Alright, here we go.

Hello and good evening! This is Lucas Milliron and I’m currently typing this on Christmas Day. The wife is at her sisters in Ohio, family is social distancing due to Covid, and I’ve had about three quarters of this joint and two beers. Behind me, the Crystal Lake Memories documentary is on in the background. It’s a weird holiday to say the least, and it’s been a rather shitty year overall, but ya know what? That’s just par for the course.

This shit’s tough, though. But life isn’t easy to begin with. I know, for a lot of people out there, this is possibly the worst thing they’ve ever gone through. Some of us have lost family and loved ones do to Covid. We’ve all been affected by mask ordinances, lock downs, social distancing, bad haircuts, makeshift toilet paper, and possibly the loneliest epidemic on record[i].

My wife doesn’t like to share this kind of stuff with other people, so most of you haven’t heard me talk about or bring her up that often. I don’t want my social media presence to affect her[ii]. So, I’ll say it here, this is a completely one-sided story. Mine. I’m not sharing my wife’s opinion, because that’s private.

I’ve had to take a few breaks and stop a few times writing this. Because yeah, a lot of shit happened this year. I’m about to share with you some of the things that have hit me the hardest this year. It’s been really difficult to communicate this verbally, because sometimes the experiences are just too difficult to speak aloud.

To be honest, I prefer it this way. As a writer, people tell us all the time that they never read. All the time! Like they’re bragging about being illiterate or something. So, the way I see it, the best place to keep a secret these days is to write it down. [iii]

The big thing that’s kinda been on my mind is this kids’ stuff. Over the last three, maybe four years, my wife and I have been struggling to have kids. We’ve experienced a few miscarriages, gone through Invitro Fertilization[iv], and were told by doctors we’re not going get pregnant. They recommended donor eggs and a sergeant mother, but that’s a little much for us. Since then, we’ve been focused on becoming foster parents, with the intentions of adopting. Everyone tells me how brave and great it is that we’re doing that. I’ll be honest, the prospect of taking care of a child who’s already reached the lowest point life has to offer at such a young age is terrifying.

Here’s the most common situation in my county. Kids taken from their family because their parents are drug dealers. Think about it, you’re 3 years old, your dad sells heroin of which your mother is addicted. He gets caught, both your parents go to jail, and now you’re in the system. Oh, by the way, we have a global pandemic, and you can’t have any physical contact with other kids or adult because someone might get sick and die.

That’s a gross overly exaggerated example, I know. But is it? Each case is complex and different. But, by the by, this is the most common situation kids are put in the system, at least in my slice of South Florida. Drug related crimes. I’m not talking about pot or weed; I’m talking about meth and heroin.

Think about the kids in the system due to physical abuse, or infants born addicted to opioids or born with fetal alcohol syndrome. This isn’t going to be easy. And with the added layer of pandemic blues, it’s a challenge we’ve set upon ourselves, and it weighs heavily on me.

Now, to be clear, it’s not so much the kid’s situations that I find the most intimidating. It’s the way the system works. Say, we get a kid and just fall in love with them. At any point and time, possibly without warning, they could be taken away from us and sent to live with other families, or in some cases end up back in their abusive situations.

Family members can turn up out of nowhere, predatory adoption agencies can talk to parents about signing over their rights with incentives like paying off medical bills, or it could be a court ruling. In general, most state governments will always side with the birth family, because they don’t want to tear apart a family unit. Which can make sense, but when you’ve seen kids touched by trauma, it’s not always the solution you prefer. It’s hard not to be bias, but we’re talking about kids is shitty situations. Emotions always run high.

How do you help rehabilitate a child broken from trauma, and not get attached? How do you handle the heartache of having a child you’ve bonded with taken from you? It’s hard, and I’ve had my share of second, third, fourth, and fifth thoughts about all of it. Multiple miscarriages have taught me one thing, it never gets easier. On the one hand, I have the knowledge of how bad things can hurt[v], but on the other, it still fucking hurts.

So yeah, I still wonder if I’m even strong enough emotionally to handle all that shit that’s about to come our way. The reality of it is that you don’t know until you try. I’ve gone through so much in my childhood, including physically and sexually abusive family members, homelessness, and a slew of medical complications with my mother. I know what emotional and physical trauma can do to a kid, because I’ve been through it. So, we’re going to try. It just sucks because the pandemic delayed out plans, allowing me more time to dwell and second guess myself.

We weren’t broken, but like everyone else, financially the pandemic hit hard. We benefited from my wife’s job as a veterinary technician being considered essential to hold us through my furlough. Now, my job as an optician was classified essential. However, they told us back in March that Covid could be transmitted through contact with the eyes. This meant no one wanted to come in for eye exams, contact lenses, or eyeglasses. Thus, without customers, we were without payroll to afford us the hours, so I went on lockdown with the rest of the world.

Hard part is that my income pays the lion share of the bills, so things got tight. We had a number of emergency home repairs, a bathroom remodel we neither planned for nor budgeted, and still had to get the house ready to foster. We just needed to build a kid’s room out of my office. Again, money we didn’t have to spend, but needed to do since I had the time off. I got a lot accomplished including a shed, half a bathroom reno, and about 90% of the kid’s room finished.

During all of this, my mother suffered a few heart attacks during the lock downs. We call them heart attacks, because even her doctors don’t know what else to call them[vi]. Her blood pressure went up. At it’s worse, she was around 200/118 and maintained that for nearly an entire week. This all happened both at home and in the hospital. Doctors couldn’t figure out the cause or even how to lower her blood pressure. Her complicated balance of meds makes things more difficult because they all have side effects that can be enhanced and made worse based on how they react with other drugs.

All this to say, I was unemployed and scared for my mother’s life. I couldn’t even visit her in the hospital due to Covid. They wouldn’t even let my dad into see her. It’s scarier for other reasons, the most important being that she suffers short term memory lapses, a side effect the lifesaving brain surgery on her pituitary – that and debilitating migraines. It really put into perspective that dying during Covid must be the loneliest experience, because no one is allowed at your bedside.

Then the wife and I got pregnant. We found out while building our foster kid’s room. We were hopeful at first, because she showed signs of pregnancy like never, including an acute sense of smell and taste. The week I was installing the kids’ bed, we had another miscarriage. It about broke my wife, and me. Emotions are so high right now; I often hate myself for not doing enough. And I know a lot of you would say, “I know you and you’re not that kinda guy,” but we’re talking about demons in my head here. I’m a flawed character. I’d rather sit on the couch and smoke my brain into oblivion than deal with the crippling reality that has been 2020.

But the wife has helped me out. Despite all she’s gone through, all she’s had to endure, she’s been there for me. Her strength has been inspiring and has given me the kick in the ass to really get through some of the toughest shit this year thrown at us. We’ve been able to prop each other up through this, and for that I’m eternally grateful for my wife.

We did finish most of the kid’s room. At the time of writing this, we need just a few pieces of furniture and storage. The rest of the house is almost ready. I’m just waiting for a little more saving before we do the last of the renovations like baby proofing and yard maintenance required by DCF[vii]. Nothing hard, just stuff that requires money to fix or replace.

So yeah, Corvid’s a bitch. I’d like to think that my less-than-ideal upbringing hardened me, prepared me for the mess. In a way, it kinda did. I wasn’t surprised at the riots, by the anti-vaxxers denouncing life saying Covid vaccines, or the toilet paper shortages and anti-maskers. I wasn’t surprised by the police violence; my dad had his own shit to deal with regarding bad cops[viii]. My life growing up prepared me for all the shit the outside world can throw at me, but what it could never prepared me for is the stuff that hit closer to home.

Remember, if you’re reading this and you’ve had the worst year of your life, don’t try to compare notes. It’s too easy to fall down a rabbit hole think about who had what worse, and I know a lot of us like keeping score. I’ve been there. When you’re poor and at your lowest point with nothing to show for it but scars and an empty stomach, score feel about the only thing that no one can take from you.

I’m not trying to say I had it better or worse than anyone. I’m sharing my experience and sharing with a bunch of people who’ve asked about the change in my social media presence. You’ll notice I didn’t get too political or mention the election or scandals in the both the horror genre and mainstream media. It’s not because I didn’t care or wasn’t paying attention, but because my plate was full.

My mother was fighting for her life when the first presidential debate was going on. The last thing I wanted to do was watch that dumpster fire and make myself even more depressed. When the BLM movement started, my septic tank was backing up. I didn’t post in solidarity with a lot of my fellow authors and humans, not because I don’t think Black Lives Matter, but because I had literal shit flowing into my kitchen sink full of recently washed dishes. When all the sexual harassment cases came out, my wife and I were going through a miscarriage. I don’t have any place left in my heart for hate. I don’t.

This year hasn’t been all ass. There have been a few good things to come out of 2020 in my personal life. In the beginning of the year, I released a new book which has quickly become one of my hottest sellers, Cocksucker. I’m extremely humble for it. Grindhouse Press has treated me well and given this book a whole lot of love. I’ve done more podcasts during lockdown than in the last two years combined. I even started the Gruesome Books and Brews book tour, though we only attended one venue before the lockdown started. There are a few things we need to work out and streamline, but overall, it was very cool experience that shows a lot of promise once the world opens up again.

Work has started to feel a little more like normal, although the mask thing is a little strange. This will be the year of breathing. Because of George Floyd and BLM, because of the virus’s effect on your lungs, and because of everyone’s breath fogging up their eyeglasses. Work’s always busy this time of year. On the one hand, it’s good because that means money’s coming in. On the other hand, it means extended contact with the public. As much as I’m appreciative of the ability to work and maintain income, it isn’t without that greasy residue of 2020.

I had a 94-year-old woman come into the optical back in August. One of the nose pads on her eyeglasses was broken and the sharp metal was cutting into her nose. Her skin was tissue paper soft because of blood thinners. She also informed me she was on immunosuppressants. So…she kinda had to come into the office to have her frames repaired. Part of an adjustment for glasses involves close contact with a person’s face, usually behind the ears. If I had Covid, I would have killed that woman. That’s it. She’d be dead, and I would be at fault. Now, I know there’s expected risk, and people will say she should have waited, and it isn’t your fault, but how could you not blame yourself?

When I came back to work, in order for me to remain focused, remain responsible, I’ve had to keep myself in that headspace. It’s how I keep myself safe, healthy, and clean. My hands have never been so dry from sanitizers, paradox, and soaps. My face is a steamy mess with masks. But if all I have to complain about is sweaty lips and bad hangnails, it’s worth the people around me being safe. I don’t care if you don’t believe in the virus. Because the alternative, is I kill someone by catching it.

I’ve kept writing, though my word count isn’t as high as I would like. I’m thinking of reevaluating how I grade my progress. I might change from word counts to hours spent. During the lockdown, I found I was more focused on getting words out rather than their quality. A lot of my pandemic work seemed disjointed and there were a bunch of bad plots that were just spinning their wheels, but it forced me to look at writing differently under stress, and I think it’s helped for the better. The quality of work I’ve produced since making a few of these tweaks has been noticeable, and I can’t wait to share a lot of the stuff I have coming through the pipeline.

Here’s a quick observation. It’s something I’ve noticed amongst people I’ve talked to, seen, and come across. 2021 doesn’t look any less crummy going in. But I think it’ll get a pass. People seem, kinda optimistic. Like taking off dirty pants. You’ve still got mud or worse on your legs and feet, but it still feels good to take them off.

And ya know something? It’s contagious, that feeling. I can’t help but feel that same warm touch of nostalgia. It’s tentative, I’ll admit, but that’s kinda the thing everyone’s starting to feel. That hardness you get when rough shits happened to you. We all need to show that face. Because we’ve all been through some tough shit[ix].

If you’ve had the worst year of your life, take it from someone who knows how ya feel. I might not carry the same baggage, but it’s a heavy burden to carry alone. With the loneliest disaster on record, isolation can be just as deadly. Just remember, the grass is only greener on the side who waters their lawn.

There is a lot out of our control, which is why we should only focus on what we can change. Ourselves. This is where I get all hippie talk on you, and I know I’ll get a lot of hate mail for this, but please, love everyone. If we bring all this shit and hate into 2021, its like putting clean pants on dirty legs. You’re not fixing things; you’re just covering them up.

We expect the person we’re arguing with online or in person to be as smart as us, even though we’re a little dumb a lot of the time. Show me the beautiful things. Show me southern hospitality to those of us who seem different. Show me compassion for the underserving. People stop listening when all you’re doing is yelling.

Everyone wants the same fundamental things, better education, better opportunities, a healthier future for our kids. It’s like everyone in the car is hungry but no one can pick a restaurant that’ll make everyone happy. Fact is, you can’t. And the longer we wait, the hungrier everyone gets, and the cars running out of gas.

Alright. That’s enough metaphor for one day. Thank you everyone for reading this. I’ll include a few photos of the craziness. This was deeply personal, and I feel a little bit exposed sharing it. Somehow it kinda feels good. If you agree, hit me up and let’s talk. If you disagree, I’d still like to talk, I just don’t want to argue. Come at me with solutions, not problems. I’ll see you all 2021! Be safe and be unique.

Sincerely,

Lucas Milliron, LDO

The Bearded Optician.

bellow are some of my intoxicated tangentsm along with stream of conscious that didn’t belong in the main post. Take them all with a grain of salt, and for some background context.

[i] The irony being that we have more connectivity to friends and family than ever before. It goes to show you something, that despite all this technology and social media, we’re still very dependent on close, physical contact. It’s important to us, and we should too be good to not forget that going forward.

[ii] Let’s face it, anytime you say anything on social media, it’s a horror show.

[iii] See, the reason I admire writing so much is that you when you verbalize something, it becomes real. Literally, in that the air escapes your body, take shape in the three-dimensional ripple of energy vibrating the atmosphere where it’s received by this piece of flesh in your ear then transmitted into electrical impulses that you interpret as a sound. Then culture steps in, instinct, and experience, turns those sounds into words. Spoken word is fucking magic and you know it. Magics just stuff we don’t understand. Look, we should be allowed to except science, but are totally allowed to believe in myth and legend. I know atheist and people who are all fact-based bullshit are gonna say ghosts aren’t real, trolls and leprechauns aren’t real, and neither is fucking Santa clause. But ya know what? Fuck you man. What harm does a little superstition play? A placebo works even when we know it’s a placebo! Explain that! So long as we’re not hurting anyone, and I’m looking at you religious extremists, you damn well know bombing abortion clinics, burning infidels is kinda fucked up, hatting on who and how we fuck is a cunt move, but otherwise it doesn’t hurt. Imagination is healthy. Otherwise, what are we without stories? Look, fairy tales are aren’t real, but what did we name the planets in our solar system? Don’t shame people for being superstitious, or spiritual, or weird. I mean that on all sides. If you think your grandma’s a little religious and weird, remember, the feeling is mutual You’re both just a bunch of fucking aliens sharing the same space trying not to blast the other side with scolding hot green bean casserole.

[iv] Invitro Fertilization is basically using doctors and science to help get pregnant. It’s expensive, but when you’re desperate, it’s a hard choice to make. You kinda must be there to understand. I explain it here because I’ve talk in person to a lot of people who have no idea that the process is called.

[v] a sort of measuring stick of emotional pain

[vi] For some backstory on my mom. When she was 30, she had a tumor in her pituitary the size of a large cherry. They had to remove the gland, which has caused several lifelong hardships she been dealing with ever since. Most notably are the large number of medications she must have to replace, what’s essentially called the bodies mast gland. This includes medications for heart rate, water retention, etc. The hard part is that means she’s on a constant balancing act of pills and injection to keep her body at a fair level of homeostasis, which she’s not had since the tumor.

[vii] Yes, they require your backyard to be maintained to some level. The way they see it a kid could hurt themselves if you have, say, a pile of cinderblocks stacked neatly in the corner of your yard. They had a few weird notes like that and maintaining the fence.

[viii] For some context, he’s about 6’6, and built like Jason Vorhees. Now a lot of you think skin color gives white people superpower with the cops, but that’s only for middle class or higher. See, it’s not a race issue, it’s an economy issue. My dad was poor white. When he was jumped by three gang members on night around the block from our house, cops wouldn’t do shit. He had broken ribs, teeth knocked out, but he walked away from it and drove himself to the hospital. Cops told us, they didn’t see, it didn’t happen. There was no investigation, no follow-up, just a “I don’t wanna deal with it,” kinda attitude. That’s tainted my opinion of the police. I was maybe ten when this happened. So, to hear the cops blatantly say, we’re not doing anything about it, I wasn’t surprised when I heard they stood on a guy’s neck until he died.

[ix] And I guess that’s what this is. Pardon the dirty metaphor but talking about these issues in writing kinda feel like Taking off muddy clothes. It’s a little voyeuristic, all be it, but that’s kinda the nudist in all creatives. That we all just want to show you that little dirty part of us. Some of us are a little more modest than others, but that’s just part of finding your tribe, finding how much you’re willing to share, and how much you’re willing to see.

2020 Wrap up