you’ll hate em
you’ll hate me
I need you take em
’cause I’m wrong maybe

All my lab accidents lead to super powers that can’t be weaponized. For every “can read minds” or “super strength” there’s a million of us that can “hear the color yellow” or “clairvoyant only regarding the location of hidden turnips.”

There are no known unowned gnomes. Nor are there any unknown owned gnomes. No gnomes at all, really.

This world is beginning to gray for me a bit.
I’d thought I was OK, but that feeling has begun to pass.
The days where my daughters are gone are empty and meaningless.
I live like an animal in my house, using only three rooms and one of them is the commode.
I eat WAY too many raisins; I’m regular in a strictly biological sense.
I get headaches from the nitrates, but the bag of raisins is a convenient way to gain weight back.
I was HOT two years ago. I swear it is true! It didn’t do me any good then.
I am growing horizontally again.
Its not a plain plane, but a plane that I spread myself over. The smear a passing man makes if you leave the shutter open too long.
Too bad I’ve no sparklers here.

my cat is MAGIC.
I swear to GOD he ran out of the house when I let the dog in.
I ran out and called his name a few times, went and got my flashlights, wandered around a little, and then came back in.
I left the light on the back porch and opened the blinds so I can look out and see him if he comes back.
And no sooner do I sit down than he walks in the family room from the kitchen, sits down, and looks out the open blinds at the back yard.
HOW THE F*&K did he get back inside?!?

Twelve years of marriage and seventeen years of being together are apparently coming to an end. I’ve been served by a glum process server who, incidentally, must have one of the worst jobs on earth that doesn’t involve bodily fluids. I conceded to him that I understood what the papers were, hastily excused myself, and closed myself in my office to bury my leaky face into a hanging sweatshirt.     Heather told me to my face that she is no longer attracted to me, doesn’t love me, and can’t ever see any way to regain that attraction and love; I still love her, so it breaks my heart. For seventeen years a day didn’t go by in which I didn’t tell her that I loved her, didn’t compliment her on one of her many incredible aspects. I gave her as much freedom as she wanted, trusting her more than I trusted myself. I joined her in delighting in our beautiful daughters, both of whom I love more than life. I supported her in pursuit of her dreams and aspirations, helping when I could.     It seemed so certain that we would always have each other that we made no plans taking this bleak possibility into consideration. So now the life we built for ourselves and our children will change, and the future I’d envisioned of growing old alongside my precious Heather Lynn is gone. Our daughters will be another statistic in the column of people who “come from a broken home,” a fate we’d both always thought we could spare them from, and I’ll be a forty-year-old single dad with an upside-down mortgage and a Heather shaped hole in my soul.     A promise to love someone until death do you part, as is often the case, has been hastily and unilaterally modified to be a promise to love until the love is gone. I’m taking the afternoon off, I’m going to go sit in my stupid car and think stupid maudlin thoughts, and then I guess I’m going to call a lawyer.

The picture above, needless to say, is from our wedding day in the year 2000.