Deac

              John "Deacon" Dumler

                   I really met my grandfather when I was around three or four. I sat on his lap down the ocean and watched cartoons while he sipped sweet tea and rocked back and forth in his wicker rocking chair. I remember my grandmother had decorated the house with handmade seashell reefs and pictures of my family in brightly colored picture frames. I remember combing my hair with his comb, looking in the mirror and seeing myself, seeing my grandfather watch me from his chair, feeling a great sense of love bouncing from off the reflection and hitting me square in the chest. I hardly knew this man, this old man who loved me and told me fun stories and rocked me to sleep. I knew he was my grandfather, my dad's dad, my grandmothers husband, my uncles father and my mothers father in law, but I didn't really know him. What a privilege I had to grow up with this man, to learn from him and be shaped by him. I can't say I ever truly came to know him, because as most grandparent- grandchild relationships go, the focus what on the child, not the adult. In my blind, self centered adolescents I lost the chance to really know my grandfather, and now I am left with a picture and my memories, as self centered as they are. What I can say about this man is that he was good, he was decent and honest and smart as hell. He has helped more people in one year of his life then I have in my 19 years. His funeral was quiet, and he wrote his own summary of his life. it was barely a page long, and half of it was listing off those whom he loved. I realize a lot of famous people who have done great things for this earth have passed around the same time as my grandfather, but we all have our own little worlds and in mine this was the greatest loss of all.

R.I.P Deac, I love you and will be reading your memoir which you had been working on for over 15 years, the memoir which you finished on your deathbed, the last words being "I love you, Pat, and the children, forever".

Depression-tarts

Imagine this: you have just had what in your mind is the best weekend of your life. Star wars, icecream sandwiches made with poptarts, an adorable boy with a mess of floppy red hair telling you he likes your freckles...okay maybe that's just my fantasy weekend. (Alec Baldwin is there riding a pink unicorn that is galloping in place). The weekend ends, and suddenly as if it hadn't even happened, you're sitting in your dark cave room, listening to Bon Iver, alone. Which should be fine, you like alone, and Bon Iver, and you aren't missing the weekend or wishing it hadn't ended...but you still feel strange. You start to search your contacts to call someone, a friend, your mom...you realize you don't have anything to say to any of them. You begin to think, you realize you have nothing to say to yourself, either. Why haven't I gotten anything done this weekend, self? you ask. There's things that need doing, papers that need writing, songs that need singing, why have you done nothing but have useless fun, self? Beth/Rest, is the song that's currently playing on your computer as you continue to feel confused, and hungry, but mostly confused.

Excuse my poor writing, lack of real depth or understanding of the root cause of the true human condition. I'm not even sure that sentence makes any sense, but the meaning behind it goes a little something like this: I don't know why you feel so depressed after great things happen, but I hope you can find a bit of comfort in the fact that I feel exactly the same way, too.

Heavy Drug Use

It's 2am. It's cold. There's a coke zero laying in it's liquid contents, dripping through the crack of this table onto the off white carpet- now way off white- and I haven't done a thing about it. The only thing i can think of is the use of the word "crack" in previous sentence, I'm seeing plumbers. Maybe I should call one, he can bring a friend and we can all together sit and watch the sugary drink soak into the floors, while making crack jokes (and not limited to butts, either).

In my usual melodramatic way, I am trying to say mehh I feel so alone.. I'd actually let coke, coke which can erode a baby tooth in less than 24 hours, drip by drip, sink into the fibers of the carpet. And it doesn't please me, but it is calming to watch the droplets.

even the coke is laughing at me. or maybe it's just mad "It's Coke Zero if you don't mind!"

......i need to go to bed

Here's my plea

              I don't know what to do with my life. I've been told at my age this is not a bad thing, in fact it can be a good thing- what is left out of that equation however, is the necessity of intelligence. It's one thing to be a wandering intellect. It's another thing to be a jobless hobo applying for work at a gas station. So what happens when your not the brightest bulb, with out an interest in anything useful to further your life? Does the process start in grade school? It's true that those students who generally do well in elementary school will go on to do as well or better in middle, and so on (strictly grade wise). It's also true that kids who struggle early on will most likely have problems all the way down the line. Does this mean that that toothless man mopping up the vomit in the Shell stations' bathroom actually never had a chance to really soak up any knowledge? He's not sure what he wants to do with his life, and if somehow he did manage to figure it out he would have absolutely no resources to lean on- his "mind bank", if you will, would be empty.  Of course, this is an extreme case, and obviously not everyone who didn't score a 2400 on their SAT's end up mopping floors. But what about a college drop out.  Whatever degree they were working towards just wasn't working for whatever reason and now they find themselves back at ma and pa's sitting on their coach crying over all the lost time and money. This sounds a bit like what Steve Jobs went though- dropped out of school, didn't know what to do with him self-lost-however not everyone has the luxoury of being a freakin' genius. Or if not a genius, a generous "mind bank". How does an average college student catch up on a wealth of knowledge that others already have stored away in their brains?


Hello, My name is Mary. This blog is for me, mostly, and my sanity, (I realize that opting to stare at a computer screen for hours would be considered the beginning of the end of sanity, just go with it) and for you. I hope you can find something that resonates with you and whatever happy little messes you happen to run into along the way.

NOTE TO READER: I can't spell! sorry!