Karma. I believe in Karma. I believe that Karma is made out of energy. You send out positive energy, Karma sends back waves at you. The opposite holds true. You fuck with someone, Karma will fuck you up sooner or later. They don’t say “Paybacks are a bitch” for nothing. That’s Karma at play.

I really try not to fuck with Karma. Every time I want to get even with someone, I stop myself. “Let Karma take care of it.”
I honestly don’t know how many people out there believe in Karma. I don’t care what denomination you maybe, there must be a feeling of “something” inside of you with this energy that surrounds us, this “Karma.”
But if you believe in God, a higher power, whatever it is, then what is Karma? How could it be that powerful? So influential in outcomes? I thought that was the job of God.
What if Karma was God, or God was Karma?
It kind of makes you pause and think about it for a little. I’ll wait.

Though it kind of makes sense. It feels right. We were all taught in some form or another that God is close by. Closer than we think. We’re surrounded with Karma, the energy. God is Karma or Karma is God. They’re the same term, just labeled differently. In the Universe, there is no such thing as the label “Laptop” or “Orange” or “Hair”. In the universe, it’s just that, a form of “energy.” It has no labels or names. The universe doesn’t have that. Only we put labels on things. It limits our vision, our exploration. It starts wars. It starts global chaos.

 

What if our souls were made out of that energy? The exact moment we evolved from animals to humans, a bolt of energy. A soul that feels “Guilt.” The transition could have been represented in the form of a term “Adam.”

Since the universe does not label things; they’re just are, somehow that evolution period needed to be represented by a word, Adam. Just a thought. Not sure, but “what if”, or “Why not?”

Today was “meh”. I went into the studio late. Got there by 11:20am. I really wasn’t in the mood. Jaret shared artwork for t-shirt designs for a campaign we’re working on. I flipped out.
“This is what the client asked us to do.” Jaret explains.
“This doesn’t make any fucking sense. Why the fuck do we just take orders from our clients without us thinking first if it makes sense. If it’s wrong, we need to tell them. What the fuck?” I yell at everyone seated at the table. They scrambled a little. I stormed out and slammed the door behind me. I was furious. I hate it when anyone “Yeses” the client to death. This is what they hire us to do. We think for them. We need to educate them. Collaborate with them. Explain why one over the other. It’s a fucking dialog. You meet in the middle. You always give and take. This is a partnership. Any partnership. Business, personal, couples, whatever. Compromise.

I come back into the office after I had a smoke to calm me down. Rich shows me the entire execution in aggregate, when I only saw the piece alone. It made sense. We’re aligned. I overreacted. I apologized. “Show me the fucking entire thing next time dumbass.” I smile at Jaret.

I’m getting pissy quickly. I’m losing my temper quicker. I used to have control over it. But I do go into short periods when I get temperamental. It’s like the cold with me, once a year, if.
Something is wrong. This is not me. I am always in control. Why am I losing it?
I can’t attend to my work if my life is not in order first.
My priorities are not straight. I need to take care of our children and our home first. I need to get this in order. Fucking Bella is not helping much with me having control back over our life.
I need to get it stable again for all of us. I need give them stability again. Safety. Security. I need to be focused. Laser-sharp focus. I need a schedule. Not a firm one, but a schedule nonetheless.
Bella’s erratic behavior is hard to manage. She’s as unpredictable as I am. So having control is more like trying to walk on a tightrope. You’re all out of balance. I’m hanging on from falling down. I can’t afford to fall down. But if I fall, I’ll try again and again and again until I cross over.
I’ll figure it out.

I left work early. Ran an errand and headed home. I wanted to be home before Bella got home. I wanted to be there for her.
Mama was cooking an early dinner for us. My God can the woman cook. She makes her food with so much love, you can taste it. LMAO. Your’s, resentment.
It’s funny how our brains work. How I deviate from a thought to another with your memory somehow in it.

Okay, so I need to take back control over our house. Mail has been piling on since I lost you. I haven’t opened up one piece of mail. Not a single envelope. That was your thing. I realized today that I needed to take that part. I realized that the entire time I spent ignoring them is because I didn’t want to accept your death.
By me opening the mail, a piece of you is, gone. All our life pieces that you handled, I haven’t attempted to touch. I can’t bring myself up to it. I am terrified. I am fucking scared baby. My fucking baby. I can’t see through my tears. Oh my god baby. I have to stop for a minute.

I’ve been holding back tears since my early teens. I had to grow tough overnight. I had to protect myself from predators. I will not allow them inside, again. Ever. Never.
I became emotionless.
I have never cried. Never at funerals. Never at weddings. Never at our babies’ birth. Never. Shedding a tear was weakness in my book. You stand up tall and face your worst fucking fears and hurts, but never fucking cry. Crying doesn’t focus you to get out of a problem when time is of the essence. That’s wasted time, crying.
I had this letter with planned thoughts. But I deviated so much that I forgot what we were talking about. I just write what comes to my mind. I tell you every word, every thought and every memory of you.
Typos here and there. I readjust my letter, my phrases. Thank God for Google and Spellcheck being turned on. English is my 2nd language. I have my odd use of words on occasion, pronunciation. I write english better than I speak it, weird. That said, I don’t give a fuck. Unless you, to whom I’m speaking doesn’t correct me, I wouldn’t know I fucked up. And people are afraid to correct you, thinking that they’re doing you a fucking favor. Guess what, you’re not. You’re not doing me a favor by allowing me to keep making the same fucking mistake over and over and over again in front of someone else in my life. How is that for being courteous or doing me a favor? I sure as hell didn’t ask for that type of “favor.” That’s the opposite of courteous, quite frankly, that’s fucked up.

 

I gather my thoughts and take the plunge with the mail. It needs to get done sooner or later. Just fucking get there sooner. Don’t waste fucking time.

I started opening up the mail. Much appreciated sympathy cards, bills, junk, the usual. Except for a few.

Tuition bill.

Insurance bill that didn’t make sense.

An ambulance bill. That didn’t make sense either.

The relief fund. That didn’t make sense. None of it is making any fucking sense.

The hospital bill. That was the topper. You had canceled our health insurance?
I need a cigarette.

 

Hmmm…

What “wrong” did I do? Why is Karma doing this to me? First to lose you, to carry all the life’s burdens on my back, and gladly I take all your suffering on and away. What the fuck did I do? Who did I wrong? What the fuck did I do to whom?

I always told you, find the good out of any bad situation. There will always be good that will come out of it. Go find it. It will relieve the hurt. Focusing on the good things in life is way better than focusing on all the bad things in life. All the negative energy that gets wasted could have been redirected to positive energy. Simple redirection. Find the good instead.

Fucking Bella takes after you. Earlier, this is the back and forth texting she and I had.

 

Fuck it, I’ll figure it out.

Yesterday, I asked my team for a favor. I want them to help me promote this Blog. As usual, I task everyone with coming up with ideas, blue sky ideas. I give my marching orders. In a few days or weeks, we huddle back. Share the ideas with everyone. Brainstorm. Comment. Come up with more ideas on the spot. Some of us can do that. Come up with ideas on the spot. Some prefer to think on their own. Others prefer they do their research first. Takes a day longer, but that’s their process. I respect that. Go. Fucking do what it’ll take you to do it right. It’s complete freedom.

[Cigarette break.]

I just had an idea.

I sent them all back an email.

 

“

Never mind. I got this.

Cheers,

 

Avenue Red

Vince Marie

ECD/Partner

”

Good night my sweet.

I love you,

Me