Tuesday, August 19, 2025

Journey 049 ~What’s Bugging B, Virgil~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? Do I love you enough to STAY? Honestly, “I’m so high, I can hear Heaven.”

But I am no “Hero” as Chad Kroeger sings. Hell! I’m not even Todd Masterson from “Succubus Lord” laying off the wacky tobacky, weed, and the Devil’s Lettuce. Speaking of which, should I lay off the HaremLit novels? I’m on Backyard Dungeon 19, my love.

I’m nearly finished… It is finished… “He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus,” I tell myself as I pretend I’m telling you. As I said, I’m high enough to talk to my firstborn son B III. Gone four long years. And then I talk back to him. And let’s not forget about 2-V sitting here.

I’m sure I’m bugging him, jumping up and down, scanning the shed wall. I’m not going to talk about ‘THEM’ today. I’m already annoyed enough.

And not in an I miss Braxton jumping on my head kind of way. Or a Starship Troopers Sugar Watkins “Just trying to kill some bugs, sir,” sort of mood. And dammit, I wish I could stop touching my face. I feel like I’m in 2011’s “Contagion.” Effing Pop Culture!

When I spend every day breathing in toxins, trying to save our home. It’s no wonder I feel so sick. And it gives me plenty of downtime. Not really. But I don’t want to look at the backyard anymore. My B’s territory. No wonder I turn to our two-legged children.

And speaking of territory, my love, you touch me and whisper, “There’s the man I chose
There’s my territory.” Sweetheart.

“You’re a song written by the hands of God.”
Shakira

And you’re not bugging me in the slightest. No baby doll, it’s those “Three Little Birds,” pitch by my doorstep. Ours? Mine because I can’t blame this failure on you. A man provides, protects, and “Pop’s the P—sy.” Seriously, must I be so vulgar… “Rise up this mornin’. Smiled with the risin’ sun.” I haven’t done that in weeks, maybe months, my “Sweet Love.” I mean, not woken up with tears in my eyes. We were making Sweet Love listening to Anita Baker last night. One more reason I wanted to stay, my beloved.

Honestly, I hate this effing wall I’m looking at. And I don’t want to cry, spray more chemicals, or cringe. I just want to close my eyes and find my Braxton. What’s Bugging B, Virgil?

1661 Days Without B III, Day 1102 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, August 12, 2025

Journey 042 ~B Stays Put Virgil~

https://a.co/d/dKxDhhB

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? And where does that love go? “Everything Everywhere All At Once.” Haven’t seen that movie…

Do I want to be on our couch or love seat right now? We’ll get to that. But how am I? How is my day? Um, anywhere but here sounds nice. I’m not talking about you or where I’m working right now. If anything, it’s in my own skin. I feel like Agent Smith, love.

“I hate this place. This zoo. This prison. This reality, whatever you want to call it, I can’t stand it any longer. It’s the smell, if there is such a thing. I feel saturated by it.”
Agent Smith, The Matrix

That’s not posh, polite, or politically correct. Anything sounds better than being a MAGA Cracker Hat. Anyway, where would I like to be right now? I’m eyeballing the ground now.

Honestly, the back porch is dirty. The dirt, wood, and Carpenter Ants, where B isn’t.

No, his ashes are on the nightstand. And your husband is trapped in a vet’s office on Sunday, January 31, 2021. This shouldn’t be scary.

Being a man. Being alive. Breathing. Breathe in, Breathe out. If FEAR would follow suit.

No, my love, FEAR stays where it is, like Cancer. It grows, and I don’t have the money to fix it. Hell, I don’t have money for more pesticides, woodworking, or even a power wash.

And I shouldn’t talk about Cancer. Am I that eager to join Braxton and leave his little brother Virgil? And what about you, and those two-legged puppies we consider children?

I have to stay put, but that’s not the truth, is it? A husband, a father, and a man moves. Forgive me for sounding like a Cracker Hat, but I’m starting to see the appeal of homemakers. But I’m failing to protect our home, love.

And I wouldn’t blame you for going all Nelly Furtado “I’m Like A Bird.” But to quote a man in a hat, hopefully not a Cracker Hat. What it’s not like I’m looking up politics:

“You belong here… with me.”
― Christof, The Truman Show

Staying. If only my Old Man had kept his pants on, I could have stayed in Hell where I belong. But now there’s E-Day, “Existence Day.” The second worst day, next to when B died. You and I have spoken about expanding our family. Where do I belong, my love?

Inside you. I can hear the other two-leggeds go, “eww, Dad!” If I could only stay that, my love. But a man must be many things, and scared isn’t one. In your arms. In a box. B Stays Put, Virgil.

1654 Days Without B III, Day 1095 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, August 5, 2025

Journey 035 ~B Leaning On Virgil~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? You’re my shoulder to lean on. Or should I sing “look over your shoulders, honey!”

“I’ll Be There.” But I’m not Michael Jackson. Hell! I don’t have Neil Bimbeau’s bank.

Honestly, how much can one make in the “HaremLit” genre? Enough to survive and for the family. And I’m still leaning heavily on Braxton’s book “My Turn To B III.” Well, if I ever published it. I’d cry about it, but that’s one of the reasons I ignore your advice of “Put Your Head on My Shoulder.” Seriously, I would rather cry in your lap as I told Braxton yesterday.

The only way to make my wife wet. Braxton and Virgil don’t need to hear that! But I would cry on Braxton’s shoulder? Excuse me, his Scapulohumeral Joints. And Virgil?

He’s leaning against me, keeping me upright like Pete McVries.

Richard Bachman/Stephen King’s The Long Walk. First, am I back on that again? I saw the second trailer, and I’m not sure I’ll have enough paper for September 12th. Secondly, isn’t Braxton my Pete McVries? Virgil is more my Stebbins. You, my love, are Jan.

Everything you had to offer me. All of yourself. And I just passed by. Don’t I trust you, my love? Don’t I want you? I am as adamant as I am about wanting children. I’m not one to laugh much. Oh, I do! But the live part. More like the creation of life. And love.

Broken heart and all, “I Got Nothing But Love For You Baby.” The Five Heartbeats. You, Virgil, our three two-legged kids. My heart was Braxton.

Carpenter Ants don’t have hearts. I have that in common with my GREAT enemy, hmm.

Speaking of which, I’m leaning on the “Spectracide Terminate Termite & Carpenter Ant Killer AccuShot Sprayer,” and the recent cold snap to protect the house. This is only the second day that I haven’t spotted an ant scurrying out of a hole they made, love.

I’m a man, a husband, a Dad, I shouldn’t be leaning on you. Well, except in the throes of passion. “After all, you’re my Wonderwall.” I can’t even keep the walls of our home up.

“If he can keep his knuckles up all night, imagine what his willy can do.”
― Far and Away 1992

I lean forward in killing BUGS, BUGS! I lean back for your favorite position, love. I lean left against MAGA Cracker Hats. You’re my right hand. B Leaning On Virgil

1647 Days Without B III, Day 1088 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, July 29, 2025

Journey 028 ~High Braxton, Hi Virgil~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? Can I say that without crying? I don’t want to look at myself. The time…

Hell! “Everyday Day Is Exactly The Same,” Sunday, January 31, 2021, to be precise, love. The day my honest to God… (God? Honest? Ha!) Anyway, the day that love died. Honestly, my Braxton hasn’t moved from the table in the vet’s office, the top of my nightstand, or the tippy top of my mind in four years. Again, 1640 days to be accurate, give or take a few hours. And what could I be doing in “These Final Hours,” beloved?

Trying to remember our wedding day? Dangerous words, right? I cried then and now. A trick of Braxton’s Favorite Girl. She told me that if her man wasn’t crying when she walked down the aisle, she was going back up. UP, higher ground, high ground…

What am I angling for? A movie night with you? To be “Drowning in your love.” Damn, Csapunch (Chrissy Allen) and her trip to see the Backstreet Boys. One more reason my eyes are all watery. I’ll burn my eyes out of my skull with all the social media BS.

Distractions. Like all these movies. “UP” shows us a ‘happy’ life in the first few minutes. The fanfare of all these apocalyptic movies, where the good guys always survive, my love. And the high ground… If you didn’t know that was a Star Wars reference, we wouldn’t be married. A few steps below my boys, Braxton and Virgil. Then our two-legged children, don’t talk badly about Star Wars. Why am I up in the clouds?

I think I’m higher than that. And that’s why I’m looking up. Would my head explode in space? How do I explain to you what’s happening to me, my love? My heart is bleeding and broken in this “Mad Season.” This “Cruel Summer,” with my “Summertime Sadness,” baby girl. And fearing I might drown from it all, the flood, I am seeking higher ground. Like “B.o.B.” I’m looking at “Airplanes” for a wish. My B is up there, and so I “get higher, baby, and don’t ever come down!” I’m not on drugs, but I feel like I could die.

How do I “Even” it out like Julien Baker sings about? Sometimes, all I need is “The Air That I Breathe.” High Braxton, Hi Virgil.

“Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe.
And to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe.
Yes, to love you”
― The Hollies

1640 Days Without B III, Day 1081 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, July 22, 2025

Journey 021 ~Homes For B, Virgil~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? And if you’re a fan of Christmas. Well, that’s one more thing to apologize for.

I swear I almost started our conversation with “I’ll B Home,” which goes all the way back to Tale 066 ~ I’ll B Home Virgil~ on Tuesday, September 5, 2023, to be precise. Everything in its place, My Love. So why am I sitting here this afternoon listening to this monstrosity?

“I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Effing Christmas In July! Effing Hallmark Channel! Or was it QVC? Whatever! This is what happens when your poor excuse for a husband is sitting on his ass “writing” about my euthanized son. Make it plain. Braxton is gone. And Virgil is sitting on his pillow wanting some attention. “But you don’t look ashamed, and baby, I’m not scared.” I wish I could sing that. I wish it were true.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you were ashamed of me. And honestly, I’m effing terrified.

“FEAR does not exist in this dojo!” Only it’s not that. This is our home. And it’s not you that’s following me. “Follow Me.” Where to? No, it’s my Braxton who followed me for fifteen years. And on Sunday, January 31, 2021, he decided to follow me for four more years and then some.

I’m not effing MAGA! I’m not an effing Cracker Hat! And me as President… Seriously!

My Love, I want to be a good husband, father, if anything, Just A Man. But I have no place.

Where do my furry sons go? My sins. And what about my “sausage.” Sorry, I’m both hungry and horny. It’s been a long day, baby.

I’m trying to make space. I’m trying to “Hold Space” as in “The Book of Clarence.” Am I ever going to get off of this loveseat? For you, my Sputnik, my crazy Satellite Girl, anything.

I’m not one for cutesy nicknames. But that song from Jerry Engler and the Four Ekkos does it for me. Yeah, it was lying with you on a Sunday Morning that led to me ‘filling you up’. Next thing we know, we need a bigger house to make a home for all of Braxton and Virgil’s two-legged siblings. But what else needs a home? Money? Not much of that left. Making room in my heart for more Love. You, our children. I’m big, small, nothing.

Homeless. Homes For B, Virgil.

“Welcome to my world (welcome to my world)
Welcome to my only world (my only world)
It is full of space junk
But your words are coming through
I’m riding on the space junk
And it’s bringing me to you.”

1633 Days Without B III, Day 1074 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, July 15, 2025

Journey 014 ~Braxton’s The Bar, Virgil~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? I tell you that all the time. Braxton. Virgil? Our two-legged kids. But a drink.

I could use a drink. No! “I could really use a wish right now.” There are plenty of “Airplanes” in the night sky. Or there will be with Effing MAGA in charge. But FDT, two times! Besides, I don’t want to talk about the Epstein List. We, being parents, Love.

Today I have you, my beautiful wife. There’s Braxton. There will always be Braxton, as he told me yesterday, “You’ll Be In My Heart” from the Rainbow Bridge, Heaven, wherever.

I checked Virgil, who seems to be bug-free. Maybe a few bites, but nothing I can see to pull off. And speaking of pulling things off. Being a good dad to our two-legged kids. Trying.

With all my blessings, I wish I could stop crying.

Oh No, “My Love!” These aren’t happy tears. Not like the Sia song from The Twilight Saga: Eclipse. If anything, the tears help wash off the blood of my firstborn furry son. But I wasn’t crying for Braxton. Not today.

Would that make it better? I had around seventy days just for that after he died. As I worked on Braxton’s novel, I was reminded of the Assistant Store Manager. Eff that guy! Effing meathead. Anyway, he moved me from the Denial stage to Anger. Freaking Vampire, Zombie, Effing TICK! A parasite is what I am. Maybe I’ll catch something and join Little B III.

Enough bites to bleed out. But “I just-just got-to-got-to-got-to” keep the blood pumping, don’t I? I’m saving Virgil, I love you, and a man provides.

“Here Comes Success.” I should toast to it. But then I wouldn’t remember. Forgetfulness and Ignorance. Joy and Pain, as Frankie Beverly sings on. Did you know? I didn’t, Love.

You didn’t know I would be such a crybaby who sweats bullets, bleeds for my boys. And my sexual appetite. I wish I could keep it in my pants. Have you looked in a mirror?

“Because maybe. You’re gonna be the one that saves me. And after all. You’re my wonderwall,” thank you, Ryan Adams. But seriously, “My Love,” “Remember when we first met. And everything was still a bet, in Love’s game. SIGH, I spit out songs. Filling you up, sweating for THEM, crying for B. I’m left. A desert. Braxton’s The Bar, Virgil.

1626 Days Without B III, Day 1067 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, July 8, 2025

Journey 007 ~Virgil, Tune Of B~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? But will we skip a “Love Song” today or two? You know me too well.

My ears hurt. Well, my head hurts. Trust me, I know when something’s wrong with my ears. I still hear the silence my firstborn son left behind. Is it scary that I’d joined B III? “Anytime, anyplace, anywhere, if you ever need me, I’ll be there.” A blood oath to my son. More like Bloodsport. But as much as I want to lie here and watch movies with you, My Love, there is a reason we’re speaking early this Monday, July 7, 2025, 3:00 PM.

Beloved, “Any Time, Any Place.” Dancing with you to Janet Jackson vs me crying over Braxton. That’s a whole other conversation. Not that I would ever deny you, My Love. Today, I would deny myself. “Feeling super, super (super!) su*cidal.”

If I don’t tell you, who would I tell? “Well, I feel STUPID. But it’s something that comes and goes.” I haven’t been good over the last couple of weeks on this Journey we call life. “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today. To get through this thing called life.”

The more I try to cut the music off, the more that comes through. There is too much noise, My Love. I can handle the smell of replacing Virgil Vivi’s potty/training spot. In and out.

They call that breathing. And I can’t stand the sound of me breathing at all. What about the silent tears coursing down my face? It’s either Braxton or my exhaustion. And effing technology! Every beep and boop has me jumping.

Fireworks. They annoy V and B. They explode by the house. I’m ain’t “Never Scared.”

But the noise. Not at all like your pillow talk. Or should I go ahead and say your dirty talk? And the sounds your mouth makes when you’re doing other things, to me… For me. Your moans, whispers, cries, and screams. It’s like I’m John Seed, The Power of YES. It’s your heartbeat I care about, your breathing. When I know you’re going to explode.

So I won’t go getting “Tired Of You.” I’m tired of myself. I want to quit crying over Braxton sometimes. Or listening to Virgil’s munching and crying about whatever’s wrong with his eating. I want to quit digging my own grave. Virgil, Tune Of B

1619 Days Without B III, Day 1060 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will