seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from Switzerland
seen from Singapore
seen from Spain
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Cambodia
seen from Maldives
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Maldives
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
31 days into 2k25, 47 years on this Earth, and I still feel like a 'kidult'. I don't know...
In the meantime, I'm still fighting off the hair loss and the gray seeping through just finding my way through these last 3 years of the 18-49 bracket. It's going to be a tough time until the golden #50 rolls along. I'll have to live through it and see...
JBAD 12: a picture from today.
It’s my face. 47 years old today.
The niece and I.
Making Music Again
Flexing long-unused muscles while sealed-up in a hot and humid space with four other people continues to be a revelation.
Jumping around and yelling for two hours straight is my therapy.
This is my jam.
This is my hot yoga.
Dispatch from the Empty Nest
I’m playing music again. Rehearsing in 15 minutes. I actively made music and toured between 1988 and 2002. This was followed by festival shows a few times a year until roughly 2006-2008.
It’s a baby step, but this small step is the first one towards who-the-hell-I-am post-24x7-fatherhood.
Just like navigating these relationships now, navigating my own self is just as weird, confusing and funny.
Emotion Hangover
I had the second panic attack of my life today. Not as scary as the first, four years ago, but the sensation was just as unreal. It took six hours before I realized that sick days include mental health and retreated home in the late afternoon. The Father's Day cookout turned into emotional chaos, featuring: * Being a buffer for my friend (issues with dad and next bullet point) * Realizing that my friend invited his girlfriend, his soon-to-be ex-wife and her boyfriend (high-minded and well-intentioned insanity) * Scooping ice cream in the kitchen while the two-year old child of those four adults nearly drowned In the aftermath the boyfriend that I just met used the pronoun "we" in a way that still sticks in my craw. "We feel that ..." What kind of tone-deaf monster talks like that about someone they've know for a couple of months? Not my circus, not my monkeys, but that's not the way feelings work, they are messy. I think I'm like a battery that never fully recharged. Not enough sleep and exercise and, well, time. What I'm describing, I hope, is like a distant cousin to PTSD, an emotion hangover. Everything gets in the way of recognizing that stress, but feelings are real. They just hang around, smoking in the back yard, until you are ready to deal with them. Is this a ME thing, or a "Yes. We all go through that" thing?
