Disappear.

 Today, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen since the 1990s.

His name is Rusty. He was surprised to see me and even more surprised to learn I now live in Milwaukee. We knew each other back when I lived in Madison. Rusty, my best friend Steve, and I were inseparable in those days—they were my two closest friends.

Steve moved to California in 1991, and I moved to Maryland in 1997. Steve and I kept in touch over the years, but staying connected with Rusty was a challenge. He never returned my calls after Steve moved away. 

This evening, January 2, 2025, I was walking into the Pic ‘N Save on Humboldt Street when Rusty was walking out. He saw me first and called my name. At first, I didn’t recognize him, but the sound of his voice brought it all back.

He looked genuinely happy to see me. We made small talk, catching up briefly. He mentioned that the last he’d heard, I had moved to Maryland. I told him about my life since then, and he started reminiscing about the old days—how he, Steve, and I hung out all the time and the crazy adventures we shared.

“Wow,” Rusty said, shaking his head. “That was over 30 years ago. I wonder how Steve’s doing.”

“He’s doing great,” I said casually.

Rusty blinked in surprise. “You still keep in touch with him?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We always have.”

Rusty looked stunned. “I haven’t heard from him since he moved to Laguna Niguel in the 1990s. When was the last time you talked to him?”

“About an hour ago,” I replied.

Rusty couldn’t hide his shock. “You’ve been in touch all this time?”

“Yep,” I said. “The last time I tried to reach you was not long after Steve moved. I left you a voicemail, but you never responded. Steve said he hadn’t heard from you either since leaving Wisconsin.”

After a pause, Rusty asked for my contact information.

I smiled politely and said, “No, I’m good. Thanks, though. Take care.”

With that, I grabbed a cart and went on with my shopping.

Friendships, I’ve realized, are not meant to be one-way streets. Communication requires effort from both sides, a mutual desire to stay connected. Over the years, I’ve found that when I stop reaching out to certain people, I never hear from them again. It’s a hard truth to accept, but one that has helped me prioritize the relationships that truly matter—the ones where the effort is reciprocated.

currently listening to Rollercoaster, by October London

Decades From Now

 Strangers,

decades from now,

will stumble upon the echoes of my life—

My blog posts,

Facebook musings,

TikTok desserts spun with care,

Instagram snapshots of edible art,

Amazon pages of short stories and novellas,

Pictures of me, smiling with family and friends,

Draped in compliments,

DMs,

and countless hearts.

They’ll wonder,

peering through this curated window,

why life felt so heavy on my shoulders,

why loneliness lingered like a shadow,

why success danced just out of reach,

why companionship slipped through my fingers,

why love, so deeply yearned for,

never quite stayed.

They’ll wonder,

despite the effort,

the trying,

the longing—

how it all still felt so far away.

--me

Embracing Kindness and Karma

 I strive to be a good person, partly because it feels natural to me, but also because I fear I might not have been good in my past lives. I’m convinced that this life is a form of karmic punishment for mistakes I made before. No one can convince me otherwise; every single aspect of my life is shitty. Maybe I took advantage of my parents or took them for granted. Perhaps I mistreated the women in my life—my wife (or wives) or girlfriends. If I had children, maybe I didn't give them the attention and care they deserved. I’ve probably broken hearts, been selfish, or lived  ( and ate) recklessly. Maybe I was the life of every party, wealthy and carefree, indulging in excess without a second thought for others.

But in this life, I have strong, meaningful relationships with my sisters, so I like to think I wasn’t being punished for how I treated them in the past. In another life, I might have been tall, fit, and good-looking. Maybe I didn’t stutter. Maybe I wasn’t shy or introverted. Maybe I was loved but took the love for granted.

I'm the kindest, most loving, attentive, and empathetic person I can be. The best son, brother, friend, uncle, employee I can be. I hope that by living this way, I can create a better path for myself—in the next life.

 In this life I am currently 62. I'm too old for the things I dream of-

currently listening to The Beautiful Ones, by Prince

someone to check up on me

One of the things I really appreciate about my newly-discovered sister Leslie, who lives in The Bronx, is that she calls and texts me several times a day.

Before we reconnected, I used to worry about dying in my sleep. Since no one called or texted me regularly or wouldn't be concerned if they haven't heard from me, I always imagined my landlord would be the first to discover I was gone—probably around the 5th of the month when the rent was late.

Now that Leslie and I are in touch, I told her that if I don’t respond to her calls or texts after a while, she should call again. And if she still doesn’t hear from me, I asked her to let my sister Cheryl know, so she can come check on me to make sure I’m okay—or to confirm the worst.

I even gave Leslie a list of people to notify in case I pass away.

& 

some instructions. 

currently listening to Smokie Norful - I Need You Now

Posting this for me

like all my other blog posts,

 no one will see it.

           but me. 

'If you're looking for me,

I'm done.'