I am aware that I need to set my sights a bit higher. I was mentally fawning over a young coworker, newly divorced, two kids… In the light of day I noticed today, I was just having a crush on her energy and young body. The woman was tiktoking, scrolling stores, and engaging in conversation when asked, but was mostly vacant and distracted. The buzz chemistry from last week, obviously my overreach. My fantasy. My sexual appetite is building up pressure.
I don’t want a young woman. I don’t want a woman with young kids. I certainly don’t want a woman blurting out about “my ex-husband” and “when he threw me out of the house.” Yeah, she’s a powder keg. I was amused two days ago when she dropped, “My boyfriend called last night at 5 am from Vegas.” So much data in that statement. Vegas? Never. Called at 5 am? Nope. And the defensive “boyfriend” drop. I’m probably imagining this. I’m the same age as her father. Nope.
I’m feeling some of the loneliness I like to dismiss. Something the self-soothing and prayers don’t fix. There is no fix for it. There is, however, something else that seems so obvious to me today: I say I don’t want a relationship, I desperately want to begin the climb up the 1,000-pillow mountain. I won’t admit that to myself. I play all zen and shit. I am aching inside. The job is killing me. The money stress is frustrating. And I got my graduation papers from my psychiatrist today. We’re in agreement: things are good. Don’t rock the boat.
I’m about to throw my chupacabra overboard if he can show me how his burner phone does not indicate a drug dealer. The patterns have been established. The behavior becomes more erratic and familiar at the same time. I’ve been in this movie. Fuck. Two years ago, I was in the same damn sad dance. Giving him the space and the rope to hang himself. I think his anxiety comes from knowing he is acting out of integrity. There is no honesty in drug dealing.
The doctor I spoke to said, “He’s either going to end up in the ER, prison, or a body bag. You need to intervene before something irreversible happens. Completely here with the exact same signs, two years ago. That still makes my blood boil. Fuck this. “Fucking idiot,” I say under my breath when he does something stupid. All the damn time.
I am calling myself an idiot in those moments. I am not to blame for my son’s firearm obsession. I can’t be responsible for his drug use, and early addiction to adderall and Klonopin. Nope. I am his dad, holding an open space for him. He’s burning up his welcome. He just left for a “gun trade” deal. “I’ll be out for a while,” he said.
Drug dealing. Gun dealing. How am I complicit in all this? I do not agree. I am trying to move him toward music and away from weapons. I am making no headway, and he continues to stay out all night. Amazon packages are arriving daily. He’s livin’ the life. Except he’s not. He’s anxious. He’s depressed. He is not putting out job applications. He’s counting on a Hail Mary from his side gig, his only gig, his magical gig. I never know if he’s telling the truth about anything. My trust level is low. While the threat of violence or death is high. I can’t write my way out of the confrontation that is coming.
Do I want to jettison my son back into the wild? He’s got his mom and her new house. He’s got his car. And a lot of guns and ammo. None of those things is going to do him any good over the next year. In one year, he will age out of his mom’s health insurance. That’s where the rubber meets the road.
I am working a shitty job for the health insurance. Drop below 32 hours in a week and they can declare me part-time. How did getting or giving away a shift at a shift-work job become so hard? I think it’s discouraged at my job. Why? Because they have to do a little extra paperwork? No one wants to take on any additional responsibility. Ever. I can’t give away my shift without a major hassle. At the Apple Store we established a Facebook group just for swapping and negotiating shifts. I should start that for my cashiers. Yeah, but I sincerely hope I won’t be there/here much longer.
I am declaring the experience a success. I wrote a lovely book. I showed myself and my son how to stand up and take charge of what I can. Get the job, get the insurance, don’t burn savings, intended to help them (my kids) in the future.
Enough said about that. A few new applications came and went. Waiting back on four or so, one more promising than the others. Today, I’m not even crossing my fingers. I think I’ve put my faith in someone else’s master plan with me doing the work. Look for a job. Do my job. Write.
In a silly way, I’m happy and thriving. My writing is still en fuego. Up and onward. The optimism that has guided me for so much of my life, says, stay the course. Don’t set up any Facebook groups for work. Find the new job. Recover some of your time and your normal schedule and vacation access. Do it. Don’t slow. Take the shot.
note: image panels created with AI
For readers new to hyperfiction: see this explainer video: Blueprint Of Icarus Ascending
