So the thought occurred to me that I should finally get off my keister and finally publish that album.

I’m not really sure how to go about it, but honestly I thought, how difficult could it be? O.M.G. – yes, I believe that this the proper term. It would almost seem that the simple part would be to record the album, but I’ll need to break this down into its steps:

1. Write the songs
2. Record the tracks for each song
3. Edit the tracks for each song
4. Mix the tracks for each song
5. Master the album
6. Design the album art
7. Publish the album

All in all, I think the above steps are very accomplishable, and fun. And when people look back on this, steps 1 through 7 are the body of work. And this is where most albums do lay – in the iTunes graveyard, never to be seen again. I’m coming to realize there is step number 8 which is:

8. Market the album

This is where I’m somewhat lost, or totally dwarfed in knowledge. I know that marketing plays a role. The greatest album in the world, and band, would be no where – absolutely no where without marketing. There’s the concept of build it, and they will come. Sorry, I don’t believe in this utopian concept. Let’s just say that without marketing, even the Beatles would be no where. Having said this, this is where I’m dwarfed in fear and incapability.

With my fear of rejection, sales and marketing just have never been my stronghold. Oh, I need some help…

1:51am – They say that the older one gets, the more mature one is, and the more ready one shall be when tackling problems. Some of this is due to maturity, but mainly due to experience of tackling smaller problems prior. I have to say that things in the past ten years have mostly been smooth sailing, comparable to riding small waves. Sure, there were those times, but I always knew that if rode the waves without much resistance, all would be fine. Of course, one doesn’t make a statement as such without comparing this to something of greater magnitude. And as such, this has happened, or is happening…

People who know me, understand that I am an emotionally stable person – almost rock-like at times guided by a set of principles which are unfaltering. Not without a sense of humor of course – everybody needs to lighten up now and then. But even the jokes and jest may only exist atop a solid bedrock.

I would have to say however, that I think this is the first time in over possibly twenty years where alike a fighter in the ring whom has been hit too many times, I am wavering back and forth atop weak knees, about to teeter over. I am utterly helpless, exhausted from the days events, and unsure of what my next steps should be. In the recent months, I have also been afflicted possibly with the same ailments as my own mother, where I wake in the middle of the night for hours. I find these are the best times for problem solving – as my mind races to find solutions to today’s complex problems.

In exactly one week, I will be returning to Brooklyn for a short trip – to visit family and friends. Mainly to allow my father, Grandpa, to meet his grandchildren – Julian, who is five, and Megan, who is ten. My fear is that this may be one of his last opportunities to do so… My fear is that he really is not well… My fear is that he, my mother and my sister have been softening the truth regarding his conditions… My fear is that daily phone calls to him every morning will no longer be… My fear is that maybe it may be one of my last opportunities to see him… My fear is that maybe my guilt will consume me whole…

The other day, I tweeted and updated my Facebook status as the above.  I had awoken from a night full of weird stressful dreams, one of which I still can’t seem to shake.  In my hopes to possibly share it with the world, and now write about it openly, may make it seem less profound and allow it to dissolve as it still remains strongly in my thoughts today.

In my earliest recollections of the dream, I was back in Brooklyn in the old apartment my family and I lived for many years.  I stood and stared out my bedroom window during nightfall like many times I have done before when young, peering out across many of the backyards of the adjoining houses of this neighborhood block.  Some people used to keep their yards manicured, while others allowed weeds to grow wildly amongst their flowerbeds.  Maybe it was a reflection of their personalities, I thought to myself.  I used to find it so peacefully serene — peaceful enough to allow my mind to wander and wonder how things were going to be when I grew up; all the places and people I would see and one day meet. How life would possibly be so thrilling.  In my dream, I hung a small dream-catcher in front of the window and feeling a bit tired, I gently layed down in my old bed, and slowly closed my eyes while gazing at this dream-catcher as it slightly swayed.

Hours must have passed as I was awoken to the sounds of my family in the kitchen hearing my father’s laughter and mother’s loud professions of joy about upcoming plans.   Eavesdropping, I tried to hear what these plans were about when my sister suddenly bolted open the apartment door while coming home and cheerfully joining their conversation.   Everyone was so extremely spirited — so extremely jubilant.  But, there was something different.  Things felt somewhat familiar, and although, slightly different.  The voices sounded much younger — so vibrant, and so loudly…happy.

Feeling excited, I leaped out of bed ready to run out to the kitchen and join in on the festivities.  You see, I couldn’t remember the last time the four of us really met as a family at home — my father, mother, sister, and me:  All without the pretense of traveling far and yet meeting for only short moments of time.  To just feel the innocent rivalry of being siblings with my sister and a son to my mother and father — free laughter and home comfort without the limits of time.

Again, there was the looming of something oddly familiar and yet different.  Glancing towards the window, the dream-catcher slightly swayed and alike a magnet, I moved closer.  Through the yarns of the dream-catcher, I could see that it had started snowing outside.  I peeled away the shades of the window, and saw that my hands were different.   They were smaller.  And, so were the rest of my arms.  I was wearing an older t-shirt — one I have not worn since early middle school.  Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window, I was perplexed to stand still.  I recognized the boy I once was.  And, I was he again.

My thoughts — they were different.  They were much lighter and carefree.  I had started to forget the day’s responsibilities and the many severities in the world.  I need not worry about them anymore.  I could feel a small smirk developing as the corners of my lips rose, pursed alike the beginnings of a smile.  Next, I was to swing open the door, and run out to meet my family again.  I was going to hug each person in that room, maybe the closest person first, then next, or my sister first, then my mother, then father.  Excitedly, I turned to reach for the doorknob, but I felt forced back from grasping it — not yet, I thought.

Many of my thoughts had escaped me, but my mind hung onto the faint cloud-like images of two young children.  They seemed to need me.  Without me, life would be very different for them.  And as it seemed like through some cognitive sense, without me, their existence would no longer be real.  With me being here, any future I have had would then be randomly recreated again — life’s paths that are chosen alike the manicured gardens.   The images I have had of the two youthful children, I knew, would then dissipate as soon as my hand turned my bedroom doorknob.  They greatly needed me and I knew that I needed them just as much.

I turned towards the window one last time.  Through the yarns of the swaying dream-catcher, I saw small flakes of snow — so genuinely innocent as they floated down from above.  I smiled and gently closed my eyes one last time.

This is when I awoke.

It has come to my attention that I haven’t written anything self-deprecating in a long time – actually years now. In some jaded way, I’ve avoided these types of entries for so long for I’ve felt it provided too much ammunition for those who just wanted to poke fun at me.

I’ve also come to realize that when I reflect back on the self-deprecating entries, that these are the entries I do enjoy the most to read about myself. And it always enabled me to reflect back to a lighter period of the day when I could enjoy my life’s lessons. It reflected happiness, and this is what it’s all about.

But I digress.

A little bit after my last entry about aging and health problems, I felt a tinge in my bottom-side, and in the last week and a half, I haven’t felt more temporarily immobilized in quite a while. I’m just getting over it now – and I know for certain that in the future, I’ll need to refer back to this entry on how to handle this again… hemorrhoidal hell. (I know I spelled it right for I googled it enough in the last couple of weeks).

Years ago, back in the early nineties, I can recall was the first time I could remember having such a bout. I forgot how long it lasted then, but I think it was just a couple of days. I do remember buying a tube of Preparation H at the time, and read the instructions carefully. Painfully as it was to apply the medication, which included the attempt to insert the pointed end “inward”, I notably failed. Years later, I find that this same set of instructions are very much similar, but with the wonders and advances of the Internet and resources to self-diagnose medical symptoms, I can honestly state that this was just one out of two possible scenarios. And this “inward” scenario did not fit my own.

Sorry about TMI – but it doesn’t get any better after this point either.

For future reference, here is my remedy list:
1. Soak toilet paper with warm water (but the paper should still be durable)
2. Tucks Medicated Wipes
3. Preparation H cream (with “optional” pointer tube, which I would just discard)
and
4. Tylenol (I found out this was the miracle drug)

So, one morning after “doing my business,” I proceeded to clean up with step 1 above. This is where my misjudgment started to set in. I carefully proceeded with steps 2 and 3. As I slowly and cautiously stood, I reached around and satisfyingly performed the traditional flush. Unbeknownst to me, the toilet started backing up quickly, and yes, with everything floating about wildly like the tornado in Wizard of Oz. Alike an elder crippled ninja with razor sharp skills, I grabbed the plunger and fiercely plunged the toilet like the Roto-Rooter man on amphetamines. It miraculously worked and things smilingly flushed down with a whoosh.

After catching my breath, I did notice that in the process, I felt an awkward tinge in my mid-back (another sign of aging). Needless to say, things just didn’t seem like they were turning out very well this morning. After cleaning up, I decided to partake in step 4 above to aid my pulled back. I figured waddling wasn’t just enough – I didn’t want to be constantly hunched over too; all while gripping my portable seat cushion.

But, this was where the magic lays in the above concoction! Steps 1, 2, and 3 by themselves work wonders. And together with step 4 just spells hours of relief in both my bottom and my back – alike wash, rinse, and repeat for about a week and a half. Should be good as new! Oh yeah, and grab a portable seat cushion too!

So its now the start of 2011 and before I knew it, 2010 flew by as quickly as a hummingbird dashing across alike a dart in the brisk Spring air. 2010 was pivotal for me and alike many others, made a difference. A lot has happened, and a lot has not happened – which is actually what the rewarding part was.  For the past few years, I recall telling myself that this was going to be the year – that was going to make a difference.  This was going to be the year where all would fall into place.  I had wished for a while now that things would just stabilize.. just quiet down.  Not to a standstill really.  But to the point where at least I could take a breath, and just take a look around.

Reflecting back with an ounce of honesty, life has been so quick and full of rampant change since 1998. Life prior to 1998 was somewhat routine for a while – and possibly during that time, things needed to change. Events needed to evolve. Something just to prod things so that life could just start again. And it did. Quickly. Elizabeth and I had decided to move to New York City, get married, shift our careers, and events happened one after the other continuously for years. Mostly good events too, so I’m happy about that.

But for a while now – I would say since 2005, in all this evolution, we needed to stabilize. We were missing the essentials of a daily routine. We really needed a non-rapidly moving environment where Megan and Julian could flourish and grow.  They are remarkable children and they deserve at least that.

All in all, I think 2010 was that year for us. The moving around stopped – we stayed kaput where we are. The job changes stopped – every six months really took its toll on me mentally. I’m tough as nails when it comes to job change now, but I’m truly brittle as well. Sad to say, my health is not all that great – I haven’t taken care of myself over the years, and it shows.  My blood pressure is high and Elizabeth constantly warns me that heart attacks do happen. I joke – but I know she’s right. Part of me is in denial that it can’t happen to me, but I feel it.

Maybe that’s next to take care of.