God’s Favorite Cliche

I’ve been extremely blessed in the last month or so. I’ve been overwhelmed by the love shown to me by groups of people far and wide. It’s really been ridiculous. At times in my life I have been angry with my now-wife, I’ve had fights with my friends like Mac and Dani that have made me rant at the top of my lungs in my bedroom. I’ve been so mad at my dad and my brother Ian that I’ve cut little half moons in my palms from squeezing my fists too tight. I actually yelled at my father in law at a restaurant once (for saying the Democrats were “politicizing” the Iraq war). I’m really blessed that everyone is being so loving towards me right now.

I’ve also had troubles in my past with *stuff*. Using two mis-matched forks instead of a blender. Buying coats at thrift stores and laughing about how fucked up they are. Paying my rent three months late, but paying the next three months while I was at it. I’m not doing that anymore, for years I’ve paid my bills on time, for years I’ve had a bed to sleep in that was mine, and for the last year or so, since the engagement gifts, I have every machine you could want as a home cook. I’m incredibly blessed to have these things.

And, in all honesty, my life has been a series of dodges, always staying one step ahead of bill collectors, always managing to find a job right when my grocery money had run out, always waiting until I got so sick that I went to the emergency room and then ducked out on the emergency room bill. If I wasn’t going to make “money” my priority, then I couldn’t really bitch about not having money.

But now, sometimes, it’s just exhausting. I don’t have any money, I don’t have any job prospects, I don’t have health insurance or car insurance or renter’s insurance. I have been incredibly blessed these last few weeks, but it’s crippling to even think about it. Jordana is sitting in the ocean with water wings stopping her from drowning, and this marriage is really just me adding 220 pounds of dead weight to her back.

This is introspection, not complaint. I’m not blaming anyone. But I’ve tried for a year and a half now to somehow work through and past the mistakes I made from 1985 to 1998, and I don’t seem to able to stop that guy from haunting me. It makes me think that 15 to 28 year old Sean is the real deal, and the guy I’ve tried to be since I started hanging out with a better class of person is just a fake.