Deranged Ramblings

A waking dream that I’ve probably also had while asleep at some point or, if not, that I probably will. I stand on the banks of the river Styx, which I recognize immediately from the poetry which, for once, proves factually and not just metaphorically accurate. The water of the river is so black that it’s almost not even water at all, but the darkness of space, the void between the stars. There is no motion in that river. It is the end of everything. I wait for a long time there. That’s fine, its not like I am in a hurry at the moment. It gives me time to think, time I never really gave myself before getting here. On the banks of the river Styx, there are no distractions. All you have is yourself and you know, looking at the infinite blackness of the river, that you might not even have that for very long. Along comes the boatman, right on cue, looking as grim and gloomy as I expected. He is wearing his long black robe with the quintessential cowl that completely hides his (I

Dear Russell Tovey, Ok, we need to talk. I think you know why. While it's always nice of you to drop by for a cameo in one of my dreams, I think showing up in every single one of them last night was a little excessive. True, I went to bed feeling quite sick from a migraine and woke up feeling much better, so I suppose you could argue your presence had a salutary effect on my health, but still it's a little creepy, RT. It's like you're obsessed with me or something. I mean when I was on that random cruise for some reason in the first dream, it was a pleasant surprise to see you. And when you pulled me aside to tell me that story about your father dying (is that even true , Russell??) I totally didn't even see that you were just trying to get me to drop my guard so you could swoop in with that perfect little kiss. Smooth, Tovey, real smooth. And you had to know when you showed up later on selling chocolate bars for a kid's fundraiser (and what's up with th

It's Mother's Day and once again I find myself in the position of the selfish son who can't think of anything to get mom to show her how much she means to me. True, the whole idea of commercial holidays still irritates me. How is a bunch of over-priced flowers supposed to really show appreciation to somebody to whom I owe literally everything that I am and everything that I have? It's too much. Usually I can't even wrap my head around it so I don't do much of anything. And in another month I'll go through the same experience with Father's Day. And then the rest of the year will go by with me not calling home as much as I should. These people deserve so much more than a day. I work with teenagers now, and watching them interact with their parents has been horrific. Not just because of the bad attitude, the backtalk, the disdain, and the overwhelming amount of ingratitude on display, but because in their behavior I cannot help but remember myself at thei