In January and early February

Instead of actually blogging, I was engaging in several mystical rituals involving teacher-student relationships.

Also, I composed (but did not mail) a letter to my father (one of exactly three that I have sent him in 40 years) and attempted to compose a letter to my evil stepmother (who refuses to allow my wife and son into her home because of some imagined slight that happened more than 30 years ag0. I'd tell you what that slight was, but I have no fucking clue). I have been trying to figure out a way that can accomplish the goal of getting my father completely and totally out of my life in all respects, yet keeps him in the life of my son, who loves him dearly, and keeps my halfsister (I HATE that I have to refer to her as half anything) in my life, because I seem to dearly love her (which is odd, because we hardly know one-another). My father is not a bad man, but he made some simply awful decisions in his life, and seeks continually to judge, (in a snide, parental-concern sort of judgementality) mine.

And I did several things which I will not detail here that may have been of questionable value, considering what happened later. Suffice it to say that I was engaged in trying to radically reshape my life and attitude toward life, using shamanic means (incorrectly, as it turns out. I wanted it done quickly, and shamanism is both gradual and subtle, so I was fucked from the start, to misquote 'The Commitments"

I could not be the parent I wanted to be. It was not typical father-failure stuff. I was there, physically, still married contentedly to Bastet, his Mom. I am not emotionally distant, I can hug and tickle and engage in physical affection kids need. The problems were in other areas.I didn't really care why that was the case, I just wanted to fix it. If I wanted my son to be a motivated, smart, passionate, reliable, creative and rebellious young boy, I would have to be all those things in order to be an example, and I tried harder than I have ever tried anything in my life before to do just that. And I could not do it.


Parts of it were simple, I guess. smart, passionate, those things I find come quite easily to me. I frequently have to dumb myself down, and ratchet back the burning fire of my enthusiasm, in order to be taken seriously or understood. It isn't even a challenge to pass those on. Creativity was pretty simple, too, tho since I don't understand my own creative process, I just sit around and create with him, it seems to work fine.

But reliability and motivation I just could not do. God damn, didn't I try, tho. Schedules, both internal and external, dates, places I needed to be, events in which I would participate and contribute in some way, Karate, the importance of promises and simple words.

(as an aside, CrowBear couldnt have cared less. As long as I was there to tickle, rub his back, sing King Henry at least occasionally, and shut the fuck up while he played computer games, he was happy. None of this is about HIM, it is all (of course) about me.)

It started when he quit karate. And then I had to quit, for different reasons. Every single failure on my part, failure to do the dishes or to work with him on writing, or even things as simple as singing to him when he wanted, every scheduled item uncompleted, every event unattended stuck a knife in my gut.

Stuck a knife in my gut. I have a strange literalness in my metaphors. Starting in November 07, I started vomiting, for hours at a time, three or four days a week (Bastet says more). I lost a lot of weight, but things were getting progressively uglier here, as I got sicker and sicker and no idea why. (the metaphor not having occurred to me yet).

I started looking at all the things together. I have three students (four if you are broadminded, five if you are REALLY broadminded). On in particular, is a complete failure on my part, another is now a bitter enemy, and another who never should have even BEEN a student. Failure, failure, failure. One success, and one agreement to stuff the teacher/student thing and just hang out. If looked at realistically, this is my life's work: Out of five, that's three failures, one success and one agreement to desist.

And my kid.

And my Dad.

It was a cycle, a really bad one. My father treats my son in such a way that, as he is a child, he sees nothing but love and affection. When he is old enough to understand what is actually happening as my father showers him with affection (but never allows him over for the night or even to visit for lunch), he will understand both shame and hate. My father, on some level, knows this. He also knows he will be dead when the transition hits and will never have to do any of the explaining about why he was such a cowardly bastard. Leaving me with the entire pool of pigshit to drag my kid through when he is old enough to understand the stench.

I can't teach my kid the things I need to teach him, because I was never taught them. My students are mostly the same way as I, (except Valkyrie, who, I suspect, has enough reliability and motivation for several army units) and as such, their students are likely to be the same.

And I can't stop it. I can't fundamentally change these things about myself, altho they may be the most important things I can conceivably change. More failure.

The vomiting continued until early last week. It had been building in strength and intensity for three months.

I was constantly looking for a way to solve the dilemmas, and could not.

My brain stopped working, or, rather, it had stopped working well. I have an I.Q. of over 180, and I rely on it like most people rely on breathing. It failed. My mind came to the conclusion that there was no way to solve my existential dilemmas under any circumstance, including flight or suicide.

So, a few days ago, I had a heart attack.

I lived.

Now what?