Insidious Adaptation

Standing at an intersection at some residential part of Chicago. A quiet, three-way intersection where my brother and I resided to post-up and look for a ride to our hotel. Him holding his phone, and I, a shopping bag, we walked here, to save a total of $6 on the Uber trip back. Personally, I wanted to walk off a little bit of the pizza we just ate, but my brother is a little more frugal with his calories, likes to save em up I guess. “How old do you think that sign is.” My brother asks, pointing to a moving truck.  There is a woman, and a child, the woman is hugging the child over the top of him. “MMM… adults at least.” I respond. “Yea, adults, she’s probably dead now.” My brother says referring to the woman. “Honestly, if it was the 90s she would be smoking, she’s probably not that old.” I enjoy these types of conversations. Our jokes proceed. We make insightful instances up in our head, about the kid being on drugs, mom being remarried, how the sign they posed ...

The last drink has been drunk. The final call has been made. The work day is over. The dessert bowl has been all scooped, and re-scooped, and there is simply, no more left. What happens when it's all gone? Well, "it" as we use it, has to be defined, which for each of us, could really be anything. IT could be pleasurable, IT could be an achievement, IT could be love, IT could be hate, IT could be pain, IT really could be anything we give it power to be, but IT will come to an end, for anything as we know it to be, will cease to be.   Like a blank piece of paper after all the work initially torn away, discarded, a part of ourselves, never to be seen again, however, built on, better.  A sad and disgruntling thought as I ponder what I can then rely on. Can I rely on my daughter, no, for she will either grow and move on as I want her to, or she will  suffer  from the debilitating effects of the conclusion of the human condition, the diagnosis we all must face. C...

As the earth spins, the cold wind blows, from The North down, covering the plains with a sheet of bitter sting, simply known as, winter. The earth, she spins on a titled axes, for that is what we all know, some audaciously question, however the seasons change, the heat of summer becomes the cool of fall followed by the frigid state of late winter. These months, they linger, they titillate us with, “so close, but so far away,” as the springtime season smell is in the air, but dampened by a heavy cold.  Walking my dog outside, a Husky, for she loves the winter, she embraces and sits in the cold, as the snow covers her majestic coat, and her piercing blue eyes gleam through the greyness of the winter morning, I notice a peace that I will not get again, not today. The rest of my day is not a walk in solace, nor is it a practice in mindfulness, it is rather, chaotic, involving me holding on, riding, rather than controlling, attempting not to judge, attempting to be a, “better” pers...

In junior high, as I discovered "chat rooms," I had developed an alter ego who was 19, from California, and male, under the name of Billy McBean. This was my typical response where the common question would arise, "A/S/L( Age, Sex, Location)?" I figured 19 was safe and due to being nowhere near California, nobody could, “figure me out.” I created the name from a kid I knew in elementary school whose last name was different, but for sake of embarrassment on the world wide web, I figure I'm best at leaving that next part out.   Billy lived in what appeared to be squalor on the edge of my small town. He wasn’t too far from where I lived, though I determined, miles away socially. Billy might have had some sort of learning disability, or at least emotional disturbances due to home conditions, something that indicated a “difference.” Unfortunately as kids go, this, “difference” was noticeable and used against him from the bus rides to school, to the playground, ...

A catch in the lower back, aesthetically, in the butt, for the pain is below my waist band. When I push on the area I can feel the tighten ball of inflammation, a spot and feeling I am very familiar with. This pain was self-induced, for I went too far, too long, "too hard?" shall I say. It comes and goes like a pain in my trapezius or the upper portion of my back. Never anything major, just a pain, a sensitivity reminding me of my limits. I had no plans for a change in routine for I get aches and pains often and figure if you let those stop you in life then you might as well just stay in bed. I went to the gym with the intent to lift the lower half of my extremities, legs. Now, the legs portion of a workout involves, though it is not necessarily supposed to, a lot of lower back. Simple things from shifting weight to an initial oomph to get the bar off the rack, more prevalent than one would take note. What I noticed on this trip to the ever-so-busy gym, even at 4:30 in t...