Shit Just Got Real

I think I’ve looked at 50 or so villains since I started this series in April. We’re talking movie villains, TV villains, comic book and soap opera and Disney villains. And in that review, I’ve found the dastardliest villain of them is…waiting.

In the movies, that feeling of suspense, that “edge of your seat, I know something’s out there” sensation is what gave us 4 (count em 4) Paranormal Activity movies and the most fucked up scene in Seven (you know what I’m talking about, with the evergreen air fresheners, the dude with the one arm) In real life, it equates to the pretty girl’s ability to avoid that creepy dude at the club, the time between when your boss says “I need to speak with you for a minute” and the pink slip, or waiting for doctor’s appointments. Or test results. Or surgery.

You know what they say, “it’s all fun and games until somebody gets hurt.” Well, here at the ranch, somebody got hurt. Or is hurting. Honest Abe moment: my wife is ill, facing those medical issues only major surgery can cure. She’s scared but trying to wear the brave face—poorly; I’m scared but wearing the brave face masterfully; my kids are afraid that either their mother is going to die on the table (she won’t) or she won’t be same afterwards (I hope they’re wrong). In short, none of us are 100%.

So what does that have to do with you? It all comes down to love and responsibility. I love you all—each and every one of my wicked little readers. I love that you indulge my flights of fancy, that you let me bask in the darkness of my subjects, that you put up with my twisted sense of humor. We have a bond, you and I: I write the songs that make the whole world sing; you sing along. Okay, well, I stole that from Barry Manilow but you get my point. And I believe I have a responsibility to you too. I know you’ve come to depend on your frequent doses of villainy goodness. I know you’re a hype. As your pusher, I have a responsibility to supply your needs.

But the one I love is my responsibility.

I gotta make sure she’s good because I’m no good without her. It doesn’t work without her. And while our life revolves around tests and appointments, insurance approvals and schedules, hand-wringing and meltdowns—and so much fucking waiting! The waiting, man, that’s what kills you—I’ll be around. Not as frequent as I should be. Not as often as I want to be. But, like Superman says, “I’m always around.”

I’m not going dark (that would be wrong) but infrequent is the name of the game. So please, cut me some slack. Give me some room. Bear with me. It’s not you, it’s me. I just need some space. Whatever works, that’s what we’ll go with.

Seriously, hang tight. Things will be better soon. Promise.

C

PS: I am fully aware my stuff pales in the face of Hurricane Sandy ravaging the East Coast. I know my place in the universe.

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