Notes from the Red Bird House

I spent some time tonight doing something I haven't done in ages - I read a few of my old blogs. Most were circa 2011. I was a good writer back them. Funny, spot-on with observations, and prolific. I wrote all the time. All. The. Time. In one two day period, I posted five blogs. Yeesh. It's been months since I posted five blogs total. Clearly, I'm not the writer I used to be. I am incidentally not the person I used to be either. My writing was full of crushes and diatribes about being happily alone. Justification for my single state? Yeah, I'm not so sure of that. I did like being single. I also liked having the occasional crush I knew wouldn't go anywhere. In some ways, life was easy back them. I had few worries and little drama. It was me, myself, and I against the world. I was happy. I was happy. Because I didn't know any better? Because I'd become accustomed to being alone? Because I didn't think there was anything else out there for me? Because ...

Silence. Today it's been my friend. I don't know what to think much less what to say. I'm done for now and just want to be insulated. I don't want to explain or have it explained to me. More than anything, I guess, I don't want to hear it. It? Yeah, it. I don't what 'it' is but I know for a fact that I don't want to know anything about it. Truthfully, I needed today to be about nothing. Not reality, not surreality, not the past, present, or future. I knew the only thing I could tolerate today would be silence, a deep, dark, still silence. I needed a day in between, a day for me, a day away. In a few hours, today will end and I'll fall into what I hope is a dreamless, quiet sleep. Right now, I'm wishing for another silent day tomorrow. I don't think I'll get it. Sooner or later, I'll have to re-enter the world and re-join the noise. I'll have to hear about it, whatever 'it' is. I'll have to face the past, the...

And just like that, the soul cracks and in comes the bright light of day. For a jumbled moment, past becomes present becomes future becomes surreal becomes something I don't want to think about. Long ago, for days upon days and months upon months, that something was all there was. Each breath brought another thought, another sadness. Then one fine, mysterious day, there was silence, peace, and a welcome darkness. Life went on and my soul healed. Then with one sentence, I was shaken, roused from a deep sleep. A nightmare maybe? A dream come true? No, just one of those weird dreams that you can't quite remember and can't quite forget. Like the time I woke up with Jodie Foster's cat. Or the time a UFO sucked me out of the cockpit of an F-14. It can't be happening. Yes, it can. No, really, it can't. No, really, it can. And can't. All at the same time. Seal the crack, welcome the darkness, shut out the surreal light of day. Remember to forget or forget to r...

I  want to not be "perfect". Oh, by no means do I believe I'm perfect. I'm decidedly imperfect, flawed even. I'm human. I do human things. I make mistakes, say the wrong thing at the wrong time. I fail quite often, more often than average. So, if I'm not perfect why do I not want to be "perfect"? After all, aren't I already there? Check it out - an unexpected success.  Not quite. The difference lies within the quotation marks. You see, they say I'm "perfect", insist on it actually. Regardless what I do or how much I stress the inverse, they cannot be swayed. Stacee Harris is "perfect". Perfect for them? I always ask. No, "perfect" period. And that's when the gray clouds begin forming and I pull out the egg timer. I can assure you with the absolute greatest certainty that my "perfect" is not perfect for them. How do I know? The egg timer. Once I am deemed "perfect" I have the half life o...

The Sounds of Silence People ask me why I'm not writing. I have several reasons. First of all, it's winter break and I spend enough time writing during the semester. Secondly, my computer has been sucking lately. Above all, though, I just don't like what I'd write. And I'm sure the ones asking after it wouldn't like it much either. I'm not in a bad place. I'm in a place. It's a familiar one. One that has me asking friends to remind me that I'm a survivor. Deep inside, I know I am. But in this place, I need the reminder. I need to hear it or read it in a text. I need someone to tell me that I've made it through before and I will again. Love is fickle. Not my love. My love is solid, sure, and unwavering. Until it has to become less solid, less sure, and waver a little. Mind you, it's never by my choice, the wavering. I do it for sanity. And to not seem overly pathetic. They make the choice, they become fickle and I am left with one ch...

I have been lucky enough to have two beautiful women call me 'the love of their life'. I have been unlucky enough that both chose other paths, paths that did not include me. I ask myself over and over again. Why? Why? Why? Why? Most people kill themselves trying to find great love and when they do, they grab on with both hands so it doesn't get away. And yet these two women, who said they couldn't live without me, are. I'm a forty-four year old realist and I know with the greatest certainty that there are only a few things a human being can't live without and none of them are another human being. Oxygen, warmth, food, water... These are the keys to survival. All that aside, I did (errantly) have the expectation that they would want to be with me. After all, doesn't everyone want to spend the rest of their life with the love of their life? I know I do. I'm a serial non-dater, so much so that I generally tell people that I don't date. It cuts nicely ...

The problem is that I don't want my old life back. I want my girlfriend and my most recent life back. I know that may sound shocking given that my old life was good, damn good in fact. I could do what I wanted without ever checking in with anyone else. I only had one work schedule to worry about. My DVR wasn't full of 'Housewives'. I traveled. I watched a lot of tennis. I dreamed my own dreams. I planned my own life. I thought exclusively about me. See? Damn good life. So what's the problem? Why don't I just sidle back over to my old life and hit 'resume'? Yeah well... A strange thing happened. I found a better life. For five months and five days, I had a great life, a damn great life. By my math great beats good every time. Great was great. I have to say. Love, beauty, laughter, togetherness beat all. When they are with the right person, and they were. Time was short but it was perfect, as perfect as I can imagine it being. I loved it, her, and us ...