you cannot undo it. you cannot wipe the blemishes away from the scars: you are always fucking up. you are always the fuck up. it’s like you can’t help yourself, always putting yourself right at your most weakest, always proving yourself to be weak, always proving how little worth you truly have. and it goes on like this, sticky sweat, stifling heat and a shallow breath that keeps you going: despite the sag, despite the fact you know exactly what you should do.

the idea is, to build the bankroll and unfortunately you’re going to have to do it slowly, dollar-table by dollar-table. you have no choice because you were reckless and impatient.
now sit with the clowns and bear with the show.

sometimes you want a lazy day, i day full of nothing. what did i do today. i was kind to my daughter and i was also cruel. i am always kind and cruel. to everyone. even the newborn. even my lover. she has suffered the most of all. why do they stay? why haven’t they abandoned me? or is it just a matter of time, is it all in due time.

but then there are days like this, quick and meaningful, sudden rush off to the beach, haphazard collection of towels and diapers, right there within minutes, waves pounding the shore, and my daughter and i in the thick of it, my wife feeding my son in the sun, and an incredible serenity between each fearsome lapse of the tide.

and how does madness begin, how does the fear strike you. middle of the night, flash-rush, sudden children straight into certain mortality, death death death and a pair of nines, i swear i screamed for the first time in months, and she was afraid to touch me and i didn’t want to be touched, just tossed and turned the rest of the night, every hour, on the hour, cracked until i no longer dreamed.

i don’t know what is but since july 4th, after playing heads-up with pops, my poker has been terrible, bad timing, bad read. it’s like i’m just throwing punches against bricks and i can’t stop.

there are times i am utterly appalled by myself. it’s like a switch, a jekyll hyde, and boom, i’m the biggest asshole there is.

the best days are the busiest, the days where there is no rest, constant movement, one thing onto the next, not stopping, no thought, just being, selfless, no introspection, just being, a father, a lover, a gourmand (where the heck did she pull that one?), just moving, pure and unadulterated
a good day this day, not thinking.

at best, i am a fever dream that people wake up out of and are glad to have recovered. at worst, i am a thick infected piece of their lung they’ve coughed up and are embarrassed for having done so.

turned 36 today, i’m halfway to the finish line.
i played wii with my daughter and served as a walker to my son.
went to the park and baked in the sun with a little handball.
watched some comedies, ate some mediocre maki rolls and some really bad pad-thai.
my wife laid beside me exhausted and muttered i love you before passing out.
it is a good life and i really deserve no part of it.