Open House At The Mind’s Cabin

I’ve been thinking about the nature of this blog. Certainly I love writing about absolutely nothing, then turning that nothingness into something meaningful. It’s an exercise of the mind and spirit and I find it relaxing, even healthy. I love sharing stories and heaven knows I got a lot of them. Now don’t go feeling bad about yourself just because I just went off bragging there about how I have more stories than you. I was born and raised in the rural south and that’s just the way it is. We tell stories and when we don’t have one, we just make one up or take someone else’s and tell it as our own. All of which is perfectly acceptable among friends and strangers.

Hey, wait a minute. I bet that’s not true. I bet there are plenty of stories out there and I bet you’d like to share them. I love meeting people and hearing about their past, their lives, and generally get a sense of who they are. I tell you, I wish I wrote down the name of every person I met who shared a little something about themselves to me. Ever heard of someone who has never met a stranger in their life? That’s me, I’m that guy.

So I’ve thought recently of opening up my site to others. There’s one hundred people who follow this blog and for what reason, I still don’t know. So that’s one hundred people who might like to share something about themselves. I know I’d be interested.

Tell me anything. Tell me something troubling. Tell me something happy. If you don’t’ have nothing to say, tell me about that, too.

If perhaps you are interested, leave me a comment or email me at mindscabin@gmail.com and we’ll work out the details in private.

The Reports of My Death are Greatly Exaggerated

It’s been a while. I’d like to say proudly that I’m still alive. How long has it been since I’ve poked my head up here; I can’t exactly say. I’d guess more than two years. Lot’s has changed in that time. I’m going through a divorce, now. Yep, after 9 years it’s over. She filed last week, I think.

She moved back to Texas, back during the summer. That means my kids live several states away. I fly home to see them every six weeks or so. That won’t change. I love them too much. Miss them, too. I’ll do and spend what I have to see them.

I guess my wife and I faced the music, as they say. Wasn’t much love there. Commitment, habit, obligation, sure; love, not so much. That’s the way it goes sometimes. Except they forget to tell you how bad it hurts when she takes your kids. My little girl asked the other night if I was coming home for Valentine’s Day.

I’m not.

I can’t.

Regardless, how does a fiver-year-old girl know what the meaning of Valentine’s Day is? Moreover, how on earth did she associate her far-away father with that date? It was enough to make me cry. It did, actually. I cry a lot these days. Not boohooing here and there like an emotional wreck or anything. I mean, just now and then my emotions catch up to me. So I cry. Which is fine, I guess. Should have cried before over several things. I just never did. So now, I guess like water, tears too follow the path of least resistance.

[I want to say here: I miss my people who used to come to this site and I to theirs]. 

Needless to say, I’ve had some long nights. Missed some work too because of them. Insomnia nearly ruined me last year. Taking up the guitar was the best thing I could have done for myself. I’ve explored every brand of Scotch sold in the US. I can give a very informed opinion on what is good and what isn’t (in case anybody cares to know).

I bought a new car, too. I’d say I spent more than I should have. None of it did me a bit good. Oh wait. There is some good, I suppose. I bought 2.5 acres of land down in Louisiana. I bought it sight unseen. Well that’s a little white lie. I flew in to look at it after I’d already agreed to buy it. So call it what you want. It’s mine now. I reckon I’ll sell it in lots or put a couple of houses on it and sell it for a profit.

One more thing, I finished grad school back in June.

But back to my marriage. I guess in the end it was all my fault. Isn’t it always the man’s fault? I could have been better. A better man and a better husband. I had a lovely wife. A sweet wife and a very caring mother. I’ll never speak ill of her. She’s the mother of my two beautiful children (contrary to some, I really do have beautiful children) and I respect her immensely. Why shouldn’t I?

Listen to this: She allowed me to stay at her parents during Christmas so my babies could have their daddy there for Christmas morning. After all the crap and the things worth keeping on the surface, she’s better than that. I’d die for this woman–even if I can’t stay married to her. I tell you hindsight is more than twenty-twenty; it’s an everyday kick in the ass. At any rate, I guess what I’ve listed has covered the past year. They say time has a way of scabbing over all the things that hurt. Why pick at it ?

Got some literature for you, something I drummed up while I was playing my hand at Southern Gothic. I’ll share more later. I’ve gotten quite a lot written down.

You know his first wife spent every penny he made. When he couldn’t make it fast enough she left him. Well that’s not all. She left him in debt, too. He says won’t let no other women do that to him again. I can believe it. I been asking for a car just so I can run errands during the day. I can’t even get him to talk about it long enough for me to convince him. I guess he thinks I’ll up and run off too. Men are strange. Spend their whole life looking for a woman like their mamma then spend the rest of it treating her like his little sister. I tell you real life ain’t nothing like soap operas. Men can be mean.