// In Dreams

In my dreams I am usually flying – or floating – above the earth. I use my arms as wings and fly over familiar streets, buildings, cities and oceans. I see people I know, wave and continue on. It might sound dumb, but that’s how I get around in the nighttime world since my injury. Last night was different, however. Last night I walked for the first time in four years. It was nice.

In my dreams I am usually alone. People do pop up here and there, but I don’t interact with them, let alone have conversations with them. Last night I was visited by my ex-wife, Lyra. She walked with me. We ran along a sidewalk downtown, laughing and being goofy. I remember it being sunny and bright. I remember not giving a shit what people thought of us. It was over as quickly as it started.

I woke up smiling.

Lyra and I are still very close. I told her about the dream in a text. She was touched. We sent smileys to one another. I told her if I could walk, I most likely would run to her just to show her I could.

“Don’t make me cry at work,” she wrote.

“Didn’t mean to,” I responded.

I smiled again. A wide, sideways smile.


// A Query

In the end time, just before your eyes must close, pinching off the last bit of life – living, breathing, colorful life – and the scene fades to pitch, would you be satisfied with what you had given to the world?


// Officially Free From Tobacco Addiction

It has been long enough now that I feel I can share this info with the world. It has been one full month since my last cigarette. I wanted to quit for a while, but would always find some kind of excuse to keep doing it. The fact is, I really liked to smoke. Yes, it stinks, it makes the smoker stink, it’s bad for your body, and is all-around no good. But I liked it. A lot.

There are many reasons why I made the decision to quit. The one huge reason was that my house was beginning to smell like a bar. I had never smoked in the house prior to this year. It all started when I came home from the hospital. I had no way to go outside to smoke, so I just did it in the bed. I know, bad idea. I’m full of them. Flash-forward about nine months and yes, stinky house. That had to end.

My method: cold turkey with a side of e-cigarette (for about two weeks).

It has only been one month, but I already feel the benefits of not smoking cigarettes. I do have a little more of an appetite now, but that might not be a bad thing. I probably do need to eat a little more. My roommate keeps me stocked up on Snickers and Twizzlers. He’s a good man.

I’m on my way and my breath doesn’t stink. Good start.


// Post-Surgery Depression?

Surgery was a while ago. It was successful. Follow-up appointment was missed, mainly on purpose. I want to meet with my doctor, not one of her nurses. I have some things to discuss with her and only her. No, it is not because she is cute. That has nothing to do with it (this time). Surgery was supposed to make me feel better. But I’ve been really tired. Unusually tired.

This, I guess, is my way of apologizing for not posting anything for the past few weeks. It’s not because I am lazy, at least not this time. Production is down. I fear there might be a coup. I’m going to be taken over by myself. I’ll just start typing things that make little to no sense at all.

All work and no play makes Statts a dull boy…

Something needs to change.


// My Muse

Read with your best British accent (more James Bond, less Jason Stathem):

My muse,

I feel as though I might lose my life if I were to ever gaze upon your breast. Its grandeur, and the heart that beats beneath, alluring, ever feeding the beast that is my want, my desire, my true light, steady… and I, transfixed in my enamored state, pursue further. Please hear my heart’s voice, as it tells a tale of truth, of love, and of eternity.


// Successful Surgery, Green Monkey & Morphine

It is official. I am a dad. My broken-rock “son” was born into this world in the early morning hours of October 5, 2012. It was a routine procedure, choreographed to perfection by my cute-as-a-button (and getting famous) pee doctor. I expected no less from her.

When I finally woke up I felt a bit of pain. My sweet, older nurse gave me morphine. Lots of it. We bonded rather quickly, the the nurse and I (the morphine and I also bonded rather quickly – my silent, soothing friend). When it was injected I felt I was slowly flying, a little higher, a little higher, a little higher, and… cruise. I’d drift off to sleep and have – quite possibly – the most entertaining dreams I’ve had in a year or so. I’d wake up hurting, only to have my nurse, who was now wrapped around my little finger, there at my side, holding a syringe full of my silent friend. This went on for about a day, and I was released into the wild.

My mother, the best on Earth, was with me the whole time. She survived the night in the loudest chair I’ve ever heard in my life. I was high as a fucking kite and it could still wake me up with every move tiny move she made. I’m surprised she made it until the morning. She was happy to get out of the hospital… happier than me, even. She slept well the night of my release.

Some pretty special people visited me right after I “came to” and was put back into my room. I awoke to a big, green, fuzzy monkey and a kiss on my massive forehead. Not a bad way to wake up. Everyone was pleased to know that my penis was okay (the entire Chuck Norris-style extraction was done through my best little guy). The gigantic, spike-riddled rock-baby was too large in its original form to be pulled through my urethra, so it had to be broken up inside my body and removed in manageable “chunks.” Nice. Overall, the “baby” is pretty impressive. It was a little over half an inch long and about a quarter of an inch thick. I’m glad I never actually passed it. His name is Uri. Fitting.

Many people sent me messages and called my phone. I loved each and every call and/or comment. I have a lot of great people in my life and I appreciate each and every one of them. Surgery is not always fun, but sometimes it is needed and often, inevitable. What matters is having people who care about you and want you to come out on the other side. Without them, life wouldn’t be very much fun anyway.

I feel better.


// Tomorrow I Give Birth

I have a date with my cute pee doctor and a few assorted (stabby) medical instruments tomorrow morning. This procedure will remove the shadow-casting rock-baby living in my soft, vulnerable bladder (it has been gestating for over a year now with no issues, but the last two months have been a living hell). Needless to say, the stone should be big… and more fun to have in a jar than it in me. It already has a place reserved on the shelf with its 35-odd brothers and sisters. It will be the crowning achievement thus far. A big brother to everyone else, at least for now. Visiting hours TBA.

There was a very bright moment today. I was visited by someone pretty special. I’ll be thinking about her face while I am high as a kite and under the knife. I think I’ll make it.

It should be a total blast. And it better not ruin my plans of seeing two great bands later in the evening. I want to rock out with my rock out. We shall see.