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If the weekends are the most trying times for me alone, then Mondays are the hangover during recovery. My day has been brimming with tempestuous emotional swings set off by the smallest little things. This affliction is exhausting. Peace is a rare commodity in my life and when it comes, it is welcomed. If I were able to nap without ruining any chance of sleeping through the night without pharmaceutical assistance, I would be unraveling the weave in my office carpet to crochet a hammock. EL was fabulous at crocheting things. She made scarves, blankets, and the like... crafty is so many ways. I can't stop here because this is the sort of thing I was talking about sparking emotional breakdown. So, moving right along to my weekend. It was uneventful. I did mostly nothing with mostly no one. I watched some movies to pass the time. I went to church on Sunday. I was lonely for the most part. Time and patience... be strong... pray... have faith. Mantra du jour. I would hate to think that my life has become my own personal Groundhog Day. Rinse and repeat.

If this is a dream I'm happy you're having it with me
I will stay and savor the way you move me
Don't want to miss one detail, one sweet smile from your lips
One kiss sets me adrift...
Chase the stars as they fall down and light up where you are They are yours for the keeping Trace the curves of the sheets A riddle of desire when I watch you sleeping Pressed against the sky, eyes wide open...

The Peanut himself... surveying his land.

Floating and waiting. Drifting amidst the spaces we find when something moves somewhere else... not out of the way, but just away. Anamnesis, like the seconds after a tender kiss when you can still feel the lips that have parted, becomes a way of life. All of the things becoming evident that were so hidden - in plain sight - before my blind eyes only beginning to be filled with wonder. Fixated on the reality of my perception. I question, "could I have been more ignorant?" There is growth in humility and I could not possibly be alive and be more humble than I have become in this moment. When the Etch-a-Sketch of one's life, so carefully twisted and turned, is shaken clean... and the blood, sweat, and tears of personal evolution are visible on the wind like lenticular moisture from a windy summit... the tears remain as a reminder of where you've been and they effectively blur sight of the path ahead. I'm ok with my Band-aid on a bullet hole. Clarity is a rarity for sure in my daily routine, but I'm thankful for the moments I think I'm piecing together the vignettes even if they never form the opus. There is no under, over, or around... only through. Take God out of the box you've placed him in... Wine and lots of time alone to think is not as pleasant as it used to be, but I have a lot of coupons for introspection these days. I'm a bargain shopper. The expiration date is smudged and I don't want to miss the good deals with procrastination. I received an unsolicited email (a.k.a. SPAM) urging a Google game where you put your name in quotes with the phrase starter "needs" and search for what Google seems to think you need... exempli gratia "Clayton needs" *click* My number one result was "Clayton needs it." I have a lot of potential candidates for what "it" is, but I'm still working on deciphering the cryptic conundrum "it" presents. Wings made of needles... pinned to the ground. The snippety-snap was from this afternoon. Henry and I went outside to soak in a little seasonal humidity. The grass is uncomfortably tall for him at the moment, but the recent rains have given it a leg up in its race with the lawn men. My day was a swirl of passing time and it's late. I'm looking forward to sleep. I hope there will be dreams of comfort and peace.

without

I can feel the weekend getting closer. It is with great irony that I dread them now when I once lived for my weekends with Erin. Nighttime and weekends are definitely the most difficult hours of my life these days. It is much harder to be alone than I would have thought... especially since I survived quite single and quite alone for years throughout my life pre-EL. Having "lost" changes perspective on so many things in every little niche of your life. My mother, who had been in town helping with Henry while I was away on business, left yesterday to head back to the coast. I did alright last night all things considered, but there is a noticable shallow grade decent as time passes. The motivation to do something this weekend to keep my mind busy almost feels like betrayal. It isn't that I don't want to think about her every second of my consciousness... it is just complicated. I attended another business meeting yesterday afternoon where everyone at the table seemed to migrate small talk into discussions about their wives. It was brutal. I just need to come to terms with the fact that I will never stop dealing with those situations. It's not much consolation, but acceptance is better than nothing. Sam emailed me to let me know that they started bulldozing the Cypresswood Trails on Monday. Apparently the city wants to extend a thoroughfare to connect traffic where there was once 75 or 100 acres of beautifully groomed mountain bike trails through the native forest. It is my understanding that many enthusiasts formed a committee to fight this action and the battle has been going on for some time now... greed and selfishness whittle another notch in the hilt. "Sooner or later, we all have our day in court." My step-father discovered that the property adjacent to their little swath of ranch land was vacant and owned by folks living out of state. They managed to find some contact info, which they passed on to me, and I called the fellow yesterday to inquire about purchase. He hasn't called me back yet, but if the price is right (read: cheeeep), I'm interested. That would make our combined lot about 32 acres down there and a nice little weekend get away until that winning Lotto ticket presents itself into my possession. My internal thermostat seems to be out of whack these days. I never had troubles before... perhaps it's the emotional stress. I can't seem to get comfortable. I'm too hot. I'm too cold. It's never just right. I have a mulling list of things I need to do and things I want to do around here that seems to be highly susceptible to procrastination. I simply don't feel ready to face anything but spontaneity. If I don't just happen upon the instantaneous mood to participate in life, I am otherwise classically depressed and bound to bed or couch. Thumbs risking carpel tunnel from the cyclic fatigue of pressing the remote while aimlessly channel surfing are most likely covered by my health insurance, but it's anything but healthy. Even the things that really interested me before are as interesting as a torn piece of artisan parchment containing an essay on variations of underwater liquid soap carving written in Punjabi and soaked in fresh muskrat pee. They sound intriguing, but in the end, I want nothing to do with them... I've been thinking a lot about getting a wife for Henry... especially after seeing Nancy's little girl Yorkie. Erin always wanted to get him a girl companion and name her Lily. The logistics of caring for a baby Yorkshire Terrier escape my capability to facilitate at the moment, but it is in the back of my mind. Henry and Lily could keep each other company when Éclair gets too old to be there for him. I have not been sleeping well (still). This morning was especially bad. I feel completely unrested and my neck and back hurt tremendously. I opted to work from my home office hoping it would help. I can see that whether I feel it or not, some small progress has been made in that I can function without sobbing all day when working from home alone. I just need to stay preoccupied. I need to shoot more. I know this. Photography falls into the big bucket of stuff that sounds great but I simply have no interest in doing. Almost everything falls into that bucket. Heh. I have some big project ideas that I shared with Erin. She was very supportive of everything I did and it encouraged me to be even more than I thought I could. One of my long term goals is to photo journalize the Rocky Mountain range, especially the fourteeners, in ultra-high res panoramic photography (gigapixel range). I would like to eventually display that project in a gallery of sorts with prints measured in many feet to provide an immersive viewing experience. I have a lot of stuff like that floating around on my old to-do list. The only thing on the list at the moment is survival.

Time away from familiar surroundings and many hours on the road leaves opportunity to think... a lot. So many observations about myself and how I'm dealing with this "situation" run around in my head, but I'm generally not happy with how things are going. I find myself not being able to paint the images in my head as clearly as I could a few weeks ago. Things are foggy. Maybe it is my exhaustion from the trip and I just need to recharge. I find myself immediately noticing things like the presence of a wedding band on everyone's finger or how conversations within earshot always seem to drift to children, wives, and family... plans and memories. The perceived happiness of others is a bitter sting in an already tender wound. I'm not saying I don't want others to be happy... quite the contrary... I'm just saying that I've become ever so sensitive to queues around me that remind me of what we had together and that my precious mate is gone. I feel so adrift with so many questions... many of which I don't even want to know the answer. I am torn apart by the thought of the process of her death... was she scared? did she hurt? was it quick? I question how happy she was with me or how I was as a husband to her. I question and wonder things that I never would have before. It is torment. These are the dark things that cause man to fall upon himself. These are the things we each have to face and overcome at some point. I love Erin more than I can express on this insignificant blog. I believe she felt loved and was happy. Why do I feel so guilty as if I failed her? The mind begins to "what if" and question down the path that can only lead to insanity and self destruction. I can only assume this is part of the overall process, but where does it all lead? I look at myself in the mirror each day and all I see is a sad remnant of the man I was once. I feel like all the best parts of me died with her. I'm scared and want her to hold me and tell me she loves me... tell me it's ok.

Just For Fun - EL I wish to know myself the way I am with a paintbrush in hand Tossing off the weight of worldly expectations Recieving the freedom brought forth from an easy yoke I wish to know others the way they are when they are by alone no acting, no image to maintain a true knowing with out a word spoken True and intimate That is life That is truth That is what I wish

Hotel room in rearview mirror. Check. Asiago bagel w/cream cheese from Einstein's. Check. Overcrowded conference room slowly rising in temperature. Check. Lethargic clock with slowing ticks. Check. The sun is shining outside.

I'm so sleepy. I feel like I ran a marathon yesterday and slept naked on a volcanic pebble beach in chilly weather with no blanket. Assuming I don't have to go back out to the client site where I spent yesterday afternoon well into the evening, I have a full day of meetings before heading back to Houston. I need some coffee.

I'm in Dallas, TX. It's a business trip and I hope to be home tomorrow. I spent my day helping others... an amazing feat considering my mind was anywhere but here. With your feet in the air and your head on the ground... try this trick and spin it, yeah... your head will collapse... but there's nothing in it... and you'll ask yourself... At the end of the day I found myself sitting at an exclusive restaurant dining on venison from Denver presented in a fresh lingonberry sauce with fresh asparagus and some sort of potatoes dish that was exquisite. The service was magnificent. After dinner I enjoyed a fine Cuban cigar gifted to me from a colleague and a deeply expressive and peaty single malt. I realized quite abruptly that I have a good job and make a good living and I don't give two squirts of piss about any of it. It used to mean something more... something special. It was an accomplishment of hard work. It was providing for my family. Now, it is just passing time until I can sleep. I hear the overstuffed hotel pillows and layers of linen calling me. Maybe I can just stay asleep.

So I focused all my effort on getting the strength to not become a bump on a log at the bottom of the sea like so many nights of recent. I took my mother to see the Asylum Street Spankers. They performed at a venue to which I'd never been much less heard of... Super Happy Funland. Once the spot was discovered, it turned out to be a old house with a den of inequity sort of lair in the back covered in old theater seating, quilts and pillows on the floor, and ripped out bench car seats. The walls of every room were covered from head to toe in art... every sort of artistic expression from painting, drawings, poetry, and sculpture on scraps of paper and bits of this or that all the way up to murals and extremely busy chalkboards. It was different is a super happy hip sort of way... the trip without the acid or all the flavor without the meal. All alcohol in the place was free, but they accept "donations". I thought it a clever way to get around a liquor license however, I doubt ignorance would stand up in court. The cool thing about that scenario (that I didn't know until already there) is that you can bring your own beer, wine, liquor, etc. as if you were just headed to a buddy's bar-b-que. A note to self was made for future reference. It was a great show... really entertaining as they always seem to be. I was glad my mother got to check it out. My good buddy Keith met us there... which was an added special treat for me since I rarely get to see him these days. Keith and I have that relationships that in not temporally dependant. We can not see each other for months or years and when we get together it's like we hung out yesterday. I can think of a couple of people in my life that share that with me, but unfortunately, they too are seen so infrequently these days. I can't understand how I allow it to happen if not for laziness or stupidity on my part. I certainly have the means. A decision is all that is needed. But isn't like most things in our life? Better interpersonal relationships with friends and family... performance at work... our faith and service to God... it all really comes down to a decision to act on what we know needs to be done. It's food for thought.

my wife

"Prayer is the vital breath of a Christian." - EL I tried my best to sleep in today. My mother, bless her heart, tried her best to preoccupy my little boy all morning and keep the noise in the house down. A stray cat or a squirrel outside the window may as well be an atomic test bed. I sipped my coffee and combed through the jumble of emotions I feel each day. I broke down and cried on the floor of my bathroom and sat in her closet for a little while before showering and facing the public. I don't think my mom really noticed other than some overly bloodshot eyes. I seem to be surviving. We went to church after lunch. It's a splendid side effect of the misfortune of not having our own building of worship. We borrow space from others in times when available... hence the late service. It is conducive to sleeping in on what would otherwise be a "get up and go to church" day. After a terrific service (as they all are imho), we drove home and had lunch before gathering the little Yorkmeister and heading to Nancy's for tea. She is the lady that hosted the planting of a tree in EL's memory for the ladies EL knew from the women's center during her volunteering. Nancy had just recently received a little girl Yorkshire Terrier from her daughter as a birthday gift. Henry was a perfect gentleman. Now home, I am trying to relax a bit and not focus on things that hurt so immensely. A cold beer and comfy clothes in our quiet house. I want oh so badly to be snuggled on the couch with EL... playing with her hair and telling her how much I love her like I used to all the time. One more day goes by and nothing seems any clearer. One more day goes by and the pain is still strong and relentless. One more day goes by without her.

"He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity's sunrise." - William Blake

Away - Erin Bownds
up the mountain
up the mountain we go
away into the sunlight
through the shining rays aglow
upon the peak a top now we clearly see the only things that matter is that I love you and you love me.

I found that sweet little poem today. She had written it earlier this year. I never knew. Mom and I just returned from gathering the last of EL's belongings from the home where she drowned. It hurt so much I couldn't cry... if that makes any sense at all. Now, back within the confines of our house, I am struggling to maintain composure. I don't want to cry right now. I have felt weak at the knees all day and I know this won't help. My mother and I took Henry and Éclair for a walk in the woods. The sendaros along the creekside and through the thick (read: mosquito infested) forest between my house and the winding creek. They had a great time, but got really hot. Henry found a snake. Thank God it was a garden snake and not anything poisonous. I'm sure he believes he is impervious. I gently placed the bag of EL's schtuff with the other items I am not ready to sort in her library room. I can think about it another day... when I am stronger. It started raining quite violently just before we left... we even lost power once... but now it is intermittent drizzle to light showers with a spackling of lightning and laryngitis thunder. My heart is crushed. Perhaps I'll take my mom to see the Spankers after all.

I worked later than expected yesterday, but it was mostly due to not having the strength to change location. Ted and his wife Jenny invited my mother and I out to dinner at Perry's (one of EL's favorite local restaurants) last night. Their famous seven finger pork chop a.k.a. 'Meatcake' is described as "hand selected in the Midwest specifically for Perry’s restaurants, this item is dried, cured and roasted for five days then caramelized, finished in the oven and topped with maitre de garlic butter sauce; served with a baked potato and applesauce"... roughly translated, this means fabulous. We nicknamed it meatcake because when it comes out of the kitchen it looks like a giant slice of cake... like one of those multilayer abominations that you need a rope and climbing harness to approach. They slice it tableside into 3 distinct sections... the eyelash, the ribs, and the tenderloin. It is a festival of carnivorous delight. The last time I'd been to Perry's with the two of them, it was EL and I inviting them out and with the sting of coincidence, we were seated randomly at the exact same table served by the exact same waiter. I managed through it. We enjoyed some of EL's favorite tableside flambé deserts with post meal libations. I was so tired when I got home. It has been a really tough week for me. I'm glad it is the weekend and I feel like I have no schedule. This isn't entirely true, but it seems like it. I finished the migration to Vonage for our home phone. I wish I'd done it a long time ago. I have an appointment to gather the rest of EL's things from her employer's home this afternoon. It will be my first time back to the scene since the day it happened. My mother is going with me and I don't plan on staying long. Clerks 2 opened yesterday and despite being a Kevin Smith fan, I'm hesitant to go see it for fear it will just be disappointing. The Asylum Street Spankers are playing in Houston tonight. I'd like to go, but not as much as I'd just like to sleep. I dreamed a lot of Erin last night. Since her death, I don't dream much and when I do they are usually nightmares or I don't remember anything. I wish I could dream vividly of her every night. I wish a lot of things. There isn't much else going on here with me other than trying to take things as they come and not have any expectation.

Autumn was always my favorite season.

"husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it; that he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word, that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish. So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself. for no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church: for we are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones. for this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. this is a great mystery: but I speak concerning Christ and the church. nevertheless, let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself" - Ephesians 5

There is a dichotomy in my daily existence that is difficult for me to quantify within the ignorance of my vernacular. As time passes there are two parts of me that co-exist at great distance. There is the shell of the man I was that goes to work each day and attempts to go through the motions of life in recovery with tiny steps of progress. He talks to his friends and answers emails to clients. He eats and bathes. He does the things that must be done to survive. Within the shell, there is another man that is equally me, but slipping further away from his public image counterpart each day. That me is dying inside. His heart breaks multiple times daily as if the wound were moments fresh. His life is no more fulfilling that a patient on life support praying for someone to pull the plug. The hardest part of my existence is not letting him take over. His kung fu seems to be extremely powerful, but I keep praying that I get some sort of direction that will help keep me moving through my day. My patience amazes me... I never knew I had so much. I am lonely and scared. I guess I've always hoped God would put bandage the spots that were hemorrhaging and tell me it's going to be ok, but my faith is just one more struggle on a list of many. I am trying. I can't see how I can go on here without my wife and the blessing of her grace in my life, yet somehow I still wake up each day to watch the sun drift across the sky... soaking in personal agony and self pity that I can't seem to shake. There isn't something someone can say or do to change anything in my life. I know that the only way out of here is through God, but despite my efforts to try and establish a better relationship, He is not allowing me to move forward. Apparently, He has something else in mind that benefits from my despair. I'm going out on a limb here and just putting it out there... try not to read into it. There is absolutely zero chance of me harming myself physically to speed along the process, so just brush that stereotypical shortcut off the table. The potential of many years of life as a widower for my one true love weighs heavy on my heart. No matter how exotic or beautiful, there is no place for me to travel and see that will bring me closer to her. No matter how prestigious or lucrative, there is no worldly success I could attain that will make this life enjoyable. I pass the time and miss her with everything that I am because her husband is all I am to be. Servitude is really the only thing I have left to live for because everything else is just futilely passing time.

As I sip the Highlander Grog (EL's favorite coffee from a roaster in her home town) made with beans she ground herself from a cup she bought me "just because" with damp cheeks from the streams of tears drying in the cool air of my office, I am amazed that I am still alive. Surely I would have died from this pain by now. Not to sound like a broken record, but I don't remember falling asleep... just the hurt. I woke up this morning and had to get EL's keys to our house out of her purse (still in the evidence bag) for my mother. It all seems so surreal. How can life be this cruel? I had charged her phones and laptop since I brought everything home. I booted her laptop while I was getting ready for work. I found some files she had been working for her job on her desktop that I will forward to her ex-employer. I opened the directory tree and just snooped around. I found some notes to herself, poetry she'd written, photos of Henry, some projects she was working on, and the two of us (filed under "family"). The last two documents she'd saved the afternoon of the second (the night of her death) were her time sheet and a Word doc entitled "love songs". Faith Hill and Tim McGraw's "Let's Make Love" was the first entry.

"Baby I've been drifting away
And dreaming all day
Of holding you, touching you,
The only thing I wanna do is be with you
As close to you as I can be
Let's make love All night long Until our strength is gone Hold on tight Just let go I want to feel you in my soul Until the sun comes up Let's make love"

I remember our wedding day and all the beautiful songs she had selected for the event. This song, which I'd never heard before today, reminded me of that... and how sweet and wonderful she was to me. I have been crying all morning. At the house, on the way to work, at my office... I can't stop. There is no knife that can cut this deep. The very deepest part of my being, where the heart meets the soul, is in torturous pain. I am so sorry Erin... so so sorry. Silence is the only thing I have to describe where I am without you.


The Secret Many truths float through life never finding validation in breath, but they're true just the same and no closer to death. Ageless and absolute are but a few, But one stands out that I'd like to share with you. Behind each man that knows success and prosperity, is the love of a woman given freely and charitably. Whether a mother's son whose morals and actions tell true the love that she gave him as he stumbled and grew, or a passing acquaintance, a lover, or wife, whose love keeps him warm amongst cold men and cold nights these men that find the strength to persevere when most fail and champion the mightiest when they seem weaker and frail are the men that know greatness beyond me and perhaps you these are the men who awaken to woman's "I love you."

I'm not sure why, but my weakness continues. I feel like I could collapse at any moment. Naturally I would think it has something to do with not eating, but I eat... most of the time. My business trip to Louisiana was cancelled yesterday afternoon (within 24 hours of my departure). My mother agreed to come watch Henry while I was away, so I called her to let her know I wasn't going after all. She decided to drive up anyway and arrived around 1:30 this morning. I feel comforted knowing someone is there with him while I'm at work... even if just for a few days. I rode the trails again last evening. I can't seem to free my mind from this and thus find myself not enjoying most things I usually would. I channel surfed for hours last night. I should have read, but anything that takes mental engagement usually strengthens my sadness. I called a friend to meet for lunch today downtown. I haven't been downtown in a while and I figure besides visiting some folks I haven't seen recently, the whole process will help me to kill some time in my day... make more of my life go by.

I think it was after 8 tonight when I realized I hadn't eaten anything since I woke up.