Back in the days when we used to live at 277 Merrick Avenue and whenever The Old Man felt old or whenever he felt the effects of his age, if he felt out of date or out of shape, The Old Man would take on big project in the house to prove to himself that he was still young and capable.
If he felt the outside world was unfair or whenever something emotionally painful happened, whenever something made him question himself as a man, like say, whether it was a family thing, a work thing, or anything that The Old man couldn’t fix, he would take on huge projects to prove to himself that he was still valid.
My Last Dance With Handcuffs
It was only a few minutes after they sat me down on a hard wooden bench when the realization set in. This was me. I was back in a place I never wanted to revisit.
I was handcuffed to a metal pie which ran beneath the bench and sat between two different types of drunks. To my right was a tall, thin, and lanky black man, feminine as could be and drunk, and complaining on a frequent basis that his handcuffs were on too tight. To my left was another man, heavyset and equally feminine, often echoing his co-defendants plea about his handcuffs being too tight. I was between them and when a brief pause of silence came to the scene, I quickly became aware of what I had done.
A Letter For You
I was heading south down A1A with the moon-roof open, the windows down, the sea to my left and the land to my right. The town of Melbourne was behind me and Vero Beach was ahead. I was thinking of the world I knew and how much it had change.
I thought about the vastness of the sea and how I hoped that one day, I would find myself ocean bound, heading outwards into the mystic of turquoise blue with the warm sun above me, the canopy of a blue sky overhead, no clouds, no distraction, no emotion, except of course for the joy of my stillness, which is a sensation of warm content like the first touch of a summer breeze.
Personal Investments
And so—
Going forward,I fully realize that resisting resistance with more resistance is not only draining,this is a losing battle.
From Sessions: Love Poem
And there is this thing,
this inescapable thing about her,
this thing she does,
which I cannot completely define or describe.
My Introduction to Motivational Interviewing
There isn’t much left out there now. There are no surprises anymore. More accurately, the secret, which the client thought was well-kept, was nothing less than obvious to the rest of the world. In times like this there are no places left to hide and all one can do is face the consequences of their actions.
Continue readingEarly New Year’s Resolution
Late at night and the rain is falling outside. I can tell this by the sound of the spattering droplets that crash against the skylight and stream down my rooftop.It is at times like this when I lay awake in the dark and think of how insomnia has struck again.
Continue readingMy City
After the winter when the ground began to thaw, I felt a certain indescribable feeling, which came over me as the sun grew warmer. Finally, our side of the world moved closer towards the sun. It was springtime and there was a feeling that came over me, which was more like a sensation than anything else. The ground had thawed and the trees were turning green. The sky was blue with patches of white, pillowy clouds, and at last, the air was warm enough to shed the coats and jackets.
A letter
Dear son,
Although we never really spoke or met the way people usually meet or speak, and though you are not real or better yet, although you are me, or more accurately, you are the young me, you are the unresolved me and the emotions which revolve within me, I am writing this to relieve you of some things, which you gripped too tightly and held for too long.
Note To This Thing Of Mine
The way to achieve is to work towards your goal. And this won’t always be easy. You have to step in all the way. Day in and day out, you train each day to be better.This is how you learn to overcome obstacles. Nothing of true value comes easy. Not at all, in fact, real dreams take effort; they take time and dedication as well as pain and sweat.
I was sitting in a break room the first time I learned that one of my stories was about to be published. I was several hours deep into my midweek grind, tired and dirty, and making my way through my blue collar life. I made a choice to dedicate a special moment each day and every day to this thing I call my art. And every day, I would sit and write about one thing or another. I would never write about the same thing twice because as an exercise, I made sure to switch my topics, which was challenging at times because the mind is naturally swayed by compliments. Therefore, I had to remove myself from the comment section and the messages I received on my blog.
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The Written Addiction 