Pointless Post

I've some really great friends. Many came over this week and worked on my house, scraping, priming, painting.

There are a few details to touch up here and there, and various bits of debris from frenzied work crews... disposable roller wrappers, empty cans of paint, various tools and such... but as soon as I get it picked up I'll take a picture of my place to show off what a great church family I have.

I don't know what's the matter with me.

One minute I'm happy, goofing around with my kids, or talking with my friends, the next I'm pissed. I take Jeremiah to Special Olympics bowling (I'm a coach) and I start feeling anxious, and then depressed, and then angry.

I either keep the radio off or I listen to classical music because just about every song seems to be either extolling the virtues of love or moaning about someone who has run off, or as the Coen bothers put in in O Brother Where Art Thou: "R-U-N-D-O-F-T."

Ticks me off to think of her telling me she has made a mistake, while planning a several day trip with... Hmmmm... I better not go there.

Ticks me off to think she has been "working" on the divorce papers for six weeks, and I finally go get the papers and do it in a single evening. And now she is too occupied to come look them over. I... Hmmmm... better not go there either.

I was walking the fields of Molalla River State Park before dawn again this morning. As the sun rose it chased the fog around a bit until the fog simply gave up. There was a hot air balloon to the west.

What am I writing about? I haven't a clue.

One of the athletes I coached last year was on my team again this year, but he has changed so much they took him off my team, moved him over to a team with lower abilities. Last year he was a pistol. He'd get mad when I blocked his way from throwing his ball down the wrong lane or prevent him from going out of turn. This year he can barely walk. I helped him over to the new team. I held both his hands, me backing up, him shuffling along, slight alarm in his eyes as he thought he might stumble now and then. His eyesight, balance, strength, and mental abilities have decreased a great deal.

I spoke with a fellow there who runs a group home, a place I think would be good for Jeremiah. Jeremiah has been given access to a fund that would support him in a group home, but he needs to be in the home by June or the fund goes away and he will not be considered for it again.

This guy enquired about Brenda.

I told him.

Sympathetic pain was clear in his eyes. This big guy, this professional, kindly man, reached around my shoulders and gave me the deepest hug. There in that crowded bowling alley I suddenly felt vulnerable. I don't know him too well, but the affection he showed was so genuine, so heartfelt, I felt my heart leap into my throat, my eyes grew moist.

He looked steadily into my eyes... "I'm so sorry Will."

I didn't know what to say... so I said... "Twenty eight years..."

I cleared my throat, smiled, and started acting like a real man again.

I concentrated on the athletes around me, while a sadness settled over me which I covered with a plastic smile.

I'd like to write something beautiful right now. I'd like to write something about the incredible majesty of galactic superclusters booming their ten thousand year beat from the throbbing of their enormous hearts of infinitely compressed matter.

I'd like to write something about the drifting fog in the park this morning, or how I felt closer to God while standing on the bluff over the Willamette River.

But... I can't seem to stay focused on anything for too long.

Just came back from shopping with the boys. Just about every person I saw there sparked some sort of feeling in me. Young couples with little children... whole families.

I found myself looking at the women in the store. And this is kind of weird. It wasn't sexual. It wasn't that I wished to ask them out or anything. It wasn't that I was wondering if they would be good mates. I just saw women there, young, my age, older, and I wondered... will I always be alone now? I don't want to hook up with anyone, but I am so unused to this new life, so unused to an empty bed, I feel confused. I wonder if anyone would ever want me... a middle aged guy who can't seem to think in a straight line anymore.

The moon is full tonight, and I think about my moon howlin' buddies, three of whom showed up to help this week.

I think about the challenge I have in getting a simple little headset intercom system for my TV studio at work for under a couple hundred bucks. I think about all the things I want to do this year for my students, better than anything I have done before, and I find I haven't the time and energy to sit down and get creative with a curriculum map. Something I should have done two weeks ago.

I'm thinking about my garden, losing its annual battle with weeds as winter approaches because I am spending less time there. I'm thinking about that spot on the rug where Rocky had an accident and how I need to rent a steam cleaner. I think about Brenda off on a little trip with her boyfriend while I wash clothes. I think about the great friends I have who come to my aid, who love me greatly. I think about crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head.

I think about everything, and I think about nothing.

And when I am pointing in all directions it is clear I have no point at all.

And that is the point of this post.