Corey’s Chronicle Hours……

With all that this day held for me….I was determined to figure out a name for my new writing hours. While I painted, and sorted through many pictures, and finally went to the store to get digital reprints, the name for my writing before 3-6 pm hit me like a volt from a battery I once licked.  I couldn’t accept that there was more than my maniac’s hours for me to really write.  However, as it turned out I have another time; that is much different in  almost every detail. So pleased I worked on this much of the day.  I couldn’t  have shown up without a proper name, to give it’s feel, it’s own set of characteristics.

“Corey’s Chronicle Hour’s” are much different than my maniac’s hours, but I remain still the same.  It is a more serene and quiet, with my energy level a bit lowbar drinker.  My writing is slower, perhaps maybe better.  My mind is quieted, and Julia Bleu is laying down.  The light in my study is oh so different.  Only the sun and the natural light blanket my desk and my computer. I am excited to own this new ‘writing’ time.  I have never written anything original  outside the maniac’s hours until this week. What a gift, for this mere moron of  prose.  I pray with the change of my tempo, my writing may improve. I do have a coffee, I admit out of habit.  It is not necessary or part of the time.  Thoughts about dinner dance in the back of my mind.

Today I am scattered, thrown off by sleeping late, and the impending arrival of my ex-wife and Bella.  My ex-wife mentioned to me between her flights, how surreal it felt.  I am worried sick, all that is left of our beloved dog, is memories and three urns apportioned with his last remains. I pray they wait to come over tomorrow.  The sadness and grief from both of them will be too much for me to bear…..they are not prepared, are we ever? Heck no! They took a trip to Europe and the dog is left in three beautiful containers.  It feels so wrong, I feel so guilty; one week ago now, we were out in the yard in the bright sunshine.  It had been such a perfect day for Jack, I feel as though I did something very wrong to my best friend.

This promise I make to you as well as to myself.  The blogging about Jack is over with this meme.  I will chronicle Julia Bleu’s journey through the cancer phase.  But I cease to exploit my family’s personal grief. I would do anything yes anything to break their emotional fall.  Sitting here and writing I do nothing at all.  I dug out my Jack pictures and found one they haven’t seen.  I went to the store and got 8x10s for all of us, and a couple of Julia Bleu and Jack together.  I will not lie, the candles are still lit.  No not for Jack, but for Bella and my ex-wife.

I am filled with nervous energy and if anyone knows me, for me to admit it must be an amped up moment for sure. Julia Bleu is my steady stead, she is with me, I can’t fathom bad news about her this week.  Tonight we will do whatever my baby Bella needs.  They are flying into 6 hours of jet lag, so I pray and I hope she goes home with Camie.  However she will go to bed the first time in her life without her “Jackie.”  My heart is broken already for me, but the grief and the sadness to come from my ex-wife and Bella crushes me.  It has been exactly one week now, Jack left for the heavens and did so much more.

I can’t think of much but in just an hour, they should be in their limo and heading home.  I took my last Adderall at 4:30 pm, way too late I didn’t need it but I need to stay up for whatever they need.  I wonder about the homeless guy I met last night at the story; Eugene, the first person to call me a faggot.  I guess it could have been worse, I thought about him a lot today.  I yearn on one hand to hear his stories….he looks like his lead a pretty hard life.  My best friend Stephanie joked he probably contacted all of his friends.  That’s alright I think because I have friends too, and they can pony up and help the cause too.

I pray I don’t sleep through the maniac’s hours, I was off all day without my blissed out routine. I lost my new IPHONE for three hours, I was moments away to heading out to replace it.  Next time insurance I vowed today, with all that’s going on I can’t take the chance. The time is just slowing almost to a stop, I pray they don’t run into delays.  None of us can take much more, I almost forgot my knee surgery Wednesday.  I am a bit pissed, and my anger management skills fail me, my deadbeat neighbors who have been evicted, are having a barbeque with my furniture.  No problem there, I opened the door and without a sound, I glared at the people until they stood up. Freeloaders who are the worst of neighbors, I brought in all my furniture, I smile I feel better already.  They think they can bully me, I am small and fragile and always polite.  However, I wouldn’t want to freak my freaky tonight, so I am glad they all took their bitter party inside.  The one that is the worst, is not even on the lease, he tries very hard to bully and threaten me. I love all people on the best of days, FYI to them, this isn’t one of those days.  I have memorized the police non-emergency line.  Got a feeling I might be ringing one time or two.  Bad seeds they are, they can not leave any faster, however I believe they’re big time players….what a freaking disaster….To boot, my landlord is off in Europe, he is changing their locks upon his return.  I honestly have a limit I do, not like my Amex black card am I. I feel so much and it borders combustible, laying low is good and I am grateful for these hours.  Not used to them yet, I will get there in time, with a wonderful flavorful routine all its own.

I wish I had something more to say, thinking about everything just gets in my way.  It is not the maniac’s hours to be sure, but I take it; its a gift, I can write more than once a day.  With the best of wishes I bid you good night.  Stay tuned for tomorrow I will sure be full of fight.  Forgive me as I get these bearings, even the trains are off their schedule as I usually discern.



I Missed My Maniac’s Hours, My Day is Not Right

This morning out of shear exhaustion I slept.  I slept right through the maniac’s hours.  Not like me, but life has been hard and I have the extra worry of my family returning home today.  I feel so out of sorts, my routine ruined.  Time is escaping me as much as I fight it.  I must take ‘my time’ to do what I do, whether in the still of the night or the shining sun of daylight.

I am not sure I can fully explain, what the maniac’s hours and ensuing routine represent to me.  I need them, I crave them, without that time I don’t breath.  I know it will take tomorrow to get things back on course. For it’s not just about the cof2 am.jpgfee, and time, and the vibrant bright life of creativity that fills my head and my soul. I tried oh I tried to replicate it, at various other times with utter abysmal failure.  Recently, I have found something new. Come four pm in the late afternoon, if I go get my coffee and get a tich lucky, I am able to write again with full force and  flurry.  This is an all new experience, so maybe today is not lost.  I will bide my time and wait for afternoon.  I will spend the day spinning thoughts in my head, hoping to get something onto the page.  I am not letting me guard down about 4 pm. It has happened a few times so I surely can’t depend.

Today I must use my unbridled voice. It will have to wait for later, if I even have a chance.  I need to write specifically about the maniac’s hours, I am in love, in lust, I crave both the time and the coinciding feelings oh so bad.  Its the walk to the store in the quiet of the morn, its the tincture of coffee I so carefully make.  It is that hallowed walk back home, as I walk in drenched anticipation for what is right in front of me.  Getting in the house, I unleash Julia Bleu.  She knows the routine and bounds into the study.  I hang up my coat and put my wallet away; the desk the computer are pulling me in.  I sit down at last, take a sip of my coffee, Julia Bleu jumps up on my lap and then it begins: for a few hours I AM A WRITER.  Yes, terrible, a pure moron at prose.  However, during the illusion of the hours, I am granted a ticket to dream and so I do.  I read people’s blogs, and I begin to start mine.  Nothing, no nothing feels better than that.  I write, I read some more, perhaps I scratch what I was writing.  No matter what I AM A WRITER at this point.

As the daybreak arrives, I have mixed emotions.  Happy for the day ahead, but sad to see my maniac’s hours turn into to dawn.  I am done, it is finished, the coffee no more.  I try to finish my blog I will post.  I struggle to complete it, as it isn’t the same.  However now I might just have found another special hour.  It is lacking a name to give it real life.  What to call it escapes me right now.  I will think about it as I meander through my day.  Hopefully to return at 4 pm, with coffee and pug.  I will take my seat by the window to the world, and call upon the forces making this possible for me.

I leave you now, unfulfilled yet hopeful. If I craft a name for those hours I will certainly be happy.  Without a name they haven’t much life, without any life they are not yet real to me.  I will brainstorm, sit quiet, whatever it takes.  I am planning my day at this epic chance of recovery.  See you soon, later on with much to share.  My only wish is a name to importantly  bear……..



My Family Comes Home to Jack and Julia Bleu

This morning I slept way in almost to 5:00 am.  Very unusually late for me, especially on a Saturday morning.  I awoke immediately with the sunken sick feeling that one week ago, Jack was here with us.  Now he lays portioned in the first floor hallway, in three oak bags covered in green satchels.  It is beyond words although death is inevitable, that Jack was alive here just one week ago.  I was filled with worry but Jack gave all signs he was quickly turning the corner.

My ex-wife just texted from Budapest.  They are anxiously waiting to get on a plane to bring them to Boston and finally get home.  She said something telling I didn’t let get by me.  She said, everything was so surreal, and coming home to no Jack would take some time.  I explained to her how jarring it was, to pick Jack up all apportioned into three.  Silence I met on the end of the phone.  Tonight and tomorrow my family is going to be a wreck.  I am worried most about my young daughter, Bella.  She hasn’t been the same since the word of his passing.  There is going to be so hard on her heart.  Jack filled up his very own spot.

I sit and wonder  why blog again, about Jack dying and still not moving along.  For sure people are sick of these sad, sorry blogs. But my head and heart are filled with nothing else.  None of us have experienced great loss in a while. Bella has never experienced it in her short life.

I have been thinking hard of why Jackson’s death.  Here is a few of the remarkable thoughts I have procured:

Jack died here with me by his side.  I should be honored and thankfully for such a deed.  My Bella was spared the trauma of finding a dead dog, and for that I will always be thankful to Jack.

Secondly, it that wasn’t enough.  His actual dying probably saved Julia Bleu’s life. See I had just taken her to another vet for her annual checkup.  They said she was healthy and good for a year.  When Jack passed and Julia Bleu stopped eating, I brought her back to the vet who last treated Jack.  He was thorough and good, and examined her closely.  Just by chance finding a lump on her backside.  He said, “Let’s aspirate it just to be sure.  I am sure it is nothing but let’s play it safe.”

He continued to explain to me all about grieving.  How animals go through it and it can be rather tough.  So we left the vets and would wait twenty five minutes to hear back from the vet.  As you most know the news was not good. Yes a tumor, yes cancer to boot.  Surgery immediately to try and save her life.

Could Jack’s death actually saved Julia Bleu’s life?  I can tell you this she wouldn’t have seen another vet for a year.  Jack’s time had come, look he was 16 years old.  But he died and spared Bella, and I will say saved Julia Bleu’s life.  He did so much in life that can’t be explained, but in DYING he continued his fabled history.  To spare my Bella and save tiny Julia Bleu, is the ultimate in living and dying as well.  Jack knew what he was doing we wanted one last day; on a full stomach and a trip out into the yard he graciously passed away.

So tonight or tomorrow my family will gather, and we truly will begin the grieving process for sure.  Jack’s death has taught me much with each passing day.  He reminded  me to remember how fragile life is….since Jack’s passing I have reached out to friends and especially my parents.  They are getting older and I don’t want to mess up…..everyday for 10 minutes I talk to my mom.  I also don’t reject anymore of her calls.  When it comes to dying and loss, it just gets harder.  Almost forty, I have a lot to lose in front of me.  But Jack reminded me of such an important lesson; never forget to hug, kiss and say I love you to the people in your life.  No I am not a fatalist by any means.  Just a person blessed with a very special pug.  I am going to get the three satchels downstairs.  I have an idea which might may it easier on everybody.  I am going to take some twisties and latch the satchels together.  Jack will be connected and so will  we.  Hopefully this symbol of Jack latched by three, will help to heal all of us and finally set us free.

To the higher ground lived is what I aspire, today I will do everything to ease my daughter’s impending pain.  I bought  box a bright green “Peace”  box and a wooded letter J.  I will paint it and glue it upon the box.  I will


Jack and Julia Bleu…..forever best friends!

fill it with Jack, and all his stuff I have.  I know it wont take away the hole in her heart.  But maybe someday it will bring her some pleasure, as she looks back on Jack and what a beautiful life.


Born This Way-2016

You, Me, We All Make A Difference…

Today I awoke able to take a deep, long breath at last.  The last three weeks, for reasons which have already been blogged about, are easing up or I am naturally getting used to the pain, uncertainty, the hurdles ahead of me.

I started my day with my pug, Julia Bleu.  It was 12:30 am, the maniac’s hours, and we hobbled to the twenty-four convenience store to make my perfect cup of coffee.  When we got close to the store, I noticed a seemingly homeless man, shivering in the cold.  I have seen this picture many of times, always slowed down and done nothing more.  I have been filled with all the various acts of kindness I and my family has received these weeks.  I thought at great length, how I too could do more, do something, just anything, more than nothing.  So during this night, my wallet flush with cash, I respectfully asked the wearied old man, “Is there anything I could buy you to eat, would you like a cup of co33c3231a0a58851503aa7b0a56710026ffee or something else?

This small old man, got up from his seat, didn’t say a word and walked into the store.  I said, “Let me know what you need, I will be over making my coffee.  He might have mumbled I wasn’t quite sure.  I finished making my perfect cup of coffee, and looked around not knowing what this man was actually up to.  I wanted to pay and head home, but I couldn’t leave him stranded if he needed some help.  I peered through the aisles, and finally spotted him. He had piled high many drinks, and snacks foods, which I guess meant I was buying.  Time was passing and he appeared in no rush, so I gently said, “I need to leave now can you bring your things to the front of the store?”  Without nary a world, or a look in my eye, he heaved his new purchases upon the counter.  The clerk looked at me, I replied very quietly, “I would take care of that.”  I paid the cashier, who knows me quite well, and I realized she thought I was making a mistake.  I let it be, his things got packed in two bags, and I opened the door to let him go ahead of me.  “You know,” he growled, “I never let a ‘faggot’ help me out before.  Times are tough, for that to happen.”  I instantly went from Buddha to full category 5 hurricane without any sunshine.  “Sir I said, “I am not a faggot but it doesn’t matter.  You see old man, I will buy you whatever you need when I see you, but you must understand one thing perfectly clear. My friends are gay, they are transgendered, some are African American, you get my point.  They are all my friends, and I will not allow you to speak ill of anyone of them.  Just like I wouldn’t let anyone say hurtful things about you.”  “Are you done yet?”  “Yes I am sir, I hope you got what you needed, and I hope you heard what I said.  “Okay, Christ, no more faggots, I got it.”  “Thank you,” I said and have a good night.  “You got a name prince charming?” “Yes, I guess I might be a prince, but for sure my name is Corey.” “Please call me Corey.”  “Do you have a name?” I hesitantly inquired. “It’s Eugene.  You got that?”  “Yes, Eugene I heard you.  “You will back tomorrow?’ he said sort of nicely.  “Yes Eugene I will be back tomorrow.  I will see you then. Stay safe.”

On I went a bit over cooked, with Julia Bleu anxious to get back to the house.  Did I do the right thing; will Eugene be back tomorrow?  I don’t know, but I will be there, and will do as I said so no matter what. I got home and thought about Eugene, and the 1000s of people just like him on the streets. Everything these days, is hitting me hard, I can’t find a light minute to spare my heavy heart.  I will be back; will he be there?  I have never seen him before.  I wondered as my mind drifted, will I get to know him?  Will we share our stories?

I then began to write in my electronic journal I am reduced to use, because of my limited hand from the injuries. Oh how I miss my pen and my journal.  I began to write about all the random acts of kindness I have received since my fall, and all the kindness my family has received from the death of Jack, and Julia Bleu’s cancer. It is mind boggling to say the least, I know a lot of the people who have so graciously helped, do not have enough money for their own needs and families. Yet they still give.  I don’t know to synthesize this kindness and generosity.  I thought some more, and I am going to try in my way, ‘to give back to the universe.’ I am not going to put my head down and avoid stranger contact, I am going to try to say at least “Hi.” I am going to remember all that has been given, and make sure not to miss a single opportunity to share my gratitude.  I will not overlook those we tried to avoid. I am certainly not Robin hood, but I can do so much more; so much better in this world.  I stopped right there, it seemed like enough.  To say it, to write it is easy enough.  But I challenge myself and everyone else, to do what they feel ‘makes a difference in this world.’  All our contributions will be so different for sure, but what if we tried, just one person at a time.  Surely we can all smile and say hello to a stranger? Maybe that’s enough; it’s what you can do.  So make it a point to do what you can do.

I can’t get that old crank Eugene out of my head.  I wonder and wonder if I will see him tomorrow?




I Made a Friend on Social Media…

Today is the first day in weeks that I haven’t been dragged down with surgery, loss, illness, and shear chaos.  So it was only fitting that today I would meet a Facebook friend, in person for the very first time.

My Facebook account is unique in many ways.  As a person who absolutely adores beautiful woman, a year ago I started a Facebook page dedicated to beautiful women who are transgendered.  I start last Spring, with one transgendered friend, and now a year later I have been friend requested so many times, I have over 2000 beautiful women who are just as beautiful on the inside.  In the process of acquiring acceptance, I learned a lot about myself as an ally and supporter.  I am994b9f2d5983de1e354994cbdb29ea27 honored and privileged to be a member of this unique, maligned, misrepresented group of beautiful souls.

The stories of lost spouses, children, lifetime jobs, parents, and friends is too numerous to explain.  Suffice it to say these women are brave, courageous, and are now fighting for basic rights to use a fucking bathroom.  They are not pedophiles, freaks or perverts in the least.  The bathroom is preyed upon by sick twisted straight men.  These women live always in danger, they are constantly killed, raped, and bullied.   I have been humbled to my knees on so many occasions, I don’t know how I lived before I was welcomed into this crazy, brilliant dynamic community.

Before you think, I don’t have a real life, I am a parent, a student, and I am surrounded by my “real” friends and family.  I do not live for Facebook or my Twitter accounts.   Nor do I see or feel that connections in cyberspace are more than limited and mostly artificial interactions at best.  As a late night blogger and Facebook user, I have had the experience of “talking to an internet stranger”; hours later left, a better me.  Those experiences are so few and far between.  Truly forming a cyber-space connection is knowingly impossible.

So how did I get to today, and meeting Adrianna in person? Yes, she is real and she truly exists. We started like any in a social media environment.  I “liked” her page, she ‘liked” me back.  Simple enough, nothing extraordinary.  What happened in six weeks, can’t really be explained. All I know is we had a disagreement on the pages of Facebook.  It landed in phone calls, quasi plans to get together Thursday morning.  We were both excited, nervous and giddy. I had my doubts…not about Adrianna but mostly about myself.  I am not very good at long time social commitments, and was anxious about being “on” for an uncertain amount a time.

Well Adrianna, surpassed all my expectations.  A completely loving-soul, who came bravely as herself, to an unknown person in an unfamiliar town.  I must confess she is my first transgendered woman friend.  I was nervous, yet excited and so surprised.  Through the maze of social media, we had definitely connected, and most surprising we were both as we presented in the lost world of profiles, and made up personas.  I instantly fell for this beautiful person; whose soul exudes much to share in this life.  I admit I can’t relate to her journey, but we connected so deeply on the pains which fill life.

The day turned to afternoon and lead into evening, neither of us wanted to break the magic spell.  I doubt many people have had this experience, but today I found my friend, a soulmate for sure.  I know these words are deep, yet more so the emotion, of two individuals who dared to take a chance.  I realize this is because of our cosmic connection.  I do not feel this will happen again.  But tonight, I am grateful to the stars above. For all the time I logged on Facebook which  gifted me such a gem.  I wish and I want for so much for Adrianna.  She is fragile, and delicate, with a fear I want to wipe away.  She calls her journey a part of revealing, unveiling her truth that has always been there.

I am touched beyond words by the power of her spirit, her genuine gratitude for my mere acceptance of her.  What is there not to adore about her, so gentlte, so brilliant, so many stories to share?  So tonight, we parted, we will see each other soon.  I feel a special sense of a gratitude I haven’t known.  I feel and I make no judgment of her, and in return she has gifted with an open mind and trusting heart.  So now I will wait for her to make it home safely, and go back to “liking” and probably posting.  I have not a thought anyone will understand, but tonight I share with my real friends my gift of Adrianna.

For surely the next time my friends and I get together, Adrianna will be invited to share in the fun.  I revel in the delight of the unknown before me.  Had you asked me last night I never would have believed.  It feels too good to good to be true, but when you are real, no matter what the setting, you will find a like person in the biggest of crowds.  Just one is all it takes to make the whole social network more than a mere game.

Good Night my friend, slept well and sleep hard. I hope to see you soon as you left your own mark. I won’t forget this magical day, played down by so many naysayers for sure.  Well we did it, we met, our souls they connected. You are now a friend in my real life; welcome to Corey’s Universe Adrianna.


Born This Way


The Road to Well……

Today marks the beginning of me and my family’s road back to well.  I could have just named it “Living in Hell.”  Three weeks ago today as fate for would see, I took a bad fall in flip flops.  A fractured hand and leg were the result, and surgery was planned just one week away.  Since the days of been shrouded, with missing a trip, surgery, the loss of a beloved friend, and a serious illness crept up on us all.

Today, I start the road to well.  I will go up my beloved Jack’s ashes.  We continue to wait on prickers and thorns, wanting and praying for Julia Bleu’s tumor staging results.  Tomorrow my family returns from their trip; from Prague, to Vienna, and lastly Budapest.  They have yet to deal with Jack’s actually loss58f3cb7729d1725214d5092aeaad79a2, tomorrow it will hit both squarely in the face.  Then Wednesday next week I have my second surgery, a step closer to running I pray every day.

However that written above is the ‘physical’ road to well.  What needs to be acknowledged is the mighty emotional road we must all transverse to get to well.  It’s only in times of crisis, loss, failure, and despair, that we learn so much instantly about ourselves.  I am hinting at a reality most of us fail miserably; self-health care for ourselves all of the time.

Of course in the quiet moments of relief, we do pamper ourselves to an inconsistent degree.  We may read a book, take a nap, take the afternoon off and go walk on the beach.  All that is well and good, yet so much more is needed to get to emotional well.  For in times of crisis or hardship at least, we need to be prepared and equipped with self-care.  I recently and still realizing it today, had I done my self-care and took care of emotional health, I would have been so better prepared.   To face the daily stressors and chaos which just opened up fire peppering  upon me

Not caring for myself on a regular and constant basis, set me up for near failure when I needed my mind and my body most.   I thought as most do, I am fine yes I am, I am fit and well, and what possibly go wrong?  Life goes wrong, or life just goes, you can not ever predict the next tumble out of the daily life we know. It happens so fast, in an instant of a flash, and the less you are prepared for the stumbles of  life, the more they continue to greet you.  With me, and this past week of crisis, I duly admitted my lack of health care.  I admitted my failure with my insidious anorexia disease.  As much as I wanted to ‘fix’ my lack of self-care, I realized almost flattened, it was too late to fix.  I was destined to make it through the darkness and fog, I promised myself in the midst of the storm.

I graveled, I crawled, I pleaded for help.  I instantly began to partake in any and all self help I could muster.  I showered, I ate, I rested at times, and yet I gave my mere “miniscule all”  to this bitter end.

I pray that as we embark on the road to well, sadness turns to celebration, and catching cancer was quick.  I pray next week my surgery goes well.  Perhaps in another week, my thoughts will have evolved to a higher ground.  Even today, I am able to see, much clearer, less overwhelmed, with the aide of self-care.  I know for me and my fragile body, I must do right by myself with complete and total self-care.  I have lived so long from it, a void in my being.  Each day right now I try to add something new.  Time for quiet, and thinking, and eating and sleeping.  My priorities in place and my actions aligned.  Continued gratitude for all that I have, I realize how different with solid self-care these weeks might have been. Perhaps the grief, the loss, the fear of the unknown, would all have a place if I took better care of me.  I already feel some difference, although I am far where I need to ascend for myself.  Today was looking like a really sad day. Picking up Jack’s urns, seemed too great too bear, but now today I see it that we are getting our Jack back home. No it is not the same and it never will be, but today I bring home Jack to be home at last.  A half smile fills my face, as I think of Jackson, what a gift we needn’t not cry anymore.  As a quote once I found and have always held tightly, “Smile because it happened don’t cry because it’s over.”  Jack was a gift, he surely wouldn’t want  us to cry.  So I will smile today, pick Jack up this morning, register for my road race coming in June.

Funny how time has a way of repositioning things; one week ago shear grief and utter loss.  I leave you with this, as Julia Bleu is curled up sleeping.  I look at her I feel it, we caught the cancer in time.  What a gift we took for granted as Jack was dying.  Forever a day, I will appreciate all that in the moment I am so blessed to share.  For life has taught these moments will absolutely change; forever things will be different, it is part of this life.  It’s simply called nothing more than living and loving.




“Test, Testing, Corey This Is a Test….”

Today is the first  non-tragedy laden day since a week ago today.  My life as I once knew it has been mired with loss, serious illness, and my own personal fallout, following a face-plant in my flip flops just about three weeks ago. Today is the first day since I underwent surgery last Thursday where I am not in “crisis mode.” These last days have pushed me to new limits, new lows, and mostly a new revelation of the life-altering sort.

Yesterday was the day I thought, this is it, I am just going to break. I awoke at the maniac’s hours. Faced with my pug, Julia Bleu, and her scheduled operation for a cancerous tumor removal as well as my own doctor’s appointment to take care of my leg, I sipped coffee, and held Julia Bleu. I spent my time busy blogging but beneath my surface I was fraught with worry and wonder, about the questions this day conjured up.  I knew I had to surrender to the unknown.  We are always in a state of surrendering to the unknown, we just don’t actually usually feel life that way.

So many questions for one tiny day.  Would I know any answers before it was over?  How was I to go forward, fully aware that I wouldn’t have the one answer my mind so desperately needed?  Through all the sickness and loss, I neelife is toughded, and I still beg to know, will Julia Bleu’s tumor be what we are hoping: a stage 1 or stage 2 tumor? It is all that I ask, not a lot, just a little. I hope that God agrees and spares us all more loss at this time.

My immediate worries, no tiny prescription pill would quell.  Would Julia Bleu just please make it through her surgery?  Would my appointment with the surgeon, give me hope or more despair about my limp leg?

I got Julia Bleu to the vet’s for 8:30. The vet would operate on my little Julia Bleu, and I prayed so fierce to just get her through this very maligned situation. Once I was done and said good bye to little Bleu, I jumped into the car and rushed right to my doctors.  I had a 9 am appointment for my injured leg.  I realized I had given little to no thought about my own precarious health.  Now it all hit me, would I need another operation?  If so then when, and what would it entail?  I had just had a metal plate and screws, put in to aide my fractured leg.  I have thirty stiches to prove it and the x-rays were damning.  My first initial appointment with my surgeon was hell.  Without warning or sensitivity he blurted I would never run again.  I was levelled by that news two weeks ago. Would he feel differently today, after my surgery and my new MRI?  I realized without hesitation or defense, how selfish I appeared for being leveled by not running.  So many people are just so fortunate to walk, and so many others, can’t even do that.  I am truly sorry for my selfish ways, but I felt and do feel like I must fight for my body.

I am 39 years old, and I fear the surgeon is looking at putting me right out to pasture.  I will fight, I will be selfish when it comes to my health.  How dare he not fight to the bitter end, to see me out running with my beloved Bella?  So please understand where my selfish seeds sow….it isn’t really about running; it’s about being given up on.  Ok so now that I realize how ill-equipped I am, I am called by the tech, the doctor is ready.  I limp and hobble my way to the room, when suddenly I think of little baby Bleu. Nothing has gone the way it was expected, I worried and prayed one more quick time.  Now it was time for me and MY health.  The doctor walked in, a big smile on his face.  “How are you Corey?” “I am well,” I said.  He went on to examine my still fresh incision.  “Looks Good,” he stated with a hint of pride. Then he turned to the sophisticated imaging machine, to bring up my new MRI.  I held my breath, I wanted to say something and beat him to the punch. “So doctor, I have been thinking.  I am not ready yet to give up on my running.” With a look of curiosity, he looked right at me.  “You need another surgery as soon as can be.  I must repair all this extensive damage your knee has endured.”  I looked him right in the eye, I was going to create my first two answers of the day.  “Okay, let’s do it at your first available slot.  I am going to run doctor and I need you to buy in.  Please whatever you can do surgically, I would appreciate your best effort as old as I may be.”  His eyes danced, and he said to me, “I think you might just actually surprise me.  When I look at the x-rays and all the MRIs, I don’t see a knee that will run again.  However, when I look at you and hear your determination, well it’s so fierce and strong, you leave me very puzzled. I will do everything I can to get you back to running.”  I fought back the tears, as I thought of my daughter and I road racing once again.

It was only 10 am and three answers I had be given.  Yes, I would have surgery, it would be in one week.  Yes, I thought as I beamed bright inside, I will run again. I was already exhausted by this new dawning day.  I got home and lit a candle for Julia Bleu. I sat for some time, and the tears silently began.  This time was different, I had a true moment to myself.  All that I had traversed right up until then, came flooding at me like a gushing damn. I haven’t dealt with much of anything.  I have been just surviving and not doing that well.  I realized everywhere that I looked, the fragility of myself, and moreover life.  I have never been asked to shoulder so much at one time.  I thought how all this was one big test.  I realized quite frankly, I was prepared for the questions.

The phone rang, “Hello this is Corey.” “Hi Corey,” the vet responded to me.  “Our baby Bleu is well in recovery.  I believe the surgery went well, we will have to wait for the results. I will see you at 5:30 to pick up Bleu.” Tearfully and with much needed relief, I whispered, “Thank you doctor.”  I slumped on the couch.  I picked up my thoughts of this last week.  I realized it wasn’t nearly over not even close.  I still had surgery, and had to get Julia to well, living with the question of her tumor staging for the next week.  I knew I had today “off” or at least I assumed. Tomorrow I will pick up Jack’s urns and I wait in blurry angst for my ex-wife and daughter to return from Europe.  Then the real grieving of Jack will begin.

I muddled through the day, and did some mindless cleaning.  I went with my Stephanie to pick up Julia Bleu.  She came bounding to see us, sporting a new pick calico bandana.  The vet and I spoke briefly; we were both so exhausted.  We got baby Bleu home and settled down.  I texted Budapest where my ex-wife and daughter had just arrived.  I let them know Julia Bleu was okay, she was on the mend.  We called it a done day and headed to bed.  I was too tired to think but knew I must, I grabbed my prayer shawl and wept a few words.  “Thank you,” I said, as I continued to cry.  “I am so grateful for the strength you have given me.  Although much has been so hard and so low, I am nonetheless blessed for all that I am.  Dear God, I thank you, and I ask for just a bit more.  Please continue to give me the strength in the coming days.  Thank you dear God. Amen.”  I curled up in my prayer shawl with Julia Bleu right beside me.  That was the end of yesterday.

This morning I awoke again during the maniac’s hours. I went to get coffee and I thought more about being tested.  I realized in the darkness of the night, I was indeed being tested but not how I thought.  I believed I was being tested to see if I will survive.  Now with certainty I know that is not true.  I have regularly prayed for divine inspiration and strength.  The only thing being tested is the amazing strength bestowed upon me.  It is not a test to see if I pass; it is a test to show me I will surely succeed.  What a gift, I worry no more.  Whatever comes next, I will surely overcome. For faith, whatever that means to you; is only faith when you have nothing else. Whatever you believe or don’t believe is not important; this is not about my God, or you Jesus, or whatever you chose. It is about pure believing….as good as it gets.








The Ugly Reality of Community Colleges..

Sometimes you really don’t know what you are walking into.  I awoke an hour ago, took my pug and went and got my midnight coffee.  I live for this time of night; I like to refer to as the “Maniac’s Hours.”  I settled down into my comfortable desk chair, and with coffee aroma filling my  study and my pug on my lap, I began my daily trek into the world of social media and blogging.  I really couldn’t have been happier…. I read some Facebook and made my way to some blogs.

I read a great blog post, by a professor of mine on the Beatniks, particularly Allen Ginsberg and his piece the “Howl” and a whole lot more. It was beautiful and perfect, learned many things I did not know, and the writing was a delight to say the least. Nothing like a great academic piece of writing, well researched, to start my day.  Then it happened.  This same professor of mine, had shared a blog on a person’s “awful plight” as an adjunct professor at a community college.  Her blog post was pretentious and truly if she HAD the cake with the BAM she wouldn’t ever have needed to write her self-promoting, holy thcommunty colleges.jpgan thou piece.

Her basic premise was the unsavory world of adjunct teaching at community colleges.  Before you implode with anger misdirected at me, please hear me out.  I am a firm believer, and rabid politico of a fair wage for all.  I believe higher education is another form of corporate America, where adjunct professors are not respected nor paid properly better yet fairly for their work and sometimes expertise. It is hard to speak about the world of adjunct professors without daring to step afoot into the murky waters.  However, this writer pissed me off so much, I will keep my shoes on, and wade through the muck a ways.

Community colleges are getting more and more complex, and the position they once held as an affordable option to traditional colleges is now almost extinct.  What did you expect?  The community college paradigm was just too good to maintain.  The institution of community college, is managed and run my people. Most people are greedy, in case you didn’t know.  A two year community college education is not the deal it once was, and on top of that the murky-underworld of adjunct professors stews….It is not plausible as this writer of the flaming blog stated, to compare part-time faculty from four year colleges to two year colleges.  The problems are similar but nobody wants to offend the white elephant sitting in the middle of the community college sphere: quite simply, qualifications. At a community college you do not need a PhD to teach.  All that is required is a master’s degree, and the field and currency of said degree is sometimes very questionable. Surely, I am going to piss off a lot of people I care and admire, but I need to be true to myself, and the choices I made, and I am off to get a PhD in a field I am very adept in but not passionate about like writing.

This is not personal, in that I am not directing this at anybody I know who occupies this shit-bag of a position; adjunct at a community college.  I am merely talking reality.  I blogged yesterday, that I am completely concrete.  Here it is at its worst I presume.  Honestly, if you asked most people, a lot more than probably 50% would love the life of a writer and professor.  However, this is the real world, money matters (unfortunately) and look if you will at the mediocre pool over-flooded by wanna-be writers who aren’t realistic then bitch and complain about being a starving artist.  I wish I could write, and make a living!  Not practical, sorry no room for a poetic mystique here.  I am a mere low-level wanna-be writer.  I am proficient, almost stellar at financial and technical writing, but who truly gives a shit about that-certainly not I.  I know you are going to toss in my face, what about following your dreams, pursuing your passions? What the hell do you think most of America is doing? Are you that inane to think a PhD in data analytics is my fucking passion? Don’t freaking insult MY creative needs and wants. No I am not driven to the field of chosen study, but I am realistic. This is exactly why I sit at home writing shit, pouring out from my soul, on my time at my expense. Have I given up the dream of being a writer? Hell no, it is one of the few things that gets me out of bed each day. I will always write; it is like breathing to me. Do I feel less than because I am being practical? Not at all, see I figured out money a long time ago….it doesn’t buy much that is important or virtuous, but it does buy my personal freedom. I worked in the financial industry right out of college until I was twenty-six, when my daughter was born. I don’t need to work, but learning and doing something with my life propels me forward to my newly minted aspiration of chasing my PhD. Will I actually ever use it? I haven’t a clue. I know that being anywhere in academia affords me the opportunity to learn to write, to better myself as a mere moron at prose.

I wish life were different, it hurts me that people are so miserable about their lots in life. If you  have a family, have children if you want, have shelter, and food to share with friends and family, you aren’t doing half bad. I will continue to do my part to see living wages restored for all professions, and I will always want the very best for every one of my professors who has gifted me with their intellect, their expertise and above all else in the middle of their murky waters; their compassion.




Is there a Place Between Yes and No?

When I got divorced 4 years ago, I embarked on an epoch therapy journey which would lead to a new and improved me.  The things I learned about myself in those first few years were leveling and forever changed the way I would chose to interact with people in the future.

The biggest revelation was that I was a completely rock solid “concrete” person in this crazy gray abstract world we really live in.  Yes, of course my ex-wife was labeled “abstract.”  I would be bestowed with the less savory of almost all labels according to ouconcreter piece of work mediation counselor.  This therapist, saw the world through my ex-wife’s very own eyes.  I would not be the least bit surprised if they became friends at the cost of our demise.  My own personal therapist, a nice down to earth man, had to actually go speak to our marriage counselor, his co-worker because what happened in that office, unlike Vegas baby; didn’t stay in that office.

My abstract ex-wife commanded the microphone for 50 out 60 minutes of our weekly sessions.  At exactly 10:55 am our counselor whose head and neck must have hurt from nodding in agreement with my ex-wife throughout the entire session, would finally look at me, and ask, “So what are you thinking Corey?”  Really me, who glazed over 40 minutes ago and fought off going completely catatonic?  What did I think?  I thought this was crap, and only added to my mess, by being pugnacious and lashing out like a wounded animal.  I don’t think it was possible, that everything my ex-wife said, felt, and wanted was purely spot on correct…. you got this divorce in the bag there my sister!  Honestly, my own therapist stood up for me more than once, and I never got to speak, or when I did, all eyes rolled, heavy sighs of disbelief filled the air, and my ex-wife waited to pounce when she could and command the rest of the entire session.

I do admit and I accept that I am a very concrete person.  Although I love the color gray, I believe there is always purely empirical, let’s keep emotions out of it, facts regarding any given situation.  I bring new meaning to the word ‘literal.’  I don’t trust a person, who steers me towards the gray zone.  They are usually of a psych or sociology persuasion for sure. They are the same vice-grip people, who preface sentence with, “I can understand how you would feel that way or see it that way, BUT….”  It is the dreaded BUT which kills me every time. These people would be the same people who speak at me about perceptions.  Honestly, I am going down to the mat on this one.  Things are, things happened, you said exactly, and I will hold you to this damn it to the bitter end.  Facts are worthy and facts don’t lie, or excuse, or make gray.  They just are.  Allowing for the ‘gray’ is to take away from the reality of any given situation.  I will tell you facts are not always my best friends. Utilizing facts has put my ass in a sling on many occasions.

However, I am now in a beautiful personal situation where I crave “gray.” I want so bad to play the gray card but I can’t, I don’t believe life is like that.  I want this beautiful person to stay right between “yes” and “no.” It is not fair, so I need to dig really deep.  If I am not careful, I might just lose the best thing that has happened to me; since my divorce duly dumped me on my head and happened to me.





Am I The Person They Say I Am?

In my life I have experienced my fair share of tragedy, loss, ill health, and bad luck.  I have never felt that I have been given more than my share.  Pitying myself has never been option.  Through childhood trauma, to parental grief, to my own ailing health, and the loss of others, I have remained as steadfast as anyone.  Nothing particularly outstanding or noteworthy in my mind.

I have seen so many others tried and tested beyond anything I have ever experienced.  Everyone of them gifted with Grace and shear will.  I have never ever thought of putting myself in th55d0cdd3168f99be78a12680615faee6eir sphere.  However, throughout my life, I have often been told, “Corey you are the strongest and bravest person I have known.  Your mind and determination are simply unparalleled.”  Funny, I couldn’t feel further than such a person. Over the last  fours years, I have endured divorce and anorexia, followed now by  the loss of our Jack and Julia Bleu’s cancer.  I  have been without Grace, or strength which would have enabled me to walk with my head held high. Instead I flopped, flailed, and utterly failed.

So yesterday some more personal bad news.  This time about my little Julia Bleu.  She has a cancerous growth it was determined.  I instantly called my ex-wife in Europe. It was the same as usual, nothing different: “Corey you are so strong, you can do this there is nobody like you.”  She was right, there is nobody quite like me.  I am weak, I am worn, I can hardly stand straight. Why can’t they see, I am not all that strong?  I am afraid, and fearful, of my failing body.  I have hidden the ravages of anorexia from all those I love. It’s taken its toll on my body and my mind. It has robbed me of what strength I used to embrace.  Its robbed me of my mad determination to succeed.  I don’t know anymore, I haven’t the fight.

I am lonely in my closet of secrets.  Trying to spare my loved ones they have no idea how ill-equipped I am now. Maybe before I had the will, strength and determination. Now I am weak, unsure, so unsteady in my will.  I cry silently, the tears dropping from my soul. I messed myself up with my insidious disease.  It robbed me of so much, and now much is  needed. I must dig deep, the hole feels so hollow.  I can’t let Bella, or Julia Bleu down. Oh I wish I could share my truth: you were all right, I was killing myself.  I am left with a shell of what used to be me.  Hidden by clothes, and my silence of words I do not share.

I am Corey, I can not  fail, can not  fall, and I will not admit defeat.  I guess I will fight with the little bit of will I have uncovered inside.  Maybe, I am that strong, with mad determination?  My mind once made up,  IS the most powerful tool.  Perhaps this is God’s way, of challenging me to well?  I can not be sick for if I am sick I can not be; all things people need and count on me to do.

So just maybe as my tears dry up and I adjust my posture, it is time to prove to myself and nobody else, that I am the strongest and the bravest, or at least one of them. Nobody believed I could return from this illness. I for sure, did not think it was possible.  However, shear love for the ones I love most, wills me on to well; so from well I can BE.  I pray please help me.  I can not do this alone.  I am often mocked for my faith, and my belief in the Divine.  I wear my cross, with knowing the dangers: ridicule, laughter, and even personal harm. I have only made it, as far as I am, with the Divine inspiration of the God above.  I am fine if I lost you, or if you don’t believe.  There have been many who professed not to believe. Who upon hearing of beloved Jack’s death, turned to prayer’s and of speaking of heaven.  So maybe I know just a little more, I believe in the best of times and not just in loss.  I know that everyday I am fortunate enough to live and love once more, it is because of the Divine it is simple and true.

I pray for Divine strength and my mad determination, please.  I am needed, I am wanted, and I will not lay down and crumble.  I pray you are with me, because I am digging really deep. My life is important perhaps the greatest lesson of them all.