Memory of me as a little kid with pool water in my hair

Or maybe bath water, or water from an amusement park

The feeling of water around my ears, wet short hairs

Of the miracle of a kid who learns how to do something—programming/writing—anything in this world

The look of myself in the mirror this morning—contorted body, gray hairs in my beard

I remember when my dad was this age, remember that I had never seen him without a beard

I remember when my dad's dad was getting old, he and my dad took walks around their family home in Ruston, Louisiana—I'm thinking now what I thought then: that he and I will never have that experience. I knew that, long ago: that when my dad dies, I won't be there

And here I am, growing old, growing up. With my routine, my fear, all my characteristics intact—hate for news and politics, love for girls and women, affinity with five year olds everywhere (and also 95 year olds) scared to live, scared to die, but less scared than ever before, with confidence and just-don't-give-a-fuck-ness growing like ferns in red valleys. A pause that exists in me, that exists before everything I do, in which I could do something completely different or nothing at all

A silent fuck you which became a silent silence

The book of my last ten years is solidifying, congealing, the ink is drying. It's all read-only in there. A reference manual (mine) of myriad confusions, myriad joys, myriad mirrors of textbook lessons written on the glass board with fingers of lightly written silicon alleyways

I am a man growing old sitting in the living room with my GF/wife playing with a fourth grader named Christopher. I can't work, can barely stand—but I'm still here living life with these people loving them as much as any—you know my birth family was special and they got me started but I couldn't deal with them—there was too much friction, too many people there whose language indicated they didn't think we were part of the same family (and I felt the same for them, I did—I used that "your family" language long before my aunt did). It having been more than six months since my last email to them, it's all settling for me. It's unemotional. It had to be—it had to! I had to get out of there for my own safety. That's it—survival necessity—what better reason is there?

No offense, but I needed to live!

I needed to live and I have figured out 43 years worth of stuff by now. I'm not at war with people—I'm not at war at all now. I would put down my weapons but none were ever picked up. I remember I messaged an old girlfriend 10 years ago, said I was sorry, then disappeared. How many people have I said bye to now? I am never going back. I am never going back. How could I? When the head grows, the hat no longer fits. Just throw it away. Throw it the fuck away. With as much feeling as you would give an old hat. Fuck. It

I have given up, surrendered—this is the most significant change in my life. Yes, I have given up the fight. I'm not competing anymore. I'm letting the battlers play out their skirmishes and I have no interest in them

So it's me as a kid with bath water in my ears

Water running through my hair

Thoughts of my parents from growing up, muddled, no one's perfect but I've got a big fuck you for everyone who would not have an honest discussion with me. For people I've asked a word from, who have been silent with me, may you sit forever in your silence and see how it suits you

I am here with my present and I like it =)