Ralph Pullins

So I know what you're thinking: who died?  And okay, fair play, the last several posts have been eulogies of one kind or another what with my friends and pets dying at a pretty impressive clip, so much so that it feels kind of personal, like that last time I kicked the coffee table with my pinky toe and took the Lord's name in vain was the last straw and now its open season on my loved ones. But maybe I didn't want to write another eulogy, okay? Maybe this is my way of pushing back against the darkness, or something.   I have been feeling that the world is getting pretty grim and that things seem to be spiraling past the point of no return, and that maybe we are all doomed here for eternity in the universe's dumbest timeline.  And whether you are a godless Tylenol snorting communist homo, or a gun humping fascist police state bootlicker, you don't have to look far to have that feeling confirmed.  And you might be thinking you are neither of those, but let's face...

You thought you were okay. You thought I was gone, that I was chained up, that maybe you had starved me to death, that I was a husk, dried and dead.  You thought you were okay, that you had risen above it all. You forgot that I will always be here, waiting for your guard to drop, for you to get too confident, for you to get too comfortable. I will never die. When your son asked if you believed in ghosts you said no, but you lied.  You believe in ghosts. You believe in me.  I'm real.  Even if you forgot, even if you want to deny it, I am here now and I will stay until you are a ghost yourself.   The word is haunted . I want you to hit things, I want you to scare the people you love.  I want you to fill yourself with desolation, with bleak blind despair.  You get it. You remember.  You are alone, you are a fucking loser.  You remember, don't you? That you are inconsequential, that you are a fat stupid asshole?  You get it, even if others w...

  On Tuesday, my dog was fine. Wednesday she... wasn't. Thursday morning my wife took her to the vet. Thursday night the whole family took her to the emergency vet. And- On Thursday we had three dogs living in this house On Friday we had two. It's sad, okay. Those of us that have multiple pets know that there's one that we consider ours . She was the one I considered MY dog. Fucksake-  Whatever, this is not the point okay this isn't the thing that got me to sit down and write today. This thing is isn't about loss. It is about gratitude. So Thursday sucked.  It was full of dread and fear and uncertainty and stress. And on top of all that I had to work which takes concentration and focus, and on top of that I had just a few hours sleep.   Picture me at my desk with my headphones on, distracted and worried, and waiting for the other shoe to drop, picture me with a heart preparing to break, picture me with a head filled with questions: am I too soft for what is comi...

 It is Saturday morning in Feburary and here in Michigan it is clear and cold.  The sun has risen a while ago but there are still streaks of red in the sky, lighting up the clouds, high and wispy.  I am standing by my car after completing some chore, cleaning something or retrieving something and I am slow breathing, trying to calm my heart. It has been a difficult week. My son has a fight tonight, full contact MMA, his first, and I am full of conflict and anxiety about it. Not because I don't believe he will do well, because I know he is as prepared as anyone can be for such a thing, but because I am a father and I feel like I should be protecting him from the violence of the world. Even though he turns nineteen in a few weeks and is stronger both physically and mentally than I could ever hope to be, he is still my boy, and I am scared for him. My other son is fifteen and this week was embroiled in some stupid conflict at school, a misunderstanding that had led to meetin...

In the stifling heat my breath comes fast and heavy. What the fuck am I even doing here? What the fuck am I trying to accomplish? I'm sitting on the mat, maybe dying, a forty something dad playacting at being a fighter. This is my mid-life crisis, this is so, so stupid. This has to be the end for me, assuming I can get my heartbeat under control, assuming I don't just peg out here on the mat.  I can't do this anymore. "It's okay man, it's okay, you just need to breathe through it. You're fine, you're okay." The voice of my training partner, gentle and kind. My partner, the maniac that drove me to such a state, that I think I might die, he sits next to me and shows me how to breathe, how to calm my body. He teaches and guides me through it, and in a few minutes I actually am okay, the panic settles down, and maybe this isn't my last class after all. "You're alright?  Okay. Now lets get back to work."  And back to work we go. There ...

You have painted over everything and now the room is white, a clean slate, a fresh start and you sit in the middle of the floor content, but then it appears, a stain bleeding through, lurid, a violation. You go to the paint store, you buy better paint, different paint, stronger, and you lay it on thick and true. It covers the stain and you are content. And then one day you go into the room and the stain is back, like it never left, like you hadn't painted at all and you go back to the paint store and you get the best paint you can, the most stain resistant, the most sealant, the absolute top of the line, and you bring it to the front and the clerk eyes you nervously.  He says, "You must have something terrible to cover up, huh?" You go back to the room, you paint again with the top of the line stuff, and before you can even feel content this time, before you even get to sit down to rest, the stain, it shows, and you keep painting and it keeps coming back. You realize it...