I am translating the posts in this blog to a word document for some type of publication. I have written hundreds, probably coming close to a thousand blog posts. I examine whether the posts would be interesting to other people. Who is the audience? Dose the audience change from time to time? Who would want to read this?

Sometimes I jot down thoughts. Other times I write to keep myself sane. Sometimes I have an interesting train of thought I want to explore.

As this point in my translating I am almost to the point where I start my new job. Which is the end of the first volume. I read a post about a dream I had where my dad and the WIL were both present. It hit me hard. I have never had my own writing hit me like that.

6:09am the translation is complete up to starting the new job

7:23am I am focused on the future. I am goal oriented. I have plans. Objectives. I hit my targets. I dress well. I live for the day to begin so I can step on stage and star. I am the leader. The focal point. The captain. The energy.

Sex alcohol and work. For the last two decades those have defined who I am. Nothing profound to say. They are the activities which much of my waking life revolve around. Coffee, exercising. Reading. Eating. Now I spend more time writing in the journal. Wasting time. I wiled away thousands of hours just scrolling through content mindlessly. Watching tv mindlessly.

The farther away I get my youth, the chaplaincy the more it feels like a movie of my life. I am pretty sure I wrote about his already but the feeling of having lived while I had the chance. I am thankful for what I was given. In many ways I paid enormous prices for my gifts but I am still thankful.

Sex and drinking. Anticipating and aftermath took up enormous bandwidth. When I was younger I craved freeing up time devoted to vices. Time meant opportunity to achieve more. Apparently that is true. I do have more energy for work. I can focus more. But like this coming weekend I anticipate anxiety. Not sex. I threw away my boner pills and deleted all hook up apps/profiles. But I might drink. I wish I could have a couple drinks while I did something rather than drinking as an activity. Drinking while doing something is having one or two drinks. Having a buzz of mellowness while being busy. Drinking as an activity is drinking 4 to 9 drinks. Sitting watching videos. Crying over memories and losses or singing in the mirror then passing out and feeling lethargic for 24 to 48 hours.

My big plan is to watch golf and drink rum and cola. But really. That activity will last four hours top. Then it is preparing to mitigate hangover symptoms, passing out for a about four hours. Fitful tossing in bed for four hours. Getting up. If I am lucky I don’t have a crushing headache or wrenching heaves. I just feel internally exhausted, waste a day being unproductive day then go back to bed

I am administrator on call tonight for the first time. I was deep asleep at 10:10pm when a nurse called me about a patient revocation. Now I am awake. Gives me time to write.

At 49 I don’t believe this will go anywhere. I have tried for over 25 years. Writing millions of words. But then hospice has clicked again after thirteen years so you never know. I am confident, brazen, bold and strong

My wife can say I cheated on her. I fell in live with another woman. I gave my heart body and soul to someone else. I failed as a husband.

I did not cheat on the WIL. She owns me completely. Even though I physically failed to remain faithful those are meaningless moments of weakness. I would die for the WIL. I told her she could cut my dick off and keep it in a jar. I don’t need it or want it unless it is to be with her. When I was with other people I was a stupid kid left alone with a loaded gun. I was hopelessly doomed to fail from biological urges. But those ego strokes only validated further I was giving the WIL the best version of me. I don’t doubt she was physically with other people when we were together. She alluded to as much when we last were together. I just never ever want to talk about it. That is not a conversation I can have. We are frail. Broken and human. I am her sole possession for all eternity

There is a pathological need for sex to validate my self worth. Sex proved I was attractive. Even if that meant being unfaithful to my wife, to the WIL. The validation stood apart from my relationships. Guilt/shame were balanced by ego/pride. The guilt made it sporadically necessary. Ego satiation the same. A random encounter became a monumental mountain of high and low. With relief I was attractive and disgust I was unfaithful. a single episode was enough to answer the questions.

Over time the shame and ego stroke lessened. The episodes become less frequent. They were painful betrayals but sacred time with the person even if it was fleeting. With the WIL gone and no longer with the wife there was not an emotional connection to the partner. Everything went flat. Like soda left on the counter over night. The effervescence of sex no longer popped.

The same with alcohol. What I rubbed my dick against. What alcohol I ingested were my twin gods. Alcohol was an activity. Getting drunk opened new worlds. But it just became an activity I did for a couple hours. The high wore off. getting drunk became more synonymous with being sick for two days than being free for five hours.

This sounds insensitive…

My wife is overweight. That bothered me for many years because it reflected poorly on me as her husband. After the WIL blow up and we became platonic I separated my self worth from her physical appearance. Since moving to Arizona it has bothered me again. I met new people. I wanted to portray having a healthy attractive family to new acquaintances. This morning I worried about her health. She had gained weight prior to lock down. Now it has escalated. And my daughter has inherited similar eating and exercise habits. My daughter is athletic and attractive. But they are both living unhealthy. This weekend was fun to have them but there was so much food bought and consumed. It was the food equivalent of going on spring break. Not sure the point but a thought I have been having. It isn’t my place to say anything but I believe my wife is as broken as I was in Dana Point. Financially, mentally and health wise. I hope she can find a path she enjoys.

8:09am quick note at work. This is the time I waited for since the chaplaincy ended. Arizona is my moment. The now

I always loved the romance of the road. The excitement of leaving worry behind and starting fresh. You can leave. You can start fresh. But there is no perpetual better. Arizona will grow like a flower. Bloom. Then fade. Just like returning to Wyoming. Utah. And California

More than anything I need to focus on work. Block out all other thoughts. A week of work. A weekend to get settled. A week of work. Back to Dana Point.