Ever wonder why people make these things? Me neither.

I've got a few blogs that I check just about every day. People I've known online for eight years. It's just interesting that I only know these people through a little bit of their lives that gets passed through my computer screen. I guess I check them regularly to make sure that those people are still doing ok, even though most of them, I've never actually met in person. When I read that so-and-so on the west coast is ill, or that she's having love-life problems, or that she saw something beautiful on a walk, it makes me feel a part of her life somehow. When what's-his-name on the east coast has a story about his daughter, or pictures he's taken of his cat, I get a brief feeling of looking into a window of his house. It's nice.

I've been fortunate enough to meet some internet people face-to-face, and I've really enjoyed the experience. Still, the vast majority of internet aquaintances are faceless names on my screen.

Here's to you, faceless names and names with faces. Thank you for bringing my life a little something extra to enjoy. You may not know it, but there have been days when I thought you were the only people on the planet that cared about me. I realize that that was probably in the depths of depression, and that it wasn't true, but you always managed to make me feel a little bit better in some small way.

My Harry Potter book arrived yesterday. I read about twenty pages in it, and decided that I wanted to space it out, rather than eat it all in one sitting. As has always been the case with those books, I'm drawn in instantly and the writing is so familiar to me that I'm right back in the story without having to remind myself of too much that's happened in past volumes. J.K. Rowling has created a really fine series.

Saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory today. Online friends said that Willy Wonka reminded them of Michael Jackson, and I must agree. Johnny Depp, again, pulls off a really nice performance. He somehow manages to be fantastic in just about everything he's cast in. I wonder if he'd go to a 21 Jump Street reunion show.

We're nearing the end of the third of six weeks of summer school. These kids are heading into fourth grade. Getting them to sit down long enough for me to finish a thought is like trying to bathe a cat with one hand behind your back. The cat doesn't like it, you don't like it, and at the end, not much is accomplished other than a lot of noise and fuss.

What is really saddening is that I do enjoy teaching, and I do enjoy helping people to be better at something that will help them to be able to enjoy life later on, and these kids are forcing me to do the "Evil Overlord" instead of the "Guiding Helper" teaching model. Grr. Funny, though, how much better they'll work after I chew their little asses out at loud volume!

Getting them to stay in their seats is like trying to hold a dozen ping-pong balls underwater in a bathtub with one hand. When one of them pops up, and you go after it, they rest of them erupt to the surface. It would be amusing if it weren't such a distraction from what I'm supposed to be doing. We only get through about half of the things in a day that I'd like to get through, due to the corrective measures that I'm constantly having to take. I'm not doing most of these kids much good, I don't think. I have one or two who might be able to learn if the other kids weren't disrupting. It's behavior, far more than ability, that has landed these kids in summer school. They're smart enough to do the work (ok, not all of them...), but the constant bickering, getting up, cross talking, and being "cute" has taken all the time for education away from their busy schedules. You know, there are kids over at the Riley Hospital for Children who WANT to learn to read and do math, who would make good use of the livers, kidneys, corneas, etc., that these kids are just having and not really using. It's a morbid thought, but I reckon we're not too many decades away from farming organs for transplant, anyway.

I managed to crawl my entire ass out of bed this morning at about ten after five, shower, and get to my Fanatics Group by 6am. It was a good meeting, but I confess that I may have dozed a bit every few minutes. Ah, well. Some meetings, you just go to in case they take attendance, I guess. Sort of "what are you willing to do to stay sober" or something.

Dinner tonight with Awesome Auntie and a cousin from out of town (not her kid). All in all, a relaxing and sort of enjoyable weekend.

I was looking at new motorcycles on the internet last night. I think I want a Super Glide FXDI. That's the one with fuel injection. I can put bags and backrests on it, and be able to tour if I want, or I can take them off and have a decent-looking cruiser bike. I know I'll miss the V-Rod, but I have to be honest with myself and recognize that I'm much more about spending a lazy day on a cruiser than a few hours trying my skills with the curves on a sport bike. Or, maybe I'll get in there and decide that I'd rather just go ahead and get a Fat Boy. Or, I'll get in there and decide that I really want another V-Rod. Or, who knows what the hell I might do? I guess keep looking at pretty pictures for a while, at least.

It's been another fairly decent day. Not much in the way of superfluous to report, really. Teaching summer school isn't too bad a gig, really. Today we did an activity that required a lot of coloring and cutting, and I was really amazed at how horribly the kids followed directions. Remember, intrepid reader, that these are the people who will one day be bringing you your medication when you rest in a nursing home. Pray that they don't have to take your temperature the "old fashioned" way. Let's just say that it isn't difficult to see why these kids are in summer school.

Let's talk about that for a minute, eh? We're in a building that's supposed to be air-conditioned. Therefore, it has really small windows. These really keep the room well-insulated when the air-conditioning has been broken for several days. Of course, the condenser unit was leaking last week, so this week we have a nice patch of something that's growing nicely in the little puddle of sunlight, what with the wonderful incubation conditions we have in there. I'm sweating like a two-dollar hooker after a hundred-dollar day by the time I leave to go home. Hopefully that will be fixed soon. One of my kids, DaQuan, can't stay awake to save his life. Maybe a cooler room will help pry his eyes open. I'm about ready to use toothpicks and superglue if the little weasel doesn't start going to bed at a reasonable time.

Some of you emailed me birthday wishes, or left them as messages in my blog comments, so thank you very much. My birthday was nice, and today was nice, and the rest of the week promised to be pleasant, as well. I'm looking forward to seeing my daughters on Sunday. I'll be picking them up from their Ft. Wayne grandmother in the morning, and driving them to my mom's for a week or two of art lessons. They're excited, my mom is excited, and everything is good with the world.

So, for a guy who has had a bumpy road over the last two years, things are sort of nice for the moment. I'm going to do my best to keep from rocking any boats for a while.

I got phone calls from friends here and there, talked to my sister (who sang the "Birthday Dirge" to me over the phone, and had dinner with my mom in my hometown. I got some cookbooks for a present! You know how mental I am about cookbooks...

I'm heading to bed. No, no, no need to get up, I can see myself out, thank you.

Yep. I made it. Funny how I don't feel older. I certainly don't feel wiser. In fact, I sort of feel less wise and more in question of the world around me each day.

I set my alarm to go off at 7am. I suppose that if I really do plan to get up at that time, I should make an attempt to enjoy the hour or so I have until then. Probably, the best way to enjoy that hour is going to be by sleeping, eh? Funny how more and more I'm governed by my bladder than anything else. Ah, youth, wasted on the young!

God, please help me keep my focus on the goals we've already discussed. Help me to do those things that I promised I'd do. Grant me the strength to have the character I want to be able to show my daughters.

I've just reset my ocean sounds on iTunes, and I'm about to crawl back into my bed. I'm sure I'll have more to say here today, so check back (like anyone reads this).

I spent all of my day today inside, scoring tests for CTB/McGraw-Hill. I finished out a project, and I'll start another tomorrow to try to help another team get done. You know what, though? I'm ready to go back to working just one job for a while. I'm tired, dammit. Here it is, 7:30 or so, and I'm about to take myself a little nap. Why? Because it's a good idea, for one, and because all this insomnia is catching up to me. I've been awake for a couple of hours every night for the last I don't know how long, and the novelty of it is starting to wear thin.

OH. I realized this morning that the guy I sat across from yesterday and today was a guy that I saw in the meeting last night. He picked up a 6-month token. He gave me a big smile when I said "I saw you last night, didn't I?" That made me feel good, and it reminded me of what we'd been talking about at the meeting: step seven. Yep, nothing like asking god to remove those defects of character. I guess we can see that I've still got a way to go on that one, eh? I'll keep praying, though. One of these days, I'll make a pretty decent person, I think. ODAAT, boys, that's the cry, and don't let 'em sway you from it.

Neighbors in my apartment complex have found the parking lot to be a wonderful area in which to ignite fireworks. This joyful diversion, which would have delighted me not ten years past, now fills me with a desire to stand in my doorway in boxer shorts and say something like "cut down that dag-blasted racket! Damn kids!" At least I'm only thinking this, rather than going to the door and actually doing it. Let's face it, my boxers are exactly "filled with excitement" if ya know what I mean, and I'd rather do without the public humiliation of showing that to everyone. Happy Fourth of July to all of you readers. And...Stay the hell off my lawn!

Thank you for the birthday card. It arrived at the house recently. I couldn't read the date on the postage cancellation, but judging by the neat handwriting of your wife, it was sent early enough to be certain that it would arrive on time.

You wrote "I hope your life is going ok" as the only note inside the card. Well, dad it's just peachy. What I am awake at almost three in the morning wondering, is why you are going to the trouble to ask that? You've made it quite plain to me that you really do not care too much for me.

Here's where I get caught in the crossfire, dad: If I go to you and attempt to re-kindle any sort of relationship, you'll wonder if I was doing that in order to get some of the crumbs from the feast you serve others. If I do not go to you, you'll decide that I was only interested in you for money to begin with. Either way, I'm a greedy little boy who didn't get his way. Either way, I'll be punished. Either way, I come out in the wrong. As has always been the case in our relationship, facts have little bearing on this conversation.

I'd wonder how you've been, but you continue to send postcards to my children from all the places around the world that you'll never offer to take them. You broke a promise to us, and you mock us with it. I don't believe for a minute that you can understand that this is what you do, but there it is. "Your children can't have this money for education. I'm going to spend it on taking friends around the world on vacations." Do you see that? No, probably not.

So, what then of our family legacy? I'm the namesake. I get the feeling that I'm being punished for that, too, somehow. You are so unwilling to share of what our family was. You want to hoard it all to yourself. We'll never see those special treasures that belonged to your grandfather. You'll donate them to the IMS Museum, because you believe us to be unworthy, while you break promises and fritter away the work of a great man.

So. Why haven't I come crawling back for more, this time? I admit, I do miss some of the nice things you used to lavish on us. Expensive trips, gifts, shopping sprees, dinners, vacations. Those were nice. They always came with a price, though. Absolute loyalty to the cause. I decided that singing the party line was being untrue to myself, and I decided to quit playing the game. It's going to cost me millions, isn't it? Money is your only coin, and a man who wants to show a semblance of integrity makes you uncomfortable, I think. By my refusal to talk to someone who will not stand behind his own word, I make a stand that I will not accept such behavior. You'll never see it that way, though. I'm just the little boy, pouting because he didn't get his way. I know that trying to talk to you is an admission that your decisions were correct. I know that your decisions as far as the family is concerned will now only orbit around my brother. It's sad, because he doesn't really know the truth about you.

It's possible that I'm being hyper-sensitive. I always was the sensitive kid of the three. I've been praying for you, though, when I remember that I need to pray. I ask that god give you the happiness that you deserve. Are you enjoying that, yet? I don't make the assumption that I know what happiness that is, I just ask that you receive it. Sometimes, I get a little relief. It's about then that another postcard arrives from BFE, from another trip you've taken that would have provided a year of education for your grandchildren.

Do I sound bitter enough? It this the seasoning you'd hoped to provide to the stewing concoction of my life? You hope my life is going ok. It certainly is, thank you. I'm WORKING HARD and making money, and I'm going to continue to do that so that my children can have the benefit of a college education. I'm standing by promises I made, even when doing so rankles me, and I stand by those promises simply because I made them. Do you understand this? I don't believe that you can. And that difference is the vast gulf across which we stare. I, staring at you in reproach and shame for your behavior. You, staring at what you can purchase next, not even noticing the course of the lives of your own family.

How's the court proceeding that my sister has brought against you going?

I've had a chance to talk with friends who've had training in psychology, and they tell me that you're a sick person, acting out impulses with no ability to feel real remorse for the damage that you cause. It may be true that you have the conditions that they've told me about. At the end, though, you're a man who steals from and hurts his own children. You're a man to gives his word and takes it back. You're a man who mocks people for being without things that you yourself never earned. You're a base, mean, and tiny person, looking to feel bigger a minute at a time. It's a leaky balloon that you keep blowing up, though. It just sucks that you have to hurt people you're suppose to love in order for you to get the little ego-boosts you need. And that, my father, is why I do not call, write, or otherwise communicate. I know that doing so would only place myself back in your spere of influence, for you to hurt again. So, yes, the card arrived and was received by me as a barb from you, but I'm not going to step in and actually do anything in retaliation. There is not a point in so doing. I cannot win in any argument with you, as logic and facts have no bearing on the direction your mind will take. I therefore, with heavy heart and regret for the man you could have been, consign myself to the knowledge that whether I speak to you or not, you will still spend money that your grandfather would have expected you to pass along to your children, and their children in turn. You have no respect for his efforts. To quote Stephen King, "You have forgotten the face of your father."

Louie

So, I worked all day today, scoring tests. Minutes of fun, I tells ya. Then, went over to the house to discuss financial stuff with the ex. There's a pile of debt, there is. It makes the stomach roll a bit to think about it. Still, it's one step closer to total freedom. It made me sad to sit in that house and look around at the mess it's in. She always said that I was the slob. Now, we all know that I'm not exactly Mr. Neatnick, but I've been gone from there for almost two years. That ain't my mess in there.

I'm really looking forward to going to bed early tonight. How sick is that? 8pm on a Saturday night, and I'm giddy with joy over the thought of being in bed alone all night long. Ah, well. I'm tired. Most of tomorrow's test scoring will be overtime for the week, in addition to having taught summer school every morning. My ass is dragging a bit, and it's a big ass.

I got a birthday card from dad, mailed "c/o" the house address (I haven't told him where I'm living). It said "I hope your life is going ok." That was it. Nothing like "we miss you" or "it'd be nice to hear from you" or anything like that. I don't know about you, but I'm thinking that that sort of boils down to "have a nice life," don't you?

It was good to see the girls, even if only for a few minutes. They grow so fast. Macy has lost one of her top front teeth. If that isn't cute, I don't know what is. Maddie has suddenly outgrown most of her clothes. I miss so much, in such a short amount of time. I'm hoping that when all the dust settles, I'll be able to get into a regular routine of seeing them and having them and taking care of them. It fucking sucks this way, lemmetellya. Maddie is going to be in third grade. The little bundle that we brought home in an ice storm is almost as tall as my armpit. It's unbelievable.

Anyway, intrepid reader, I'm heading to bed early on this fine evening. I'll be up early, too, hopefully in time for the 7am meeting at The Club, before I clock in at 8:30 for another lovely day of scoring.