Moleman and Me

Why do we fall off the bandwagon when things are going well? Stopping the routines that build our successes?

A man wants to lose a few pounds. A grand gesture, perhaps he journals and tells friends about his goals.

‘...gym 4 days a week, very strict keto diet, oh no totally, I give myself a cheat day for sure…’

10 pounds shed, feeling good, an extra beer to celebrate, maybe two! Best to wait until after Thanksgiving to get back to the gym. 2 months later the man has regained the lost weight plus some.

Happens every time. So stupid.

Now

Can’t let him know how badly I’m shaking. Today we come to an understanding. Steady now. The garage is prepped. Metal table in the center, blow torch in hand.

I am ready for this.

Looking at the worn black Moleskine notebook sitting on the counter, I hesitate. Has it only been 6 months?

February

I hated the bus, but Janet needed the car for work, and if I didn’t want her to know I was heading to a thrift store for my interview clothes, then the bus it was.

Who was I kidding, arguing nightly those days, she wouldn’t have run errands with me anyway.

Headphones in, ignoring the lady yelling at her kids, I listened to some change your life in 30 minutes type self-help podcast. Interesting topic as I saw my stop and pulled the cable to jettison this mode of transportashame.

Your life didn’t FALL APART overnight, you didn’t become A LOSER overnight, so you AREN’T going to fix your situation overnight either...

Irritated at first, I accepted being called a loser by the host as I stepped off the bus into a puddle.

A loser indeed.

...completing those 3 tasks. That’s it. Each night consider your priorities, jot them down. Each morning repeat. Next up we talk about…

I shut off the podcast, heading into the thrift store. Made sense in a weird sort of way. Focused effort. Each night record the 3 things highest on my priority list for the next day, then attack those things as soon as I get up. Seemed simple enough.

Suitable pants in hand for my interview Friday, I stood at the checkout line glancing at the impulse buy section. Jewelry, DVD sets, and wait... is that?

I grabbed the notebook off the shelf and flipped through it’s blank pages daydreaming of a future where I was on track and organized. The first few pages had been torn out, but I remember thinking, what the hell, these journals are worth a lot more than the 99 cent price tag. This one was mine.

That night in bed, Janet already turned over asleep, or pretending, who knows, I did as the podcast suggested. The list consideration itself is part of the process, like meditating. What were 3 easy things I could do the next day? Start small.

• Log into Government Website - get tax code
• Workout 15min little pain / little gain

I remember struggling with the third item that first time. What else? Make my life a little better. Interview was 4 days away. A reminder to start small.

• Organize bookshelf in office

That night I slept like the dead, woke the next morning excited to start.

After a couple weeks the habit had fully formed. Wake up, Janet still sleeping, grab Moleskine and creep downstairs to breakfast. Does setting the book at the table and thinking about working on my daily checklist while making myself a healthy breakfast count as delayed gratification?

It was a few weeks after getting the big job, no big deal at the time, but thinking back I’ll never forget sitting down to the table, using the ribbon bookmark to flip open the book, and seeing a drawn in, little stick figure staring back at me. He was smiling and poking out from behind my todo list. He held a sign that read I’m proud of you.

My quick morning workout completed, I was in the middle of fixing the leaky kitchen faucet, tools strewn across the counter, plumbers tape in hand, when Janet came walking sleepily in.

Watch out for my pool of tears there sweetheart I joked, jumping over a spill, giving her a kiss on the cheek, before returning to my duties. I hadn’t realized she had noticed my notebook, my checklists, my attempt at self improvement. Her little doodle made my heart feel like it was going to explode with love that morning.

March

Another month gone by and life was great. I had lost 7 pounds and felt fit. I was loving the job landed wearing thrift store pants and a smile! Janet and I were having sex again (HUGE win there), and most importantly, maybe because of, we were communicating a lot more, even talking about my lists.

Janet never asked me specifically to put anything onto my main list, the 3 daily priority items were mine to consider and put into place.

My daily page had become laid out with more structure.

• Date at the top, with a place beside to track my sleep patterns
• A note Healthy Breakfast - 30 min workout beside which I noted my daily weight
• My list of 3 priority items for the day, in large print (Don’t tell anyone, but the breakfast and workout had become my list’s secret first item)
• Parking Lot

The parking lot grew and shrunk daily. It was where I would write other tasks I wanted to remember. This is where Janet would sometimes ask me to make additions.

Hey hun could you toss my dry cleaning into the parking lot?

We would giggle at the way it sounded.

Sometimes one of Janet’s parking lot items would make it to the Top 3. Happy wife, happy life.

Each day somewhere on the page there was the stickman. I started calling him Moleman, you know, because of the Moleskine notebook, get it? At least once per page, often times multiple doodles, always depicting the little things I enjoy. He knew me.

Moleman goes for a stroll and sits on a bench overlooking the river. Moleman plays golf. Every couple of pages a word or two of encouragement.

You can do it!

Keep up the workouts, looking good!

Take control of your life!

On a dinner date I thanked Janet and told her how much the doodles and words of encouragement meant to me.

Her face said it all. There was a clear flicker in her eyes. She didn’t understand.

Right there in the restaurant we argued for the first time in over a month. She admitted to flipping through my notebook to see what I was writing, but didn’t write a word or draw the doodles. She assumed they were mine, a way to keep myself pumped up.

I couldn’t think straight. I lost control. I yelled at her over dessert. Janet started crying while people looked on, wouldn’t look at me in the car, and didn’t speak to me when we got home.

Before falling asleep on the couch, instead of my list I wrote:

1. What is happening?
2. Am I crazy?
3. Who are you?

Making coffee, Janet not coming downstairs. Had I been drunk that night I wondered? I grabbed the book, slammed it down on the counter, and opened to my questions.

There he was. Moleman. Smiling his little smile and holding a sign.

Don’t be mad. I can explain.

April

First I knew I was crazy to talk to Moleman, to interact with a drawing on a page. At the same time I was changing my life. He was changing my life. I knew that I had to immediately tell Janet that I had been under a lot of pressure at work, of course I had drawn all the doodles and I was so sorry for my outburst.

I don’t know if she ever truly believed me, but she forgave me and we moved on. I started journaling. I wasn’t just making lists any more, I was telling Moleman everything and he was helping me.

Moleman gave me motivation to work harder. It was time to amp up my game. If I worked out for a month, hour and a half sessions every second day, I would get a reward.

When the month was done Moleman excitedly gave me the exact location of hidden key. A small crevice in the wall of a nearby storm pipe. I was to visit the First Bank of Commerce with the key and said my name was Louie Jabron.

Twenty thousand dollars. The most money I had ever held in one hand was in that lockbox. I took it.

I had Moleman to thank.

July

Our bills are paid. Janet even finished paying off her car. Life is the best it's ever been. Janet tells me to take vacation no questions asked and surprises me with a trip to the Dominican. We get away for a week in the sun and sand, making love and dreaming of our future.

When I get home from vacation I keep up my workouts and organized life, but my notebook has been forgotten. The Moleskine must have slipped and fell down beside my desk. Out of sight out of mind.

Weeks go by.

We’re pregnant.

I can not believe my luck, I feel on top of the world and have the urge to journal. My smile beams as I remember, hunt for and find my Moleskine.

Why oh why do we fall of the wagon when we have a routine that works so well for us?

Opening the notebook I stare in disbelief. Every single page is full to the brim with written rage.

Angry scribbling of all different sizes

Where the fuck are you?

Why did you leave me?

What the fuck is happening?

Not Again Not Again Not Again

Terrible sickening drawings fill every page. Torture Murder Curses. No space left in the notebook where I had previously written my plans, hopes, and dreams.

I hope you die! Fuck you!

Piece of shit!

Your wife is a whore!

On the last page of the notebook starting at the top

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't have much room left. Please help me. I didn't mean it.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

sorry Sorry SORRY

In the bottom corner is huddled the Moleman in the fetal position. A stickman drawn in pain and despair. Written above him.

I can’t undo what I have done

Can’t erase what has been written

What am I to you?

I was there for you. Spent my every hour focused on your wealth, health, and happiness.

Am I to be discarded?

I am here. Waiting for you.

I close the book, I’m shaking, tears streaming down my face.

What have I done?

I instantly think back to that day in the thrift store. The torn pages. Someone else knew. What had happened to them? Oh god, the 20K was theirs. Will I be found out?

Here I am standing in front of the door to the garage. What I did to him wasn’t fair. I obviously never considered him or my actions. At the same time I will not have a repeat of this outburst.

Fists clenching and unclenching once more, I steel myself, grab my book, and head into the garage where Moleman and I are going to come to an understanding.

If I think we can move forward together, I will allow him to move from where he is stuck into a fresh brand new Moleskine journal,

If I'm not convinced we can... it’ll be the torch.