So this should get awful monotonous quick. Eleven o'clock in the evening and I am finally sitting down to write for the day. Don't expect much. I am already stretching for subjects (and thank you Katrina, for one suggestion, one which I glanced upon and not yet perused). Once I talk about being out of my head the other night, and tomorrow bringing up my dirty laundry with the Broad, and most likely one post about the merits of Twin Peaks, even twenty odd years later, and I should be flush out of things to talk about with you here.

This is where a side note diversion tactic would go, but alas I am even out of those this evening. I could talk about the sweaty weather, perhaps, but there are parts of the country still thawing out, so no. On with the blog.

The one about being out of my head the other night. But that isn't it, really. Of course it isn't. Long time readers of mine know full well I know what my point is and exactly when I will get there. In the mean time I like to throw in lots of not exactlys and sort ofs and such and such in for word counts and paragraph fills. This is just one example of them. 

Spaces, too. I like the double spacing here. 

So how do I describe it, then? I had this weird out of body experience once. Wrote about it a few pages back, if you feel like scrolling for it here. And I have a ton of deja vu experiences. And I tend to, come to, I guess, in these moments where I am early or late, like my mind's time is off from my body's just a hair, "bar time" Tim powers called it, and I was so glad when somebody else could describe it, in a published novel no less, because i knew exactly what he meant by it. And now I wish I could still write. i wish I had that gift of descriptive gab. Because it was none of those thins and yet I can't sit here and give you a proper simile for my experience. you have seen it written before on my face book statuses. Once in a while I give out a real glimpse of who I am on there, and a remarkedly limited number of you have run away from me because of it. 

I called this one the anti deja vu, to Kristi, a few moments after it occurred, and I guess that's the most fitting description you are going to get for it. There was a saying growing up about walking over your own gravestone, and that would give you goosebumps. Or maybe the saying was the exact opposite, and I am afraid to look it up in case my memory is skewed. But as I remember it now, when you walk over your future grave spot, you get a chill. And quite oftenin my wanderings I get these feelings, not chills, but more like glimpses. And I hate to let you think that they are regrets or anything, before I even attempt to explain them, because that is not where I mean to go. But if you know anything about me you know that I don't always fit in. And I mean that in such a more than socially manner. I mean, I am on a different plane of existence than you. Sometimes. I just sort of slip in and out and sort of shimmer on the surface and then catch up again to this reality. 

Should I mention I did a bit of acid back in the day, and a smoke or two of the PCP? Would you think any less of me? I thought not.

So I get those feelings, those moments that seem like they are deja vus, that I have experienced this before and sometimes that is because I had experienced it, a second or two ago, before my mind slipped out for a brief second and returned. Then there was the time I woke up in a woman's body. I mean literally woke up there inside of her and when she noticed (and I am thinking that she woke up in mine) we zapped back to where we belonged. Then of course there is the time or two where I reach for the phone just before it rings or I clinch my jaw right before a sudden sound. And I am guessing it would be quite cliche and downright trite to say that this one time was different. Because aren't they all different any way?

And here is where I realize that it has been half an hour, and a paragraph or two (thank god for that double spacing!) and I can finally get on with my story, before I end it abruptly again like last night's fiasco. SO on with the blog!

This all happened at Barnes and Noble Friday night. i updated my status from there, that I felt like I was cheating on my kid. He always comes with us. That is our trip to the park or our weekend dessert, an hour roaming the store and finally settling on something to take with us. And he was not there, and I think that accounts for a large part of why I was feeling different about the whole evening. We also, Kristi and I, had dinner at Macaroni Grill next door. And it got me to thinking that my mom loved that place. I don't think they have one in Ocala, because we ended up at Olive Garden a couple of times on visits. But she loved her some Romanos. She met Kristi's parents here, at this one, as well, two years ago. So I was already thinking about and missing my mom as well, and my child, as noted above, and in a weird place anyway.

So logically it can make sense that my brain kinda freaks out a hair. I know the leading indicators. But that isn't it either. When I was mentally writing this blog in the shower this morning (and just now realizing how much of the good stuff washed away with the shampoo), I compared it to the drinking. Because even though I know, I understand without a doubt, that loneliness lead me to start drinking, even helped me to continue drinking, loneliness does not cause the alcoholism. It is more of an enhancer, i suppose. It is a small part of the allergy. If that makes any sense to some of you. The fact that i was already off kilter when I walked into the bookstore did not in itself cause me to shift into some other life for a moment.

And that is what happened, and the best way to describe it to you. It wasn't a feeling of being here before, and it wasn't a feeling of being gone from this physical, or even mental plane. I just had this whole experience of feeling some of what I assume were my alternate lives. You know those philosophers, or those college sophomores who think they are philosophers,who talk about how every decision leads to another alternate reality? Well on one hand they are wrong and on the other that is very similar to what I experienced. I can't for sure tell you that this decision led to that action, or that this day I instead decided to do that thing, or anything of that sort. And Like I wanted to point out to you, it wasn't a case of what if or I should have.

And it also wasn't my typical feeling. Maybe it was a more enhanced effect of my feeling. You have likely seen an update of mine, where I was 'In a moment', a neither here nor there but in a moment where something was missing or something was changed. I get them. This experience was stronger than those, but that isn't the only difference. this experience was more thorough, all encompassing than the others, but that wasn't the only change. I just got a mental whiff of things that were also happening, somewhere, sometime, to me, or different versions of me. I was walking around the bookstore, not wanting to see anybody I knew, not wanting to share the moment or to lose it. At the same time I was about in tears and afraid and not wanting anybody to catch me crying either. Nothing was wrong but nothing was right and I literally was 'lost in a moment' but unable to become lost in it. And the more I try to explain this the farther away I feel from it.

But it does give me something to blog about, and I love to blog and I miss doing it. So it is nice to be here and I wonder how I tie this into my son. It has been a while and some of you (I hope) are new readers, so you should know first and foremost I write for him. I don't think my dad was fucked up. There is no indication of it, and my mom was probably off kilter more than I admit, and she had a certain way (note to self: approach this, explore it, and see where it leads) of explaining it to me, showing me maybe, that it was okay to be screwed up. But I look and Connor, and I think I know what he is going through, and I think I understand what he is feeling. it's like I see him check out for a second, and return a second or two ahead of time, letting his body catch up to his mind.And I want him to read the words someday, to look at this printings, and know that he can run with it, not hide from it. Race up ahead and let the world catch up to him if it wants, and it's okay. 

Or not. Maybe I am on an ego trip and my kid will be mostly normal and wonder what the hell my problem was all this time. Who's to say? And to those of you still reading, you strengthen me and thank you.