I hope to one day hear Mark Miller and his wife record this song.

Expectations in three

Chorus:

Pride packs her bags and she barded the train with desire
As I stood at the station, I said goodbye
To the fine line between high and dry


I don’t ask for much cause I’ve given up trying
To get through one day with nobody lying
And nothing taken away
If you gave me three wishes I would be done with the dishes
And the Children would sleep just once through the night
And then there might be a way

Chorus

If I could know anything, I would know where you are
And I would know why you left and why you’re always so far
So high and so far away

If I could be anything I’d be that girl on the swing
I’d be the man on the train who helps his wife with her bags
And put an end to the shame

Chorus 2X:

If I had all the kings’ money I would pay off these bills
And have a night on the town and make a run for the hills
And stop this hanging around

© Mark Miller 2005

It's not what you know, it's that you know

It's been pointed out to me that the previous posting might be taken the wrong way. But I say fine. I didn't ask for a divorce nor did I give up on my wife for unreasonable reasons (in fact at all, I stuck by her). So if she or anyone else can't see the humor in the previous post which is from the Onion then to Hell with them. It's funny. The Onion says so.

As for the rest of it, I'd rather have my reasonable wife back as compared to the life I have now, but that is not to be. So, here I am. Waiting for the papers she says she will send. In many ways I hope she does. I never expected to find a woman I wanted to marry, so she was a suprise but I also never expected to chose someone so weak of will. Here I am, 32 with a woman who told me she only chose me in order to get out of Sedona.

I would have bought her a bus ticket. I should have given her the divorce she wanted in the Thai Chung Airport.

I'M A FUCKED UP CHICK MAGNET (TAKEN FROM THE ONION) but funny

Hey, I don't want to brag, but when you got it, you got it. And when it comes to picking up women with severe personality disorders, I've got it. Seems like whenever I'm in the same room with a sexy young nutcase looking for some hot dysfunctional action, we lock eyes and I gaze right into the twisted, abnormal recesses of her psyche, and then—bam! We make an instant, undeniable, and incredibly unhealthy connection. What can I say? When it comes to women, I'm a fucked-up-chick magnet.

I know what you're thinking: "Who is this guy to sound so full of himself?" I'm not being egotistical—it's just true. Hey, I know I'm not perfect. Who is? We've all got problems. I'm sure I've got some myself. But here's one problem I don't have: the ladies. When it comes to charming every borderline psycho in a skirt, I take second place to no man. I guess I just give off that "Hey there, pretty lady with the lifelong unresolved emotional issues" vibe. It can't be taught—you either got it or you don't. And I got it.

Everywhere I go, all kinds of psychiatrically disturbed women come running—women who never got over a traumatic childhood accident, or habitually cut themselves, or slept with their stepfathers, or abuse substances while locked in self-destructive cycles of internalized loathing and rage. They just can't keep their hands off me.

It's been this way my whole life. When I was 14, I got lucky with a classmate's mom. In high school, I dated every bipolar suicide risk in town. In college, I had at least a dozen girlfriends who couldn't decide whether they were mental patients or lesbians. It's just the way it is: Deranged dolls dig me.

I don't even have to try. Maybe it's chemistry, or pheromones, or these women can tell I'm afflicted with a complementary set of psychiatric disorders and their fucked-up-female intuition just can't resist. Whatever it is, I'm not complaining. All I have to do is show up at a bar, and before last call, every damaged woman in the place will make a beeline for yours truly, looking to get me entangled in a horrific web of codependency, manipulation, and mutual denial.

The sex is great, too. Believe me, all these highly unstable women have so many self-esteem issues, identity crises, and subconscious needs for approval from absent or emotionally abusive father figures, they'll do practically anything to try to please a man, no matter how self-destructive it is. Sweet!

Take this hot little nutjob who picked me up last weekend. Talk about crazy between the sheets! She cleaned my pipes six ways from Sunday before breaking down in tears out of nowhere at 4 a.m., screaming irrational threats, and trying to throw my stereo out the second-story window. Luckily, I was able to calm her down with a little TLC—time-release lithium capsules—and get her into a cab before she caused any serious property damage. But still, she can't stay away—she's been leaving, like, eight voicemail messages an hour on my cell phone. Hey, once they get a little taste of the old Deanster, they always come back for more... even after multiple restraining orders and injunctions.

All I can do is shrug and say, "Crazy women go crazy for me."

Lots of guys have asked for my secret, saying stuff like, "Wow, you sure can pick 'em," or "Dude, you need help." They can't understand how I manage to attract so many hot, wild, desperately pathological chicks. But I can't tell you my secret... It's just some kind of inexplicable magic.

Well, whatever it is, I'm enjoying every fucked-up minute of it.

Can't write my mind like I want it to Read

To my oldest Pal:

Ship me somewheres east of Suez,
where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments
an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin',
an' it's there that I would be
By the old Moulmein Pagoda,
looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings
when we went to Mandalay!
O the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder
outer China 'crost the Bay !

Whale of a Tale

Been writing all of this stuff down and making spread sheets trying to keep it all straight. Bullet Points just weren't cutting it. I've finally making alot of sense and actually a really fantastical story of bizarre but true events. Sure I'll have to fictionalize the ending; cuting and pasting all the emails, linking the missing pieces from from friends from the Dr's, therapists, "experts", the miles traveled, dark and light places visited and at such strange times and places. The cast alone is nuts.

Its all completely ridiculous and sometimes I think I can almost wake up from all this and see the blinds of an old bedroom but thats what makes it real. Crazy - thats the prognosis by everyone - I say fucking Hilarious, cerca Billy Bob Thorton in the intro scene to Badder Santa.

Friday again and I'm not closer

I can't begin to describe the amount of dissapointment that I feel every tedious moment of the day and night for last 3 months. Disspointed in my life and my wife. Dissappointed in the decisions of sacrifice I've made along the way and dissappointed in myself for leaning on those around me.

I would still try just about anything to salvage the relationship with her but her continual hostillity has not subsided for more than a few occasions in our limited communication. Her hatred and accusations are seemingly never ending. I can't even deal with it anymore, I just have to let it slide. I can't fight with her for no reason. I'm can't live with the anger. I'm just not that unhappy with another human being that I would still call up an tell I love (which she does).

To her, I am a lyer, a thief, a adulter and an abandoner. None of which are true. I've appologized till I'm blue in the face and it does no good. I can not get her forgiveness and she feels she owes none for her transgressions. I'm tired of this wound it hurts too bad.

Well here I am. What do I do now? What a strange purgatory I now reside in. Can't move forward can't go back, don't really like where I (as a person) am. Austin is good and comfortable and fun. Sailing, casual shorts, running, riding in the jeep, working on Mark's house, 40 hours, safety from terrorism.

What the hell is next?