The Eleventh Letter of Madness

I have no desire to write and this is my third attempt at a letter this morning. I think it’s because I am on the upswing of my depression. I cycle so often that it’s hard to keep up. Today I feel great. I even came to work and its Wednesday. I wonder if anyone has caught on that this is usually my “sick” day. Apparently, my mental health is stellar today as I am here and semi-happy.

I am sending you a book that I pulled off my shelf. Actually, I ordered a duplicate to send you as I am still in the process of reading it. It is something I purchased back in 2003 when I started to find myself for the first time. I just figured that you might enjoy it since you are in the pinnacle of life that focuses on inner development and soul searching. This is your time for spiritual growth, you know.  I don’t know if you read books like this and if you never read it, that’s fine too. Pass it on to someone who might enjoy it. I do not suggest burning it to keep you warm. Burning books is a moral sin. Oh, the humanity!

I am slowly finding life to be bright again. Last weekend I hung out with the folks. I ended up ripping up a hardwood floor. Well, some of it. I volunteered to do the rest this weekend. I couldn’t in good conscious let my father do it himself which is exactly what would have happened if I hadn’t jumped in to help. I watched him sore and stiff move last Saturday and wasn’t going to let him kill his back. Of course I killed my own back but I am young and can handle it. I must admit I impressed him with my go-to attitude. I might not be able to boil water but I can tear up a floor like a bad ass. Besides, I am OCD and can’t just do one. I stayed for two hours past my expected leave time just so he could drywall that day and not have to do all that bending. I’m a Mathews, we get shit done!

I visited the lake as well. I love her. I can’t wait to visit her again this weekend when I finish the floor. It is so peaceful depending on the company. I had with me my brother’s wife, who likes to talk. Not only talk, but explain what she is doing, why she is doing it, how she is doing it, every step of the way. I had to spend 8 hours in the car with her. When we got to the lake I was like you go there, I will go over there and we will meet back up. The last thing I wanted was to have her talk while I was in the middle of collecting my thoughts at the lake. I went a short distance away and stacked rocks and watched the waves crash at the beach. I must admit that I have a love affair with the lake. She is intoxicating. I didn’t want to leave her. Eventually, I made it back to Tarah who proceeded to talk. I love her but there should be a word limit. I can’t enjoy the driving if my music jive is interrupted by every thought coming out of her head. Censor that shit. Pretend that it’s church time. I don’t know. I had to explain at one point when she apologized for being quiet (that is nothing to be sorry about) that it’s okay to think and that quiet time is okay. She is lucky that I have patience. All I could think during the silence, is please don’t talk, please don’t talk. It really took the fun out of things. Or interrupting my jam session. If the radio is on loud, there is usually a reason. Don’t interrupt me when I am singing to Sublime. In the end though it turned out well as I took her to see her dad and her grandma and found some inner peace from it.

Her grandma, I love. She reminded me of Dorthy’s mom, Sophia on the Golden Girls. I want her hair when I get old. A big fluffy Q-tip. Her house was bare with just the essentials. One wall was of her family. Every light switch had God or Jesus sayings on it. In the basement she had a huge tapestry of Jesus and under it were these posters with loving quotes. “Those are what I used to leave for Honey at the machine shop”. They also had dates on them. 1952. 1978. I teared up at the love she had for “her honey”. She told us stories while we visited. All the while I am thinking, I love this lady. Everytime she said, “My honey” my heart melted for her. They were married for gosh, 58 years I want to say. It was a great experience. I never had grandparents, well not in the traditional way. Certainly not like this lady anyways. I told Tarah, I can’t wait to go back. Even if I gotta listen to complete babble for 8 hours (round trip).

Also, this weekend my daughter found out that her boyfriend had cheated on her. While she was pregnant and then after she had little baby Johnathon. We as a family never really have cared for the guy. It is due to his lack of ambition. We are an ambitious bunch ourselves. We get shit done. What this floor has got to go? Done. No breaks. Just go go go….  He, on the other hand, is not our idea mate for my daughter. She loves him, which is the main point. I talked to her on the phone about it and could hardly speak from crying. She says to me, “Why are you crying?” and between my caught breath I mustered, “Because when you are a parent and your child hurts and you can’t do anything about it you hurt so I guess I am a real mom.” Which made me cry even more realizing how I fucked up most of life as a parent. I blame myself even if the world around me doesn’t. I told her when I was calmer that she didn’t have to worry about anything. That I would make sure everything worked out. I suppose one of my many talents is that of a solution specialist, thanks to my mother always throwing problems out. I was so proud when she answered back so matter-of-factly, “I know”.  The kicker is she is choosing to stay with him. No one is happy about this. I told her that I respect her decision but I aint happy about it. I get it. She wants to keep her family intact. But cheating is for losers. I also told her that he needed to be present for Christmas. He needed to man up to his mistake. I assured her that no one would beat him up or give him too much shit. If he planned on being with her then he definitely needed to come. Besides how can she trust him to be alone. It’s just another talent of mine-compassion.

In any case, it’s getting to be that time that I go grab the office mail. It’s nice to get away from the phones. I hate the phones. The phones are my enemy and will always be. I hate that direct line of communication. I also hate that no one in the office can pick the damn thing up. It is why I despise my job. Of course, if the phone didn’t ring I would have nothing to do except write letters about life that really is rather boring. I apologize. Today you get a book so I suppose it’s not so bad. I entertain myself so really it’s a win win-for me. That’s really all that matters-filling my ego. I don’t want to make it about you, then it will get weird. I would rather just carry on my existence in Wisconsin without being reminded that my life is being sent to Rhode Island. It is better than drugs and better than sex. Trust me, writing is my drug and it tends to fuck me often as well. It is a healthy balance. If I had a therapist I am sure this would be chalked up as a symptom, but fuck it, who are they to judge, right? Being that I am alone, I think I will just keep it to myself. Until I write again…

With much love,


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