We've lived within our 1,550 sf abode for over twenty years. Never have we replaced any of the floor finishes (carpet, wood flooring, ceramic tile) within the house despite the fact that we've lived with a chronic - under the wood floor - leak at / near the front door. My theory is that this leak is the result of a large picture window that was either incorrectly installed or manufactured faultily. The leak has badly stained the floor at the juncture of the floor plane and wall, and it's grown progressively worse (leak has expanded) over the past twenty years. It's important to know that I can distinctly recall placing my head within my hands, all those years ago, upon first realizing that we had this leak. For I knew it was going to represent a massive thorn within our home's building envelope.
During the first year of living within this "garden home", the man who had the house constructed (who was always very uncooperative / resistant to take responsibility) did pay a flooring subcontractor to return and replace the then stained portion of the wood floor. He did this after claiming that the leak had been successfully repaired. But we soon discovered that the leak persisted. Even after I paid thousands of dollars, years later, to have the exterior wall finish (EIFS) refinished / sealed / repainted (around this now identified leaky window), the leak persisted.
Throughout the decades that this has been going on, I've essentially been lying to myself about its severity. And this is how I've chosen to deal with the problem. Particularly as a homeowner who's also an architect. It's really been the only way I've known to manage this chronic, very in-your-face water infiltration issue.
At the present, besides the aforementioned wood floor staining, there's also no doubt that our primary floor finish (throughout the house), carpet, is now badly needing replacement. And this is simply due to wear and tear. Yet, I'm choosing to not lie to myself about that one because I've a successful plan with which to do something about it.
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Lies are always more comfortable to exist within than reality, particularly when our problems are way more involved / complicated than we're equipped to handle. Somewhat related to that is entertainment. The majority of entertainment is fiction. Rigorously developed / written / acted / directed / produced fiction. Fiction that's so clever / inspiring that we consume each episodic occurrence with abandon as we put reality on hold within the background.
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Growing up within the city of Madison during the '80s, there were no retail stores whatsoever other than gas stations, therefore my mother had to drive either to where Angie and I live now (on the Rankin County side of the Reservoir) or into Ridgeland (via Highway 51) to grocery shop. The most convenient Ridgeland grocery store was dubbed the "Big Star", and I distinctly recall it always having a carousel of paperbacks for sale inside.
As a child, reading was a passion of mine, therefore if I stumbled upon something that piqued my interest amongst the tomes on this oscillating wire rack, I'd usually place it in our shopping cart (hoping Darlene would not object).
It was during this time that I encountered the "unauthorized biography", and I would be remiss to not divulge that Moonlighting was one of my favorites TV shows as a teen. As such, Mr. Bruce Willis' career was being established right before my eyes as the infamous David Addison.
I remember curiously leafing through the Bruce Willis unauthorized biography paperback, paying heed primarily to only the candid black & white photos of Bruce there in the middle of the scoop. From there, I skimmed a lot before tossing that trash into the trash.
What this experience proved to me was that David Addison was far more important / impressive to me than Bruce Willis, yet it did plant a seed within me regarding the fact that a lot of something else was going on here, far removed from our glowing television set at 197 St. Augustine Dr.
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One of the most credentialed Samson guys I've come to know had quite the successful shoplifting career as an adolescent. His methodology involved wearing a trench coat into big box retailers from which he'd stash his stolen wares. Decades later, as an adult, despite his role as "Chairman of the Deacons" at the church he and his family frequented, he was a behind-the-scenes serial adulterer, using hook up smartphone apps to establish / maintain his ruse. And this went on for years 'till the Ashley Madison hack occurred and he, like so many men, had their lies exposed.
This friend has confessed openly that so much about his public persona is a lie. Particularly within the vocational realm. Yet, he's trusted more in those character lies, to propel him forward, than his true self. As such, so have his colleagues, who've done the promoting.
It's as if he's recognized / accepted his decision to be more comfortable / capable pretending in order to get what he truly desires out of his life, yet within the background, there's this ever present conflict between what he's created and who he truly is.
That, my friends, is an example of truly living in tension. And I believe many white collar men accept this as their own reality each and every day.
But there's got to be a relief valve, doesn't there?
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My mother's mother is almost 90-years old, and she lives with my mother's brother (her only sibling) in rural Humphreys County. Like many Mississippians who're her age, she is not in the best physical, emotional or fiscal health. My mom (with my grandmother concurring) believes it's best for her to live in her +/-900 sf rancher with my uncle (versus living alone or within a nursing home) out in the middle of nowhere. And this has been her status quo ever since my grandfather died back in 2014.
Last week, she fell inside the house and suffered some lacerations on her face / head. It scared everyone in the family but particularly my mother who wasn't there to witness what actually occurred. This obviously resulted in rushing her away for emergency medical care. Care which is only available +/- an hour from her remote home. This was the first time she'd fallen in all the years she'd lived within this home.
This week, she fell again, but this time it was outside on the concrete patio. Immediately thereafter, she accused my uncle of pushing her down. She came away with a broken clavicle as a result, per the doctor's analysis here in Jackson. She stayed with my parents for a few days before being returned to her routine in the Mississippi Delta.
My uncle had telephoned my mother immediately before her fall, claiming she'd "gone crazy". Darlene could tell that her brother and mother were having a heated exchange (which is not an uncommon occurrence) over some tomfoolery. He denies accosting her. Instead, he claims he reached out to steady her walker prior to her hard felt fall.
My uncle is known for his penchant for lying, therefore in spite of my grandmother's age / emotional / physical health, I'm of the opinion that she's the one to believe here. Neither of my parents would ever willingly side with me though regarding this. Instead, they'd rather conveniently move forward as if it had been her fault entirely, or simply not discuss it. Therefore, all I can do at this point is feel powerless.
You must know that my uncle is an extremely intimidating man. In fact, he's the most intimidating man I've ever known. As such, I believe, lying comes easy for him since it's presented within such a threatening persona. Both his build, but particularly his voice, fall in line with these attributes. He is the epitome of redneck, white trash machismo that consistently telegraphs the notion of "don't even think of crossing me". Yet, underneath all of that, he's a brilliant, extremely articulate guy with a heart that, at times, can show true care and concern in spite of his long track record of self absorbedness.
Throughout my life, I've watched my parents often cater to my uncle and his needs, but this truly went into overdrive when I was close to concluding my college career. And my grandmother has modeled this for them, yet her approach has always been enabling. She's wrongfully bailed him out of countless, very serious scenarios that he's found himself within (a few of which would have resulted in an accrued criminal record). As such, Bob and Darlene have - at times - been just as relentlessly merciful. I can relate to none of this since I've no siblings of my own. Instead, throughout most of my life, I've simply been a silent observer of these emotionally charged familial dynamics between people whom I care for immensely.
As such, I FIND THAT I HAVE NO NEED FOR MUCH OF ANY FICTION AT THIS POINT IN MY LIFE. There's plenty of real-life drama these days, within my own family, to keep me in emotional knots / awake at night. And these dynamics do a great job of doing just that.
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I wrote within an earlier post about utilizing gay porn to emotionally bank / connect.
Despite the fact that it's been close to one year since I've consumed gay porn, I chose to do so yesterday. And I can confirm that a whole lotta emotional banking / connecting did actually occur between me and those images. Particularly taking into consideration what I now know of what went down earlier this week between my loser uncle and my sweet grandmother.
The emotional connection I experience whilst consuming gay porn is hyper efficient, having been established all the way back to my childhood. So much moreso than I truly care to admit to. And I'm not sure how to not justify using it when I'm faced with emotional predicaments (that are out of my control) similar to the one I've described above.
After the fact (later on into the evening / earlier today), I thought a good bit about attempting to rendezvous with my Silas over the weekend in order to simply experience some quality, platonic physical touch (I'm not in the mood to talk). But I haven't done that. Instead, I've chosen to simply write out where I'm at in tandem with talking to my sweet wife (who sensed immediately that something unfortunate had gone down relative to my sobriety when I walked through the door last night).
In closing, I am so ready for the National Samson Society retreat to get here. I long to hear some helpful truth(s) whilst experiencing those real world, hyper efficient emotional connections, allowing every ounce of it to wash over me in droves.
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