I pulled a gun on my (Wife)

This happened several years ago.  Before kids.  Before adulthood really took full effect.  It was back when my wife was just my girlfriend; when we were shacking up.  Or, as some would say, living in sin. 

Back then, my wife had a terrible habit of getting a job one month and quitting it the next.  This was one those times when she was between jobs.  

We lived in a trailer that had walls as thin as cardboard and single pane windows.  A good western winter wind would tear through the park and have us freezing to the bone.  The landlords lived in the woods just behind the trailer court.  I’ve been in their house.  It’s a goddamn mansion.

To this day, I still have little respect for those people.  Living in your mansion on the hill, while you watched your tenants scurry around like ants, trying their best to make your tenement as livable as possible.  Kind of like, we’re here and you never will be! 

The American Dream, I guess.

Anyway, like I said, she was between jobs, it was the dead of winter, we only had enough gas for me to make it to work, and I had the flu.  All day long I listened to her bitch about how we were broke, of how hungry she was, of how she was horny and wanted fucked, of how I had the points to call in (even though I knew we couldn’t afford it), and the straw that broke the camel’s back was when she told me of how I made her feel like shit!

You see, since the day we got together, my wife and I have always been trying to change something about the other; I don’t like this, I don’t like that!  When two people get together, shouldn’t they love everything, if not, most things about one another?  Fast forward nearly twelve years later and its pretty much the same thing.

Hence the reason why I like to say another year older and not another day wiser.  That’s particularly true of birthdays!

So, hearing that I made her feel like shit (this would be a line I would hear numerous times down through the years; that, and you’ve already pissed me off today), I went down the hall, grabbed my nickle plated 38 Special, emptied the revolver, put one bullet back, spun the revolver and slapped back into the gun.

What can I say?  The bitch pissed me off!  There are a million different ways it could have gone wrong.  Okay, not a million.  But you get my drift?

“You say that I make you feel like shit,” I said, walking back into the living room, “then I would like to see you live without me.”

I raised the gun and placed the barrel up under my chin.  In the middle of a tussle, she was able to wrestle the gun from me.  In hindsight, since I had a few spare seconds to squeeze the trigger and didn’t, and since I only put one bullet in the gun, maybe I wasn’t so keen on killing myself, afterall.

-Graveyard Night

The Cube Test

This was so stupid.  I found it difficult to keep track of the cube, the ladder, the horse, the flower and the storm.  A complete waste of time.  I can already tell you that I am a guarded person.  Even with family, I keep them at a distance.  I feel like I am going nowhere in life.  Another year older and not another day wiser.  I have three kids and that’s enough!  And the storm is a fucking hurricaine!  I’d rather get profiled by an FBI agent!
Graveyard Night

Mirror

Looking myself in the mirror gets harder everyday.  Anxiety siezes my soul and suffocates my lungs.  It feels like an invisible python coiled around my chest.

It’s called lies and regrets; remorse and hatred; more love for others than for myself; its called wanting to walk until my feet are sore and blistered and I can walk no more.

The last fourteen years of my life have not been easy.  However, they are not void of good times.  But I figured I would have been further along in life than what I am.  Proportionate to my salary, I am in debt up to my eyeballs, and nothing to show for it.  I don’t own my own house, my marriage feels like it is in a perpetual state of purgatory, and my boys can’t speak a word-not even daddy, I love you! 

Some days, it feels damn near impossible to lift my chin off my chest.  I just want to be left alone.  People I work with don’t know my life’s struggles.  Working with a bunch of gosspis, I have learned to keep certain things private.  Being here, I don’t want to talk to anyone.

To them, I just want to be another shadow moving down the hall.

Graveyard Night

Men and Women

Working in a nursing home, a society dominated by women, I have learned a very fine process of keeping to myself.  Now, I am not saying that men don’t gossip or say things we shouldn’t, because we do.  However, men do it because we don’t think before we speak.  Women do it, as one aid told me, because women see other women as competition.

Why they see each other as competition, I have no i-fucking-dea!  I have seen women bitch about another woman and turn around and say, “I don’t gossip” or “if you have a problem with me, bring it to me”.  I have seen women blast other women, while at the same time, claiming that they are tired of the drama. 

I have had compliments on how calm, cool and collected I can be, of how I look like I am just taking a walk in the park; a storm can be raging and there I am, a stout oak tree in the midst of the wind.  I have seen women I work with, that I know for a fact have trash talked one another behind each other’s backs, but when they are face-to-face, they act like best friends.  It is sickening!!!

Like I told a male aid I sometimes work with, I don’t know what it is-maybe it’s because there are men around (roosters in the hen house), but the wome like to prop themselves up to be bigger and badder than what they are.  They don’t take no shit off anyone!  They always seem ready to whoop someone’s ass!  Oh, and they’re just a bitch! 

Really?  You’re just a bitch?  You’re proud of this?  You’re proud that you can go to work, jump someone’s ass for possibly no reason at all, not knowing what they have going on in their lives, and you’re proud of this?  Granted, I have had men tell me that they are an ass and I give them the same time of day I do these women:

NONE!!!

I have one nurse, in her sixties and an ass kisser, that will purposely try to get an aid in trouble.  I don’t talk to her.  I stay away from her.  She can kiss my ass!

And the communication in nursing homes is atrocious!  I think I have figured out why.  

When women are home with their men and they have a problem, they brood.  One wire is connected to another wire; one track drifts off to another track; one thought begets another.  Soon, men, you will find that you are facing charges of high treason for actions you can no longer recall!  

Women the longer you sit there and try to have a us figure it out, the less of a shit we give.  As Waylon Jennings once said: my shive-a-gitter’s broke!  And thus it goes in the medical field.  Women naturally assume that other women know what they are thinking!  Fucking wrong!

With that being said, there are some things that men can do better and some things that women can do better.  By and large, men are men, and women are women.  However, each person is their own individual.  Reason being, I guess, that I am not with the “norm” and don’t regard sex with the highest prority.

Be that as it may, there is something I want to get off my chest.

Women like to talk.  A lot.  They want to talk about their day, their feelings and emotions and they cannot understand why a man doesn’t want to talk about his.  Women like detail.

Whereas men, unless we are politicians, our statements are simple and to the point.  Men, you can ask your wife for a cup of coffee or for her to pass the butter, and get a thirty minute conversation out of it.  No, honey, I just want to melt it down so I can dip my hand into it and go to the bathroom and masturbate. 

One pastor illustrated it best when he said that men’s minds are segregated up into boxes.  And each box has it’s own function for everything in his life.  When a man wants to relax and shut down, he goes to the box that has absolutely nothing in it. This is why men don’t like discussing their feelings.  This is why we can sit and relax and clockout for the day.

However, with women’s brains, everything is interconnected, as I previously stated.  Women cannot fathom how we can sit there and think not a single solitary fucking thing!  Even when we are watching football or our favorite sport, our one-dimensional minds are trained on that game.  Reason being why, when women notice this, they try to distract us and gain our attention.

AND THEN THEY GET PISSED WHEN WE ARE WATCHING OUR FAVORITE FUCKING TEAM PLAY!!!

Women, if you are reading this, I wouldn’t feel so proud that your minds are multi-dimensional and you like to talk more.  It just means that you like to argue more.  Like I have told people at work, “experts” write more books about women than they do men (don’t fact check me on this), because they are hoping that by some miracle, they will be able comprehend even what they are writing.

Three times in the last two days, I have asked simple, basic things of my wife and gotten an argument.  When I first started out as a nurses aid, it was like pulling teeth just to get my wife to hang up my scrubs, rather than fold them, crumple them and let them get all wrinkled.

One time a few years ago, we were at my in-laws and we had taken along some of my boys’ favorite movies.  One of my boys had taken a DVD out and laid it playing side down.  I had our youngest-then a baby-fast asleep in my arms in a chair.  I asked my wife to pick up the DVD and put it in to play.  Right in front of her family, I got a fucking argument out of it!

Had it not been for a woman I absolutely detest, I was close to exploding.  Goddamn it!  Stop fucking arguing with me and pick up the goddamn DVD!!! 

And each and every time, I get “sorry”.  

Whatever.  You’re a woman.  You can’t help it!

Til we meet again,

Graveyard Night

Young Again

If only I was young again

I could see the places I have seen

I could be the places that I have been

I could hug the ones that have passed

I could hold onto those who are dear

If only I was young again

-Graveyard Night

Drive

I took a long, leisurely drive tonight.  You want to know something about taking a drive and having no place in particular to go?  You can think.  Ask questions.

However, tonight, my brain generated more questions than answers.  God, how I wish this pain would stop!

Graveyard Night

Judger of Souls

So much shit that I have been through

I tried to be perfect with all of my might

So many different people

With burdens too heavy to carry

Puritanical preachers

It’s hard to tell who’s wrong and who’s right

With broken knees, I pray

-Graveyard Night

Walking the Grave Yard

As I walk through the Grave Yard and count the number of regrets I have, I am astounded at their number.  Headstones have sunk into the earth, toppled over or stand as tall as a monolythic pillar-bodies laid to rest, but their ghosts still remain.  Sinister markers that have turned black against the back-drop of the fading light.

He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.

-Stephen King, It

So many things that I wish I could do over, or never had done in the first place.  I lower the brim of my hat over my brow and turn the collar of my coat up to protect against the cold wind.  I’m going home.  Today, like so many days, I feel as though my life has been a waste.

Not long ago, a friend told me that he would check me into a mental health clinic if he had to.  That may come sooner than I expected.

-Graveyard Night