Give the Po' Man a Break.

It's 3am and I'm wide awake. Again. Just like a couple of nights before. My sleep patterns still haven't returned to normal since Abby passed away; some nights I'm fine; some nights are interrupted by weird dreams. Not that I was ever a really stellar sleeper- I'm definitely on the light side of the sleep spectrum. Plus throw in those 3 dogs and 2 cats who occasionally run on their own clock, and it's a combustible sleep stew. But my most recent dream involved that Abby and I were on some sort of break- not a separation per se, but just not with each other for some reason. And she wanted me to drop off some sort of box to some guy she had met, stop on our way home. I just remember that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach; the feeling when someone you love or care about may or may not be cheating on you. In the end of the dream, I think it was ok and we were ok and no cheating had occurred- just flirtation. But it made me think I had to try harder and not take things for granted in our relationship. And then I woke up, alone, with no one to try harder with. So maybe that was the crux of the dream? Don't take things for granted? I dunno. Abby and I had a pretty good marriage; we really were "best friends", not to say we didn't have difficult and stressful times in our relationship, but it was never about fidelity- I never wanted to be with anyone else, and that was what she always said to me. And that's a big burden off your shoulder if you can totally trust the person you're with- it's quite a blessing, and lets you focus on all the other shit that happens in your life; money; work; kids; pets; health; stressful sports games; organic/non-organic; paper or plastic; comedy or drama tonight dear?

Dreams are a funny thing. There are dreams, the ones we have while we sleep. And there are the dreams we all had/have when we're younger. Or maybe you were a "dreamer"... All I know is that I feel like my "dreams" have evaporated, poof, in a lightening strike, even though it was more like a two-year storm. But in the scheme of a lifetime of dreams, two years really is just a blip, to have them eviscerated so forcibly, ripped from my soul, along with my identity in such a short time. I'm forever, or at least for now, the guy who's wife died. I much preferred "Abby's husband", as she was a lot more of a known quantity than I was in social circles, and that was ok by me. And honestly, I'm ok with being that guy who's wife died. But now I feel like the guy's whose dreams died too. Maybe "dreams" might even be the wrong word; actually it's more like I'm just a body now, a vessel, walking around with no identity, aimlessly going about my day, week, month with no purpose. Carrying my bag of blood and bones from place to place. No job. No career. No one next to me anymore. Sounds pretty sad. And it is. Yes, violin time- break 'em out in full-force.

I've been getting down on myself (no, really Craig?). My main(est) issue, is that I'm still unemployed. More than seven months into my search, and though I've come close, still back where I was. I feel like I'm being punished twice; first for leaving my job to take care of Abby and I lost her; and now no job, no future, no income. I know "punished" isn't the right word either, but I'm getting pretty fucking tired of choosing my words carefully. I have no guilt about what happened, and I don't feel like G*d, if there is one, is screwing with me. But I do feel like the Universe is aligned in some way that just keeps sucking me back into it's shitstorm. When your personal life, and professional life both suck, it ain't pretty. It's a Suckfest. And Suckfests don't sell, they don't market well. People are not clamoring to be part of them. The are no "Suckfest Festivals" around, last time I checked. And yet they exist, sucking the life out of those unfortunate enough to be part of them. Suckfest tshirts anyone? I might have to think about that actually- maybe people would wear 'em.

Frustration is my sidekick now. I'm frustrated that I can't find work in my field (Senior Graphic Designer in case anybody's wondering or looking). Recruiters like my work. The people I've met with say they like my work. The interviewers have said they like my work. Is everyone lying? I'm frustrated that at 59, I feel tossed aside like a bad garnish, and yes, I feel like a loser. There, I said it. Now Abby would not be happy with me throwing myself this pity party, nor would she march in my pity parade. But I'm exhausted and demoralized from these last couple of years. Positivity will only get you so far- you need to catch a break occasionally to keep the life current humming along, to keep the anode, well, positive. I've been saying for a long time now, something's going to break, something good is going to happen. The cacophony of voices around me have been saying the same thing to me. Friends, family, therapist, doctors, dogs and cats, have all been feeding me the same party line- "Something GOOD is going to happen- you're gonna' get a BREAK." I've had this soundtrack playing loop de loop in my head since last December. It's getting all scratchy and fuzzy though, it's worn, it's embattled, it's exhaustive, and oh yeah, it's frustrating. Like punch-the-wall-break-your-hand frustrating.

I never want this blog to be a bitch session, because why the hell would anyone want to read it? There's enough bitching going on 24/7, whether it's on FB, Twitter, the "News", at the coffee shop, to fuel and inspire another thousand shitty and useless reality shows (sorry folks, I'm not a fan- forgive me). The shit people complain about boggles my mind. Quick story related to this: one of my few close celebrity encounters I've had, back in the late 80s, was seeing Dennis Miller at Bridgewater State College. My friend booked shows there, and at the end of the night, my friends says "Can you drive Dennis back to the Four Seasons in Boston- his driver is awol?" My unintelligent mumbled response was "Um, um, um I guess so"? As my mind raced about what the condition of the inside of my car looked like, and whether Dennis Miller would enjoy riding in my 2-door Toyota Sport Coupe, and whether there would be empty beer bottles clattering around the floorboards, suddenly there I am meeting him, chatting, and walking to my car. Abby got to stay behind with our friends, much to her displeasure. And I will not disclose how much I had had to drink prior to our ride, nor other things- it was the 80s after all. Mr. Miller did not ask, and I did not tell. So, very long story long here, we set out on Route 24 North, and suddenly I notice there are 2-3 cars chasing us. Celebrity stalkers, Dennis says. And these cars are swerving in and out of lanes, whooping and hollering at us. So Dennis (yes, we were on a first name basis) says "slow down a bit ok, I need to talk to them". "Well isn't that nice of him, I think?" So slow I go, he rolls the window down, the other cars pull up next to us, all eager to drunken chat with their new best friend, and he yells "Get a fucking life, will 'ya?!" Rolls the window back up, slumps in his seat, and says "I just want to go to the hotel, have a good dinner, and fuck my wife". And he meant it in the nicest possible way. That was the moral to that long story (not the fucking his wife part) - just to get a life folks- it probably isn't that bad if you take a good look in the rearview mirror. And Dennis Miller? He turned out to be a pretty decent guy. Funny, too.