Author: Matthew Groff

  • Sweaters with Age

    I wanted to write about politics today, but my heart really isn’t into it. I think I am having Trump/Impeachment/Syria fatigue. Just so much bad stuff that I feel like I need a break.

    Which is why I would like to complain about the weather just like a very old and bitter man.

    In the North Bay today, it’s almost 90 degrees. And it’s October 21st. AND I don’t live in Texas. AND have I mentioned that I hate the heat.

    There is something so deep in my core, one of the truths of being that I hold on to, which tells me that when I get to late October, I get to wear sweaters because it’s cool a outside. Not hot.

    There should be no more hot weather.

    Yet, here I am with a full week of 90 degrees, when just two days ago it was 68.

    And this is when I know that I have flipped some sort of aging switch, or crossed some line that has placed me smack dab into middle age: I want to be comfortable all the time, and if I’m not, I’m going to complain about it until I make someone as annoyed as I feel right now.

    This is where I am now; It’s hot and someone listen to me!

    I guess it’s kind’a funny.

    But when me and my friends get together, and we kid about getting older and changing, yes the random aches and pains make moments of shared anguish… But what really is the worst part is that I know feel my stupid entitled complaints are not subjectively personal, but now they objective truths!

    Which they aren’t.

    I just want to wear a sweater, and really, in the big picture of the universe, no one cares.

    In five days I’ll be back to normal.

  • How Quickly I Got Off My Game

    I think I was making real progress when it comes to writing, over the past month. And then this week hit, and I just ground to a halt. I am aware that the anniversary of my mother’s passing on Monday has been weighing on my mind, and I know that’s normal, and it should happen. I guess what I hoped I would do would be to channel those feelings into something creative.

    Part of this process, the grieving process, is learning to forgive, and accept yourself. Grieving is individual and creates feeling of anger and guilt. I am trying to just let myself feel what this is like. Not force it into something that seems to be the reaction I should have. Somedays, I honestly feel like I should be having a deeper reaction to her passing, and other, I feel smothered in a blanket of sadness and loss.

    I guess I thought I was ready to start using these emotions in my creative process, but I think I’m not there yet. I did say to myself that I wanted a year to go by before I put anything on paper, or attempted to share this publicly. Maybe this is what the start of this process feels like?

  • How Do I Feel

    A long time ago, back when I was a sophomore in high school, I had been writing stories for about a year, and I decided that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. The day I decided this was October 14th, 1992, and I have always used that date as the first day of my writing season. The point that I could look back and see what I accomplished.

    For about 9 years, I was solidly creating written work that I could collect year by, and look back and see how I was improving, or what was still being work on. Then in 2001, I took a play writing class, and that pretty much set my on the theatre path, and the writing started to dwindle, to the point that I had many years where I didn’t write anything. I was still journaling, nut the date would come and go, and I really didn’t give it more than a glancing thought, like, “Oh, that thing I used to do.”

    Last year on this day, my mother passed away. Leading up to today, I was filled with some anxiety and an all around feeling of just being unsettled. I wasn’t sure how I should feel about today. When her birthday came and went, I felt depressed. With the Holidays, it was a general feeling of sadness. But getting to today, the day she died, was filled with dread. I kept seeing it on the calendar, knowing that I would have a full day of being reminded of her passing, and thinking about what the day like today used to mean to me.

    This was a day where I would reflect on what I had creatively accomplished in a year. The thoughts I had tried, or the ideas that just never worked out. It was a day for what I had created, and now, it’s a day to think about what I have lost.

    These feelings are mixed together, and its melancholy. I’m not depressed, just sad. Other than that, I’m not sure how to feel.

  • Fats Waller

    I’m working today, and I needed some music to help me get through a rather mindless task that was going to eat up several hours.

    What was that, Spotify? You think I should listen to Fats Waller due to my recent selection of Art Tatum and Thelonious Monk? I will go with you on this, as I do know a little about Waller, at least what are his most popular songs, and his ability to stride on the piano.

    And then I thought I should look him up on Wikipedia…

    Did I ever mention that I used to live in Harlem? I used to live in Harlem USA, and I loved it. The community and the neighborhood were awesome.

    Of the many things I loved about Harlem was that I was surrounded by so much great an important history. Culturally, so mush of who where are as Americans came out of Harlem. Music, theatre, thought, literature, and social consciousness. It is such a vital and vibrant place.

    I’m missing Harlem today.

    And I was reading up on Fats Waller, thinking about my old neighborhood, I saw that the first place he played professionally was the Lincoln Theatre at 135th Street and Lennox. Not only did I know where that theatre was, I also knew that it was still standing, even though it no longer functions as a theatre, but is a church.

    I don’t know, but there was something very satisfying in knowing that I walked down the same street as someone as great as Waller. We might have been separated by 80 years, but he was there. The man who made all that great music.

    I don’t know. Just missing Harlem today.

  • Grown Ups Suck

    I try very hard to get my four-year-old to behave with manners and respectively to others. I feel that is one of the more important jobs I have as a father, besides, feeding and sheltering her, and making sure she knows that she is loved. I feel I am tasked with helping her become a strong and confidant woman in this world. But also, to help her become a well-adjusted adult.

    And the older I get, the more I really don’t like adults. They really are awful people, and they make everything worse. Kids can be terrible to each other, but adults can be horrible, and they also can kill people. (That might be more dramatic than I want to be in this…)

    Part of this is coming from a general disappointment in my fellow adults for not being more adult.

    There are the man-child faux adults that still ware t-shirts all the time and watch cartoons and take Star Wars too seriously. I can almost forgive those guys. At least Star Wars has a moral code to it.

    No, I am talking about adults that are selfish and hypocritical, but some how try to spin it as being a realist in the world. That their general distastefulness is merely a reaction to the world we live in. “I got them before they got me.” I can’t seem to find any intelligence in such a philosophy, other than a rationalization of clearly acknowledged bad behavior.

    I was under the impression that as we get older, we become wiser. That we have learned through experience how to become better humans.

    What I am seeing is that adults have no intention broadening their understanding in the world. Sadly, they are selfish and are looking out for themselves.

    Adults are a disappointment.