mind. It is fucking evil. And it seems to be taking over our country. Sadly upon returning to Mom’s basement I went out to dinner with some friends in our generic wealthy suburban enclave to have another tweaker wait on us. I know the service industry can be brutal, but is meth necessary? How about a nice line of the yeo? Or perhaps a little reefer?