There is a song by The Rolling Stones, says something about “running for the shelter of her mothers’ little helper.” Perhaps you are familiar with it.

Anyways.

I saw another one of those motivational things about the challenges of being a mother on the bookface earlier today. I will in no way demean that those are likely as valid as they are varied, not intentionally anyway. I do find it a bit odd though that I never really see anything like that for the challenges of being a father…

Now I get it, don’t get me wrong. Mothers, by all means, generally have a damn tough time of it. While fathers, too often… well, pick your poison I guess. There are the jerks who are lazy or simply not involved, the jerks who are mean – or worse, violent – and of course the jerks who just up and leave. I am sure there are more and myriad kinds. I get it, men are jerks.

But then, you know, there are those fathers that try. Try to be the other half. Try to do whatever it takes, and I expect that there are a whole lot of them out there too. Maybe not as many as there are jerks, but we have already addressed that. Can’t say as I know where I fit in that spectrum. Certainly I can be a jerk.

Parenting is hard. Which is funny really, because it is one of the most basic fucking things that humans can do (yes, that was on purpose). Procreate. Well, most anyway. Again, another story… or is it?

I think it is important, and a fundamental truth of personhood, that we take responsibility for our own actions. I have not always been so great at that, but I still value the importance of it. I say that as preface for this next bit where I will note that, as a parent, I do not really have that much to go on. Am the youngest of the brood and so did not have younglings to help raise. Jerk left when I was four years old or something and that whole mess was just complicated for the next several years. What with trying to navigate that the other kids were more important than I was. I know, boo hoo. Point being, I am not trying to pass blame concerning my sometimes not being the best parent.

Whatever that means.

The small boy has rough days, as we all do. I really really really try very hard to think of it that way. He is having a rough time. I am “an ADULT” and I still cannot figure out this goddamn world/life/existence. How can I blame him for having difficulty navigating his not even three year old version of it? That said, it is sometimes really really really hard to keep my cool when he is losing his shit.

He got bit by another kid today. Probably the same kid that clawed his face last week and that he was scrapping with the week before. Yet most days they are buddies and play together. I think. Have to trust what little we learn about his days in day care. Both of us parents working full time jobs and all.

Takes a village so they say, and sometimes it seems like we barely have each other. I don’t have parents to help and the other parents, well, personally I think that I have been too much of a jerk too often for them to want to help. I can own that. I am a jerk sometimes.

~~~

Went to the clinic a few weeks back. I was going to say “doctor” but who does that anymore?

Anyway, as I was saying, I went to the clinic a few weeks back. Ostensibly to undergo my annual “wellness” exam. Whatever that means. In reality there were two specific reasons that I was there; to reevaluate “labs” to assess my cholesterol situation and second to reevaluate my mental status to assess the efficacy of my current medication/dosage.

Regarding the former, apparently it depends on the “doctor” and how they interpret the lab results. Either way, I should probably watch my diet. Just turned 46, don’t run anymore, drink too much, and have a penchant for most things chocolate. Food kind of bores me lately anyway.

Regarding the latter, I have been fumbling about with this particular med since before leaving the ‘Banks a few years back. Therapist suggested that there was more going on than talking could sort out. Or something. So I took the plunge. Seemed to work for a while, I guess. Though it could have just been a deceptive placebo effect of me wanting it to be an actual fix.

There was a third thing, but that was new and unscheduled for; wrist pain. Almost certainly tendonitis and not carpal tunnel. Probably a combination of office “ergonomics” and riding a bike that probably does not really fit me.

First world problems huh?

Anyway, cholesterol is better. Cut down on cheese (despite living in effing Wisconsin) and red meat. Continue to stay away from fried foods (despite living in effing Wisconsin) which is pretty easy in some respects. Eat more avocados and the like. Which is oddly easier to do here in Wisconsin than it was back in Arizona.

Wrist problem, likely tendonitis, went away. Stopped bike riding and should probably trade my mouse in for, well, just about anything else.

But I meant to talk about mental health.

“Why oh why, didn’t I take the blue pill?”

I like the movie The Matrix. I even like the second one. The third one, not so much, but that is a different story. For those of you (if anyone might still read this nonsense) that have not seen the original film, there is a seminal scene where one character, Morpheus (played so wonderfully by Lawrence Fishburne) offers another character, Neo/Mr. Anderson (played so… predictably? by Keanu Reeves) a choice. The red pill or the blue pill. Take the blue pill and you return to wonderland, none the wiser, and live out a fictitious, fabricated life, enslaved by coldly efficient, maniacal machines. Take the red pill and find out how deep the rabbit hole goes and learn what the question is that you have not understood how to ask, the question that is ever present, “like a splinter in your mind.”

Anyway, watch the film if you want to know. It really is quite good.

Once upon a time I was after the red pill. Chased it down in various corners of the world, in various circumstances, and with various effects. Without a doubt, it made a powerful impact on my perspective and my fundamental perception of the world around me.

But life is different now. It is not really fitting/acceptable/possible to go out on some three day gonzo bender and twist the world up in order to try to make more sense of it. So I drink too much instead, which you know, has more of a numbing effect really. Probably fuels the jerk sometimes too.

I went for a run today. It was both good and awful. *sigh*

So instead, I seem to have settled on the blue pill. An increased dose nonetheless. Seems that in lieu of living out an alternative lifestyle, which, admittedly comes with certain discomforts, I have chosen the path of lesser resistance. I guess.

Sometimes it works. I think. Although my pills are white.

Father’s little helper I guess.