Watching someone die is awful. Not in a psychopath-thriller kind of way, but in a prolonged agony and torture. My Dad has fought off Death for years, but in May, we knew it was coming. So we waited. It sucked.

My Dad was a fierce, smart, and proud man. Honor by his own code (one that many Askren’s share) and lived life the way he wanted. My Dad was the meaning of family, an embodiment of the term. As much as it pained him at times to watch us suffer and make mistakes, he let us. He lived for his children and grandchildren. And he was there when we failed, doing whatever he could, whenever he could. He was a real Dad, a real Man, and that meant family is everything.

I know he’s in a better place, I know he’s out of pain and no longer suffering. I know all this, but I already miss him and hurt that he’s no longer part of this world. I felt Death come into the house, I know the moment it came. I closed my eyes and asked Death for mercy, to do it’s job without vengeance, because my Dad paid his dues in this life, he didn’t need to pay for the after-life.

I have been grieving for months, watching this man decay in the body this life gives. Today, I toast him, a shot of whiskey in the Askren way.

I love you Dad, always. Thank you for everything.

At any age of life, it’s hard to admit your Mom was right. You ignore, argue with her, or dismiss her. But you know, Mom is right.

My Mom motivated me as a child to be independent and make sure I could take care of myself. She stressed the importance of having a career that would ensure always having a job, therefore always being able to cover one’s own level-one Maslow’s hierarchy (food, shelter). This piece of advice I took, and am ever so grateful that I did. I am a nurse. I will always have a job (if I have a license). I may not like the job, but I’ll be able to eat, have housing, buy clothes, etc. as long as I am able to do the work.

Mom tells me that, “if you are able to do something yourself, you should do it. You are the only person YOU can really count on.” Again, she’s right. There are amazing people that have helped me in dire situations, people I can call on if I need anything. But, at the end of the day, as I’m struggling to keep it together through overwhelming personal chaos, Mom is right. Only I can deal with this, and I just need to do it.

My Mom doesn’t trust people. She’s got a lot of damn good reasons for this and I don’t blame her one bit. This is the advice I’m not good at following. I trust people with information they misinterpret or share my secrets to only have them exploited.  I’m slowly learning, again, Mom is right. Oh sure, you’re already arguing with me on this one, but why? Because deep down you know, Mom is right. Even your most trusted significant other will betray you in the right situation. We lie to ourselves that we can and should trust people, but we shouldn’t. Trust too is something that you can only rely on yourself for, you can rely on you.

Thank you Mom for all of your advice. I love you.

Gen X Men are assholes.

Naturally, not all of them, but a lot of them. Gen Xer’s grew up in the greed-filled 80’s where Communists were the enemy and cocaine was king. Some had stay-at-home Mom’s that catered to their every whim in lieu of getting a job. Those with working Mom’s watched their Mom’s work outside the home, only to come home and work inside the home. Dad’s “off time” was spent watching sports in front of the TV, or on the golf-course drinking with pals, and maybe mowing the lawn. The boys in the later group were jealous of their pampered peers, and instead of making it better, they demand the “Mommy me” treatment of their spouses.

It’s 2018 and so many of my working-Mom peers do 80% or more of the child rearing and housework – including yard work, whilst their “eldest child” goes out to play. What’s worse, is the “man-child” is often unwilling to converse or do anything about it.

Why?

Because they are spoiled.

They long for the time of “Mad Men” and shutter with being outed in the “Me Too” like movements. They don’t want change and they don’t want to talk about it. They want to be entitled brats that expect women to chase after them and wipe their pee off the toilet seat (yes, we know it’s YOU).

But guess what?

They are getting old, impotent, fat, bald and passed over. Despite the work and home pressures, women are still succeeding. Maybe it’s wages-that-are-lower-than-male- counterpart that’s doing it, or maybe women are less worried about having a tidy home and dinner on the table, or maybe it is just time.

So, Gen X Men, get off your old, bald, fat, drunk, lazy asses. It is time to step up or step out. And for many of us Gen X Women, I say STEP OUT.

Hi, I’m Angela, and I’m angry.

I’m the kind of anger that boils like a volcano, shaking the world around me with the energy of pent-up rage.

Why I’m angry is a long, painful, and sad story that I find it hard to believe when I hear myself tell it. And it’s a story that is still being written, seemingly never ending, and fuels my anger on. This is a story that won’t end well, because it can’t, and that makes me angry too.

As a woman, I’m not allowed my anger. People tell me to “let it out” and “don’t be passive aggressive because you’re angry.” So I do let it out. I tell people what they are doing that pisses me off. Usually, I’m not too much of an asshole when I’m doing this. I learned quickly people don’t really mean they want you to tell them. People don’t want to be called out on their shit, in a nice way or not. They just don’t want to deal with your anger towards them. Love, they take willingly and greedily. Time they will steal. But anger, that they leave you to it, or worse, they fuel it.

I’m skinny. I’m almost too skinny (if there is such a thing in this culture). People ask me how I lost weight and stay thin. The truth is anger. I exercise viciously to remove the anger from my body, mind, and exhaust myself so my body has to rest. This form of anger management seems okay to people, as long as they aren’t around and have to help do something. You want to get thin? Get mad.

This anger walks a thin line between intense and rage. Rage is a whole breed of anger in itself. Rage is all consuming, filling every pore on my skin and cell in my body. Rage demands payment, and wants to destroy. Rage is anger that must come out, but how? The weeds in my garden get my rage, and yes, my garden has no weeds right now.

When I figure out how to better deal with Anger and Rage, I’ll let you know.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton