Love to all. Even you.

I was going to say that this was one of the worst days I’ve ever had.

But then I thought about it… and it’s not even close. Shit, today wasn’t even in the top 500 worst days I’ve ever had.

True, I let someone go today. It wasn’t an easy decision, and I hated doing it, but it was well thought out, and I sought the advice and feedback of two of my partners before actually doing anything. It wasn’t a snap decision, either. I waited for the evidence and advice to trickle in. That’s unlike me, but it’s interesting how this is also the first time I was able to simply do it and move on. I feel bad, but I don’t feel wrong.

Compare today with so many of those days from 1996 (when I started drinking again) to 2003 (when I quit again). Hell, I’m sober today. I didn’t come home and drink myself silly. I just had a stressful day at work, like a million other people did. Lucky me.

Seriously. Lucky me.

So hey, God: thanks for the opportunity to have a run-of-the-mill really difficult day.

Oh, an update: My old bandmate (the singer), wrote me a really, really interesting email that served to:

1. Remind me that I was a dick for commenting like that. (She didn’t say that. I did.)
2. Make me think a lot about how I relate to my pre-family life.

I’m going to write her back (privately, not in this blog), but I have to think about it a little.

Love to all. Even you, the vanishing man.

This is 20% warning, 80% confession of being an idiot.

The warning: check your personal email lists. Make sure that you clear people off from time to time. Or else you’ll accidentally be sending family info and updates to people who you don’t necessarily want to receive such personal information.

And it can put you in an awkward position.

Every six months or so, I check the blog of some of my old bandmates. Actually, it’s the singer of my old band, who I didn’t know that well and didn’t like that much, but there’s some references in there to her boyfriend (or ex, or husband, I have no idea), who I really looked up to back in the 90′s.

I totally admit that I check the blog out of imperfect motives… After years and years of reading about how, someday, they are going to make music again, I have a really morbid curiosity about how long this melodrama is going to last.Frankly, I have lingering resentments over how she and her boyfriend treated Maggie, and how they treated the other members of the band after I left.

This was years ago, but hey… just like I keep in touch with friends every six months or so, I also check in on these people from time to time. I don’t really like them, but they were pretty huge in my life back then.

Wow. That’s a long time ago. Whoa.

Anyway: acting on resentments doesn’t work. Case in point: The last time I was there, I I left a comment about how annoying it was to continuously read about how, someday the musical story will continue, etc., etc.., and maybe it how it was time to either do something or stop talking about doing something. I thought I was being anonymous, but my browser autofilled championable.com as the “commenter URL.”

Whoops. Serves me right.

Admittedly, the repetitive self-importance only partially drove my commenting. I’d say it was 30% habitually checking up on people I know (which is usually non-snarky), 30% did-they-make-music-yet?, and 50% my-god-is-the-author-still-whining?

Not the best mix. And not my best moment as a person. But this is a confession, after all.

Resentment is stupid. I never should have commented.

But stupid turns bizarre when it turns out I had also been sending these people my personal website updates for YEARS, without even realizing it. They had never responded, ever, and I just forgot that they were in the group. Whoops.

They had been getting emails from me and Maggie with links to pictures of my children for TEN YEARS… and not ONCE said they said “hey, why are you sending me these?” Or “stop.” Or, “fuck off.” Or even “hi!” Bleah.

So, not knowing about the autofill, I was a little surprised when I got this comment in my blog… sadly misplaced under a post about my daughter (I deleted it and moved it here):

I’ve been ignoring your email and your comments on my blog years now. I thought I was being pretty clear that I don’t want to be in touch, but I suppose that wasn’t enough. Let me clarify now: I don’t want to be in contact with you. Please stop visiting my blog and leaving critical comments about me. Your hostility is NOT welcome at all.

Well… no, jackass. Saying “please don’t send me updates on your kids” would have made it clear. If I don’t know I’m sending you emails, you not responding to them doesn’t mean you are sending a clear message about anything. Sheesh, I heard you became a therapist, for fuck’s sake. I would think, maybe, you would know this. And although it turns out I’ve been unknowingly sending emails for years… I only left a handful (if that) of comments in the last decade. So what the fuck?

But then again: it serves me right for commenting unkindly.

Shouldn’t have done it… but as everyone knows, if you post on a blog, people will comment. If you don’t like it, delete the comments or moderate your bog. God, I hate that bullshit. It’s a public space. FUCK. I only deleted one person’s comments in the history of this blog, and that was because they were incredibly long and senseless.

Calm down, there, Richie. You’re gettin’ all riled.

Anyway, I feel bad about leaving the comment. She is who she is, and I don’t know her anymore anyway. And this microexperience has made me think about how well I knew her boyfriend, who I really looked up to back then. Not that well, it turned out… I found that out well enough when they treated Maggie like shit.

But the idea that she had been receiving emails from me for a decade and never bothered to say word one… well…

Yuck.

I told Maggie this story when I got home work. She was a little like, “Rich, you idiot, why did you post a comment to that person’s blog?” But when I told her I had accidentally been sending them emails for a decade, she said, “Ew.”

Ew is right.

So, sorry about the snarky comment. But in the great scheme of things, getting caught leaving a comment actually helped me realize some things: her boyfriend was the single most disappointing person I have ever met, and I think I’ve let this resentment fester for years.

Tonight, I’m going to pray for them, and let this shit go.

Even little resentments like this one aren’t worth keeping.

Love to all. Even you, Sovtek boy.

Just ran 15 miles. I’m starting to think I might be ready for Atlanta after all.

Love to all. Even you, the Escalade owner who parked illegally, on a slant, in the church parking lot.

I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I need to refocus my energies. Literally. I need to take family energy, and focus it on family. Friend energy on my actual friends. Romantic energy on Maggie. Work energy on work.

I think I sometimes mix up my foci, and throughs off my spiritual gyroscope.

On that note: I sustained a profound disappointment in someone today, but I’m finding it to be remarkably helpful, in terms of examining why I let certain things upset me… and why I shouldn’t.

Anyway. This is vague, I realize. But it is what it is. Sorry.

Also, “Epic Movie” sucks. Like, big time. My 10-year-old disliked it as much as I.

Love to all. Even you, the unbelievably foul-mouthed kid at the Greenberg Multiplex.

NY1 has a brief article about how some of the family members of the victims of the WTC attacks in 2001 are, yet again, protesting the memorial design.

The WTC Memorial foundation had agreed to list the victims by name either based on where they worked or where they were when they died, but…

…the family members want to add the victims’ ages, the companies they worked for and the floors they worked on to be listed.

Enough is enough. This isn’t a private memorial. It’s a public memorial. And there’s only so much say the families should have, unless they want to pay for it themselves on private land. This is a memorial honoring the victims, put up by New York City.

And New York City can decide how it wants to honor them.

Love to all.