This image illustrates that point. Click on it for a larger version. It makes me grin. Especially number three. Yes, I'm a child. Tee-hee.
Anyway, the other night I had a brilliant idea. I was sitting at Jack's with OddlyFamiliarGirl, as that has become something of a Sunday-night habit lately, and I found myself in a familiar dilemma.
See, OddlyFamiliarGirl is very smart, and very talkative. This is a brutal combination. Quite often, I find myself listening intently to what she's saying, but listening so intently that I'm constantly forgetting the things I want to say. Then, when OddlyFamiliarGirl pauses to take a breath, I'm left with nothing with which to fill the silence.
Hence, my brilliant idea.
Frustrated with my nonexistent short-term memory, I asked for a piece of paper and a pen. With those things, I was able to jot down little notes to myself, and those notes were enough to remind me of the things I wanted to add to our discussion when the opportunities arose.
And, this past Sunday, one of the things we discussed was the clitoris.
I think it was Jay, and not Silent Bob, who once asked, "The female clitoris?"
Yes, that's the one.
Then we talked about dreams and other random stuff. It's all in the notes.
And then my mind just sort of trails off.
I don't know how to finish that thought. Not anymore. I don't know what I wish. What I want. I used to know exactly what I wanted.
For this to end, one way or another, that would be nice. But how?
To stop being toyed with, to stop being tortured, those things would fantastic. But I don't really see those things ever happening. There may be some sick pleasure involved, some twisted motive that I could never understand.
Just maybe there's still something good, and it will eventually make itself known.
I wait. For what, I have no idea. Not anymore.
Once or twice or a million times every week - it used to be much more often - I get the urge to say something. To initiate communication.
I don't do it, though, not anymore. I resist those urges, with whatever amount of effort is required at that particular time.
I have my reasons.
My feelings had become unwanted background noise to every word I said. Always inferred even when not consciously implied, even when explicitly dismissed.
I think that the thing I wanted to say, when I first had this thought earlier tonight, is that I haven't gone anywhere. But that wouldn't be quite true.
The truth is, I have moved.
But I've moved only as far as I've been pushed, and not one inch farther.
I'm still here, dammit.
Just one the other side of this damn line in the sand. Wishing that I knew what had happened. Wondering what would happen if I took a step forward.
Maybe I'll just repost old shit today. I feel like posting thing, but not like writing things. Because writing would be, like, hard and stuff. Plus, I've got some stuff I want to say that probably wouldn't be appreciated, so I'm keeping myself in-check.
Anyway, I'd forgotten that I'd even wrote this entry, back in 2006. It's a little negative, but that's how I rolled back then. Now, of course, I'm not like that at all. Now, I shit flowers.
Meanwhile, I'm tired.
Anyway, I've been sick for a few days. Nothing major as it turns out. Just a bit of a fever. I missed a couple of days of work, but that was mostly because I didn't want to infect everyone there. If I'd had the plague, as I'd originally feared, and I'd infected someone at work and they'd subsequently died - well I could kiss my annual performance bonus goodbye.
A while ago I was at SassyGirl's going away party, and at one point I found myself out on her deck with a bunch of kids. Teenagers mostly, though a couple of them might have been in their early 20s.
I found myself all alone with these kids because everyone else, everyone I knew and might have had at least one single solitary thing in common with, they had all taken off to pull some chick's car out of a ditch or something.
I don't remember what we were originally talking about. Probably something stupid. But at one point some of the kids started rambling on and on and on about their various thoughts about love. Such as they were.
Each time one of them would finish making a statement that they thought was profound, all of the kids would look at me. I guess because I was twice as old as any of them, they had subconsciously chosen me as some kind of spiritual leader. Their love coach, if you will.
I think I spent most of the time rolling my eyes.
Kids are so stupid.
Or maybe naive is a better word. Yes, I think it is.
Kids are so fucking naive.
With their fucking hopes and their dreams and their stupid ideals, it's really a wonder that they've managed to live for as long as they have. I mean, most of them seem to think that they can fly. It's truly miraculous that the ground isn't littered with broken bodies.*
I think back to when I was that age. No way was I that fucking stupid. By the time I'd graduated high school, life had already been feeding me shit sandwiches for years. By the time my marriage had ended, I'd learned to enjoy the damn things. By the time LaptopGirl moved away, I craved them like they were manna from Heaven.
But those kids, those kids on that deck that night, there was not a single one of them possessed of a single clue about what love is all about.
Like I said, I spent most of that time on that deck just rolling my eyes. But at one point I did speak up. At one point the drivel being vomited out of a young mouth was just too much to take. At one point I saw the opportunity to say something worthwhile. I took that opportunity. All eyes were upon me. I'd been drinking. One of the girls was hot so I wanted to seem especially wise.
There are very few truly evil people in the world, I said. And, chances are, none of us have ever met any of them, or dated them, or given our virginity to them. But we're still fooled into seeing evil where it doesn't exist. This is a defense mechanism, invented by our hearts and backed-up by our brains. By demonizing those who have hurt us, we further isolate ourselves from the cold harsh reality of life. The reality that we will be hurt, time and time again. By good people. By people who are just like us. When we slap an "evil" label on someone who's hurt us, we fool ourselves into believing that it was a rare event. An anomaly. That it won't happen again, or at least not with the same intensity.
You kids sit here talking about the secrets of love like you've got it them all figured out. Well, you don't. You're not even close. Give yourselves another twenty years and maybe, just maybe, you'll start to develop a clue.
I've lived those twenty years. I've started to sense the clue. I don't have it all figured out yet, but I'm a fuck of a lot closer than you kids are.
Love is about pain, and about learning to accept and rise above and maybe even appreciate that pain.
As long as we can love, we can hurt. As long as we can live, we can love.
And the sad fact is that it hurts to love. Sometimes it hurts a lot. Deal with it. Accept it. Embrace it.
It's still better than the alternative.
* - If you took those last two sentences literally, then you are an idiot and you should go kill yourself now before you pass on your idiot genes to the next generation. If you've already managed to find someone as stupid as you to procreate with then you should probably kill your offspring first.
Here's another dog-themed entry. Damn, this one was written in November 2004, about a month after I died.
When I was a kid, maybe eight or nine years old, the neighbors across the street had this dog for a while.
The dog would bark constantly, and Mr. Hill would beat the dog. Then the dog would start yelping, and Mr. Hill would beat the dog some more.
I couldn't do anything about it (I was just a kid after all) but I do remember that somebody called the police one time and eventually somebody came and took the dog away.
One thing that's really vivid in my memory is that, even though Mr. Hill would beat the dog nearly every day, the dog would still get all excited and happy when Mr. Hill came home from work. He'd wag his tail so hard his whole body shook, and jump up against the truck door. He just couldn't wait for Mr. Hill to pay attention to him.
The dog had to know that he was going to be abused, but he didn't care. He still loved Mr. Hill and he seemed ever-hopeful that things would be different this time.
I remember hoping that the dog would fight back someday. Perhaps growl at Mr. Hill or maybe even bite him, but he never did.
That abuse was the only attention the dog ever got, and I supposed he had decided, in his little doggy mind, that if his purpose in life was to be a punching bag for Mr. Hill, then so be it. He'd be the bestest, most loyalest punching bag ever!
Even though I thought I understood what was going on in the dog's mind, I still thought it was pretty stupid. I knew I'd never let somebody abuse me like that. I knew I was smarter than a dog, after all!
Even if I can't fight back, I'm at least smart enough to run away.
So here's an entry from almost three years ago. I like to repost these old entries. For one thing, they help to squelch those who doubt me when I say how long this has been going on. For another thing, they keep me from having to write anything new.
Today I'm contemplating a last-minute trip. To where, I don't know. What I do know is that, if I had any brains, I'd go somewhere fast, and if I had any balls I'd stay put and not be so damn afraid.
Another thing I know is that, if I wasn't so fucking tempted to stay, then I wouldn't want to leave.
My grandmother used to have this little Pekinese dog. She had several of them over the years, actually. I don't know what this one particular dog's name was. It might have been Raindrop. I know there was a Raindrop at some point during my childhood.
One thing about this dog was that it was ugly. But that should go without saying. All Pekinese dogs are ugly with their squashed faces and their stubby legs and their weird compact torsos. Selective breeding gone horribly awry.
Another thing about this one particular dog was that it was terrified of storms. But not petrified. Whatever the opposite of petrified would be. Maybe frantic with fear.
Whenever thunder would rumble, this dog would start running. My grandmother's house was a big circle. The dog would run from the kitchen to the laundry room to the bedroom to the foyer to the living room to the kitchen - on and on and on until the thunder stopped. That dog, with it ugly little tongue hanging out of its ugly face, that dog would run that circuit nonstop until the storm had passed.
Unless somebody messed up and opened the kitchen door.
When that happened, somebody - usually me - would have to go out into the storm and chase the stupid little thing down.
It was amazing how fast those stubby little legs could propel that dog.
This past weekend I went driving. A lot. And I thought about that dog and how it would run and run without ever getting anywhere. How it would run for the simple reason that it was too terrified to stay where it was.
I wondered if I was doing the same thing. And not just with the driving around. With all of my traveling, and with all of my life, I wondered if what I was really doing was running.
And if I am, then that begs the question of whether I'm running from something that I cannot escape, or running toward a destination that I cannot see.
How badly am I fooling myself?
Am I as stupid as that ugly little dog, running simply because it's the only thing I can do?
Here's what I wrote three years ago on this date. Back then, it was only the second anniversary of the day I stopped fighting. So today, it's the fifth.
The minutes take eternities to pass, but somehow the years rush by.I was right.
Two years have passed in the blink of a teary eye.
I never thought it would happen. I fought for so long, I convinced myself that I was winning. I faked a smile for so long, I convinced myself that I was happy. I fell for so long, I convinced myself that I was flying.
I never thought it would happen. I never thought it could happen.
But it did.
My world still reverberates from the force of that impact.
I don't want to say any more.
I've already said too much, yet I could never never never say enough.
Those two words would lead to those three words would lead to a billion more words, and still it would not be enough.
It was never enough.
The problem, or one of the problems, or the biggest problem, is that there are too many thoughts.
Oh, how I long for the days when a million thoughts would chase each other around inside my skull, like some bizarre merry-go-round, never ending. Never getting anywhere, but at least moving.
Now, not so much. Too many thoughts, competing against each other for attention and precious time, and my mind has ground to a halt.
I didn't really forget the anniversary. I only forgot the actual date of the thing. It's been on my mind for weeks, if not months. I really thought it was tomorrow. But it wasn't tomorrow, it was last Tuesday.
I'd thought that I'd write about this. Maybe tell the story of that night. I dunno, maybe I still will. It's a good story, I think, even though the ending wasn't particularly happy. But I'm not going to write that story right now. Nope, right now, I'm going to make you people read two entries I wrote last year. Two days, and five days, after that night.
Maybe these two entries are enough. Maybe there's no need to tell the story.
Well, I did it.I remember how I felt when I wrote that. An incredible feeling of relief accompanied with an almost overwhelming feeling of dread. I hardly wrote anything else until Saturday night, when I once again scribbled into my notebook.
I said the most important words I've ever said, to the most wonderful person I've ever known.
I told her everything. Ev. Rey. Thing.
I just don't know.
I've got nothing left. I've done all I can do. I've said all I can say.
Maybe I've ruined everything. But if I did, at least it was with the truth. If those words turn out to be my final words to her*, then it's fitting that they were also the most important. The most real.
And the most overdue. Mustn't forget that.
It's so tempting to stop now. Writing. Talking. Communicating in any way with anyone at all.
It all seems so trivial to me now.
Lesser purposes and all that...
* - They were not.
Sitting at Rich O's, at night. Stupid, I know. I was going to sit over on the weirdo Sportstime side, but they were packed. Over here, at least I'm able to sit.And you know, that was my life for the next several months. And they were the most wonderful and the most horrible months of my life. And I still feel like I'm waiting, but no longer for an answer or for a response. Now, I'm waiting for a release, and that's something that I can only get from myself.
Anyway, I kinda feel like I should be writing something about some thoughts that have been rattling around in the dark places inside my head. Thoughts that will neither go away nor venture into the light. Because these thoughts have never been fully illuminated, I fear that this entry will probably be disjointed crap. This is in contrast to my usual drivel, which is at least somewhat jointed, and sometimes it's not even crap. You have been warned.
The thing is, I only meant to make a statement. To finally get the entire truth out there. I'd say something like laying all my cards on the table, but this is no fucking game to me.
I realized that I was taking a very serious risk, but frankly, at the time, I didn't feel like I had much left to lose. I was rapidly dying anyway. So it was, at least partly, an act of desperation on my part, the statement that I made. I guess I wanted my dying words to mean something. More than that, I wanted them to be heard. And they were. They certainly were.
But all along, from the time I started considering it, through the time I was saying it, and even during the conversation that ensued, it was always a statement. Telling the truth, and nothing else.
It was never a question.
It was certainly never a request.
So why, I wonder, why do I wait so impatiently for an answer to a question I never asked?
Why, I wonder, do I long for a response to a request I never made?
This is my dilemma.
I could have asked the question, but the question wasn't the point. The statement was the point. Besides, deep down I knew that I wasn't ready for the pain that the answer might bring. I could have even made the request, but it would have been ludicrous to do so, without the answer to the question. I may be insane, but I'm not that insane.
The statement leads to the question leads to the request. That's just the way it works. And I stopped at the statement. I stopped myself, or she stopped me. I don't know. All I know is that I did stop, rather abruptly. Jarringly, you might say.
Which was fine with me. That had been my plan, such as it was, when I started. But I screwed up. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was distracted, after all.
See, I didn't need to ask the question, and I didn't need to make the request.
They were implied. Or inferred. Whatever.
And so, now I wait. For an answer to a question I never quite asked, and for a response to a request I never quite made.
This is my dilemma. This is my life.
I'm not there yet, not to that point where I can turn my back on this. At best, I sometimes manage to feel oddly detached. At worst, I miss her so much I can't think of anything else and I'm lucky that breaths and heartbeats don't require conscious effort.
Most of the time I'm somewhere in the middle. Sad, but resigned.
I suppose that's normal.
Yet another facebook quiz. Last one for tonight, I promise.
Are you the type to hold a grudge or do you forgive easily?
Usually I'm quite forgiving, but there are certain grudges I've held for years.
Do you still think of your first love, and are they happy or sad thoughts?
I have a sad/happy cycle I go through.
Have you ever felt like you hated your children?
No. That's horrible!
If you could live anywhere you chose, where would it be? If you had to leave someone or something behind to move there, would you?
A: Las Vegas, I think. B: It would depend on what person or thing I'd have to leave.
Do you believe in reincarnation?
No, but it would be cool.
Have you ever been arrested?
Yes. Charges were later dropped.
Do you have any phobias?
I don't like spiders.
If you could kill someone and get away with it, would you?
I doubt it. I suppose it would depend on whether they deserved it or not. Few people would deserve it.
Would you give a perfect stranger a part of your body if they needed it to stay alive? ie..liver transplant..kidney..
Blood, yes. A body-part, no.
Would you take a trip to another planet?
If you become unable to care for yourself when you get old, and euthansia was an option, would you choose it?
I doubt it. I'd hope that medical technology would eventually catch up to my ailment and I could be whole again.
Is there a person in your life that you can depend on for anything and everything at all, absolutely?
I'm going to say my sister, Dina. And she'll probably cry now. Gee, thanks, facebook quiz. You made my sister cry.
Another facebook quiz:
Do you believe that Harry Potter is evil? If so, why?
I believe that Harry Potter is fictional, and possibly gay, but not evil.
Which version of the Bible do you follow?
Whichever one is moving away from me while tied to a bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter.
Do you believe things that people like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh say?
Very few people tell falsehoods all the time, so I believe just about everyone, every now and then.
Do you honor your mother and father as the Bible says to do?
I suppose that I did, but because they were my parents, not because some book told me to.
Is abortion ever acceptable?
There are circumstances in which I wouldn't be as against it as I normally am. Cases of rape and incest come to mind, as do those times when the mother's life is in danger.
Do you believe a person can be a Christian if they do not go to church?
Yes. I'm probably wrong, though. Maybe I mean that a person can be a good person whether they go to church or not. Yeah, that's what I meant.
Should religion be allowed in schools?
If it's non-disruptive and optional.
Should immigrants to the USA be required to serve our country in a civil service sense before being allowed citizenship?
No, I'm pretty sure that slavery and indentured servitude were both terrible ideas.
Should all parents be forced to work if they are physically able to do so, rather than receive public assistance?
Physically and mentally, they should work, but "forced" to work? I don't like the sound of that.
I took this on facebook tonight:
What does your God/Goddess look like in your head?
Like Santa Claus, but thinner and with better fashion sense.
Are you more messy or more compulsive?
I'm compulsively messy.
What is the happiest day of your life?
There was a night last December that was very nice.
Have you ever had an Out of Body Experience? was it cool?
I don't think I've had one of those. I bet it would be cool, though.
If you could visit with someone who has passed on, who would it be.
What one thing are you most grateful?
I don't want to say, lest I be called weird.
What disease are you most afraid of?
Anything that might kill me painfully.
Admit it, do you watch soaps or reality tv?
I watch some reality TV.
What is your most beloved piece of music?
I couldn't care less.
If you were filthy rich, which charity would be your choice to help out?
I'd let HatGirl pick for me.
Fav. nurture food.
Maybe a cheeseburger and fries from Polly's Freeze.
If you could go back in time for a day, where and when would you go?
There are lots of good choices. It would be cool to see the Big Bang.
Who is the most interesting person you know?
HatGirl. She is an enigma inside a conundrum inside a mystery.
how many hours of sleep do you need to feel optimal?
Six or so.
Which of your friends crack you up. ?
SneakyGirl is the only person I know who's funnier than I am.
If you could be anyone else for one day, who would it be and why?
Hmmm, I'm not sure it would matter, as long as I was someone besides myself.
Fav. over the counter drug
fav. thing to collect.?
I guess coasters, because that's the closest I come to collecting anything.
RockGirl emailed me that two girls had just gotten into a fight at her work.
I asked the obvious questions.
"Did they rip each other's blouses open?"
"Did they start making out with each other?"
Her answer to both questions was, "I don't think so."
What a boring chick fight.
Q: What's worse than having an 8:30 meeting?
A: When everyone talks about football before the meeting.
I have this thought, or this theme of interrelated thoughts - something like that - which find its way into the front of my brain every now and then. When there's time. When it sees an opening, a break in the nearly constant barrage of thoughts regarding you-know-who and you-know-what.
It goes like this:
There's something there. Really and truly, and weirdly and unexpectedly, and sneakily and secretly, and wonderfully and scarily, there's something there.And it's different than it was before. It's based on something now. On what exactly I have no idea, but it's something. Something real, and something born of knowledge and intimacy instead of instinct and intuition.
I like it. Nothing will ever come of it, but I like it anyway.
The theme to the last few nights, if I had to pick a single theme, is that I'm supposed to be in Las Vegas. I was supposed to go there in early July, for a contract of at least six months. Despite a lot of unanswered questions and other loose ends here, or maybe because of those things, I was really looking forward to it.
The potential customer lost their funding, and so I lost my opportunity. Or at least I lost that opportunity.
I've been talking with StupidGirl a lot lately. Two or three times during each conversation, she'll pipe in with, "Dave, you're supposed to be here now!"
And I agree wholeheartedly. And not because of the aforementioned employment opportunity. I'm supposed to be there now.
I'm looking at November. My current engagement ends the first week of that month. Whether they'll want to extend my contract, or perhaps even hire me permanently, I don't know. Of course I'm hoping for further employment. But I think that if I'm going to keep working here I'm going to take a vacation in November. To Las Vegas, for a week or so.
I so need a vacation.
In an effort to keep my slackage from reaching epic proportions, I will now attempt an entry. I don't have a topic in mind, though, so I make no claims as to the readability or interestingness of this entry.
I'm still muddling through, trying to make some sense out of things. Coming up with excuses, basically, for the ways I've been treated and for the ways I've reacted. Sometimes the excuses I make up persist for a while, and sometimes they don't.
I keep trying to manufacture some kind of perception wherein everybody gets to be a good person. I used to try to make it so everybody could get along. I've stopped trying to do that. It was never going to work when I was the only one trying. I'm afraid that the good-person thing is going to fail as well. There's very little recent evidence to back up that particular claim.
I can probably still make it so everybody doesn't hate each other. Maybe.
Damn. It's been two months, as of today.
There are things! And they're happening!
That's just about all I can say.
But I wonder, I can't help but wonder, even though I know it's stupid to wonder.
Am I finally awake, or have I merely shifted to a new dream?
What was I supposed to feel, four hours ago?
I ask because it's become quite clear to me that what I actually feel - this is so irrelevant that I'm the only one who even notices it anymore. And even that's only barely.
I ask what I was supposed to feel, because I have no idea.
Relieved? Irritated? Hopeful? Hopeless? Frustrated? Loving? Useful? Useless? Guilty? Happy? Sad? Nostalgic?
Tell me what I was supposed to feel. Is it the same thing as yesterday, when almost the exact same fucking thing happened?
And, while you're at it, tell me what I'm supposed feel right now. Now that it's been four hours.
I go hours and days and weeks. In the past, I've gone months and years. Four hours certainly used to be something, but now it's nothing nothing nothing nothing.
Better yet, reach inside me and place the proper emotions into those empty places wherever you see fit.
My vote, if I'm allowed a vote, is for irritated. I was having a nice afternoon with HatGirl, and the woo-hoos of my phone were a distraction. Ironically, the lack of woo-hoos right now is proving to be a distraction from breathing. But I've been wrong before. I'm probably supposed to be feeling something else entirely.
Tell me what that was supposed to accomplish, and I'll do my best to comply. I've got nothing better to do, after all.
Just to clarify, I did vote for Obama. But maybe I didn't do it for the right reasons.
I voted for him because he's black. And because he wasn't Sarah Palin. But mostly because he's black.
I remember saying, back before the campaigns even began, that Osama bin Laden could run as a Democrat against the Republican second coming of Jesus Christ (of Nazareth, heh), and still win in a landslide. So great was the hatred for Bush, and by extension, the hatred for all white male Republicans, fuck, even Dukakis might have had a chance in 2008.
Now, that's not to take away from what Obama did. Not at all. But I do think that, in 2017 when his reign ends, the greatest thing he'll have ever done will be to have been elected President while simultaneously being black.
And this was no small feat.
By being elected, he gave hope to millions of Americans, and he smashed excuses for those same millions and for millions more. No longer can a black person - or any member of any minority for that matter - give up on themselves because the system is against them. The system may still be against them, but no longer can that be their excuse.
I saw it in the eyes of blacks all over Louisville, right after the election, and I still see it today. Not just pride, they always had pride, but hope.
What other president can do what Obama has done, simply by being elected?
Hillary could have done similarly, albeit for a different group of people, and I believe that she would have made a better president than Obama. But elections are never about who would perform better in office. Elections are about who's the better candidate. And Obama was definitely the better candidate. In many ways, he still is, as he's already campaigning for his re-election bid in 2012.
The man is never off-stage, and he knows it.
And besides, he's not Sarah Palin.
So apparently our President gave a speech last night. I was asleep, paying what I believe that was the proper amount of attention, but a lot of people actually watched the thing. And then they started talking about it and writing about it. So far this morning I've heard and read reactions of two distinct flavors:
1. Oh noes! The death camps are going to get me!
2. All hail Barack Obama!
And then people on both sides call the people on the other side a bunch of poopie-heads.
In other words, nothing has changed. Despite the fact that we've got a young, charismatic, and black man for a President, we're still just as polarized as ever.
On the one side, we have the cautionaries. This camp subscribes to the Slippery Slope Theory of Everything, and a typical argument from them might be, If stem cell research is allowed to continue, before too long abortions will be mandatory so the labs can meet their quotas.
And then we have the reactionaries. To them, everything is broken, and so everything needs fixing. Oh, and it needs to be fixed the right way, which just happens to be their way. A typical statement from a reactionary might be, Blah Obama blah blah change blah hope blah Bush sucks blah.
I bet most of us would like to see ourselves as standing somewhere between these two extremes. And maybe we do, most of the time, but there are issues for each of us that force us to one side or the other. What bothers me is that some people become so firmly entrenched in their camp that it becomes useless to talk to them at all. I call these people assholes.
Don't get me wrong, though; some of my best friends are assholes.
I really feel like crap. Really.
It's not even 8:30, and I'm going to go to bed.
Goodnight, cruel world.
I can forgive a lot of things. I have forgiven a lot of things. More than anyone else would have forgiven.
How the fuck am I supposed to forgive this and still manage to maintain some semblance of dignity?
I am not a doormat, though I've played one in the past, when it seemed that a doormat was needed.
I did what was necessary, or at least what seemed necessary at the time, not because of what those things were, but because of who needed them.
Because of who needed me.
And I liked it. Loved it, even. I lived for those opportunities.
Of whatever the fuck you want to call it. Friendship? Something more? Something less? Something else?
I don't care what you call it. Just pick something. And don't say nothing. Don't you fucking dare say nothing.
We may no longer exist, but I still do exist. Barely.
And what's left of me deserves more than this. Even the worst person on Earth would deserve more than this.
More than nothing.
Here's another one from facebook. I should be doing these in vlog format.
Who is the person in your life who taught you the most valuable life lessons?
MixedSignalGirl. I answered this question immediately, without giving it any thought whatsoever. I'll stick with that answer, but I'll add the "normal" people like my parents and such.
What is your earliest childhood memory?
I remember my mom holding a baby that, to my horror, wasn't me. I had a new sister named Dina. My next earliest memory, as far as I can tell, was of playing with a girl with long dark hair. Research has indicated that this was probably my cousin Terri, and I was two or three years old.
Where was the last place you made 'whoopie'?
When did you wake up today?
About 8:00. I wish I would have slept longer.
Why did you cry last?
Me strong man. Me no cry.
Who is your favorite male actor?
What was the last movie you watched?
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a couple of nights ago. I thought it was a stupid movie.
Where do you do most of your shopping?
A gas station down the road from my house. Stupid question. The place where I spend the most money is Rich O's.
When did you last tell someone that you loved them?
Within the last six months, I think. She didn't believe me, I guess because of all the zillions of times I'd lied to her.
Why did you tell your last 'white lie?'
I have no idea. I'm a very honest person.
Who do you look more like - your mother or your father?
My mom. I actually think I look more like my maternal grandfather, except he was bald and I'm not.
What color is your vehicle?
Red or black or blue, depending on which vehicle you mean. I drive the blue truck the most. This is probably a variation of the "What's your favorite color?" question that usually pops up in these things.
Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world on vacation?
Australia probably. Or Alaska. Or Russia. I'm easy. Usually I just want to get away from here, and the actual destination is secondary at best.
When was the last time you disappointed someone or hurt their feelings?
Within the last month, I bet. Hard to say. Disappointing someone and hurting their feelings can be two very different things.
Why do you think you are a 'good catch?'
Because I'm awesome. True, so true.
Who is your bff?
HatGirl and RockGirl.
What is the best feature on your body?
I've been complimented on my tongue. Does that count? Sometimes girls like my eyes, because they supposedly change color.
Where would you get a tattoo - if you would get a tattoo?
If I HAD to get one it would be on my upper arm. I can't imagine ever getting one, though.
When and what did you have for dinner today?
A fish sandwich and fries at the haunted Burger King. They were yummy.
Why did you take the time to complete this survey?
Because I was incredibly bored.
The other night I was bored and took this "truth" survey on facebook. I reproduce it here for your amusement. The parts of the answers in italics were not part of my oirginal facebook answers.
Who was your hardest breakup?
I think that everyone knows the answer to that question. Anyone who knows me at all, in any event. And even if they disagree with me as to whether it was a breakup or not, nobody can deny that it hurt me terribly, and that it continues to do so.
Who was your last kiss to?
KittenDamsel. I kinda wish they'd used "most recent kiss" instead of "last kiss." The way they worded is too pessimistic.
Whats your favorite color?
Blue. Seriously, this question shows up all the time on these things. Does anyone really care about another person's favorite color?
What question would you hate to be asked?
This one. Okay, I dodged this question when I originally took this quiz. The real question I'd most hate to be asked would probably be something like, "Do you still cling to stupid hope?"
What is the weirdest thing you have done?
I'm 44 years old, I've done TONS of weird things. One time, in Alaska, I jumped onto an iceberg-thingy to see if it would hold me. Maybe that was more stupid than weird, though.
Who do you have a crush on?
Lots of different girls. Probably every girl I know.
How old do you wish you were right now?
A million. I don't know why I picked a million. Maybe so I'd be old and wise and stuff. In actuality, I wouldn't mind being 30 again.
If you had a time machine, would you use it, what important moment in your life would you see?
All I can do is SEE that moment, not change it? If all I can do is see it, I'd like to see my own birth. I've gone to the hospital where I was born, trying to find someone who can help me locate the room I was born in. But all those people are dead or retired by now, and they've done a lot of remodeling, so I've never found the actual room.
What is the biggest lie you ever told?
I've never told a lie. :) Not for a long time, anyway.
What do you regret most doing?
Waiting. I should have told LaptopGirl how I felt about her years earlier.
What do you regret most not doing?
Waiting. As long as I'd waited for years already, I should have waited a few more months, so I'd have been believed.
If you could choose how you could die, what would you choose?
Something memorable. An airplane crash or something. I want to SCREAM my last breath. Most people want to fall asleep and just never wake up. That would piss me off if it happened to me.
What would your best friend be surprised that you did?
I dunno. I'm an open book. I have nothing to add to my original answer.
If you could speak one more language, what would it be?
I already speak English and some Spanish. I guess French would be my next choice. And whatever they speak in Belgium. Is that Flemish?
If you had one day to live, how would you spend it (besides saying good bye)?
I'd spend it with her, if she'd let me. I seriously doubt that LaptopGirl would want to see me, but I'd have to ask. I would have no plan B.
Think of the most outrageous question, then type the answer.
In a heartbeat. I'm not gonna say what the question was.
What is the mast annoying trait in your best friend that you would like to eliminate?
I don't know if my best friend has ever annoyed any masts. Okay, there was a typo in the question, and I made fun of it. My best friend does indeed have annoying traits, just like everyone does, but I'm not going to spotlight any of them by stating what they are.
Have you ever felt like you ruined someones life?
I thought so once. I was wrong, luckily. I was pretty worried that I'd screwed MixedSignalGirl up for life. But she's turned out just fine.
I kinda feel like I should say something tonight, but I'm going to hold myself in check, as much as I can. It's probably just the drugs coursing through my veins that are making me want to talk. Sudafed and alcohol. Maybe the two of them together will be able to do what one alone couldn't. Maybe they'll dry out my damn sinuses. So I can sleep.
I didn't sleep for shit last night. Stupid coughing and running to the bathroom to hack into the sink every 10 minutes. It's amazing to me that the human body can produce so much snot.
Gross, I know.
At least my fever seems to be gone.
I'm trying to write an entry this morning. An important entry. And, as I so often do with the things that are the most important to me, I'm fucking it up. I'm putting too much pressure on myself to do this just right and make it perfect. A fitting tribute to my friend, who I found four years ago today.
My phone is magic, see. I think about all of the times that I've sat outside at night, either on my swing or, more recently, in my garage, feeling alone and misunderstood. At times like that, I've been able to type all of my problems into my phone, and then either right away or a few hours later, I get a reply.
Sadness and loneliness go in, and understanding comes out.
My phone is magic.
Sometimes it's not that dramatic. Sometimes I just want to talk about my day. Say that I've arrived at work, or that I'm bored, or that I'm having a cheeseburger for lunch. Stupid mundane stuff like that. So I type those things into my phone, and it makes me feel like I'm sharing my life with someone. Because, in a way, I am.
Magic. My friend is magic.
What follows is the entry that I wrote on this date last year. I think I did a pretty good job. It still wasn't good enough to express everything I feel when I think about her, but it came pretty close.
It usually hits me at night, like most things. I'll be downstairs shooting pool and it'll hit me, and I'll nearly drop my cue. I'll be out on my swing and it'll hit me, and my swing will coast to a stop. Or I'll be reading a book and it'll hit me, and I'll read the same paragraph a dozen times.Now, it's been four years. It seems like it's been a million. I can't even begin to imagine a life without her.
I am so incredibly blessed. That realization hits me, and I can think of nothing else.
It might seem like an odd thing, to have a best friend that you've never even met. I suppose it seemed odd to me, back when I first found her. She has become such an integral part of my life, but if I saw her walking down the street I might not even know her. If I spoke to her on the phone it might take me a few seconds to recognize her voice.
It might seem like an odd thing, but it doesn't. Not to me. To me it's as natural as breathing. And just as involuntary.
Three years ago today, that's when I found her.
Just got an email from her.
Told her that I'm trying to write this entry, for our anniversary, but that I'm experiencing writer's block.
I think the problem is that nothing I could ever possibly write would be enough. Not enough to even come close to describing how important she is to me. I don't have the words, and even if I did, I don't think I have the strength to put those words together.
I know that whatever I write will fall short of the mark. Trivialize the emotions. Marginalize the gratitude that I feel when I think about her being in my life.
I needed something, three years ago. I needed it so badly that I was dying from the lack of it. And she gave it to me.
Not pity, or doubt, or advice. She didn't try to rationalize what I was going through, and she didn't try to make it all better, and she didn't judge, and she didn't mock.
And I went from feeling completely alone in this world, to having an ally. A kindred spirit I called her. And that knowledge, that wonderful knowledge that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't a freak, that I wasn't any of the things I'd been labeled as...
I began to heal, three years ago on this day. I stopped waiting to die, and began struggling to live, three years ago on this day.
Sometimes I think that we take each other for granted.
I relish those thoughts, because they're absolutely true. We take each other for granted because that's exactly what we are.
We will always be friends. We will always be there for each other.
We are granted to each other.
Happy anniversary, my dearest friend Teri.
She is a part of me now.
The most important part.
I dreamed that we were at Rich O's. It was just like old times, except that we were both really tired. I fell asleep on the couch, and you fell asleep leaning against me.
It was nice.
Then Rich O's closed, and my arms were full of cigarettes and your purse and stuff, so I put you on my head and wore you like a hat as I walked to Jack's.
Now don't get mad. There was nothing sexual or otherwise inappropriate at all. It was more about comfort and trust.
It was nice.
Then, I went into Jack's with you as a hat, and my friend Mike from Omaha was there watching a pool game. I hadn't seen him in five years, nor him me, but all he could do was stare at my strange choice of headgear.
It was a nice dream.
I'm leaving in 20 minutes. I hope to get my hairs cut today. I also hope to beat the rain that's looming. This all got me to thinking (uh-oh) about timing. It really is everything, like I keep saying.
A couple of years ago, the car carrying my nephew and his friends, and another vehicle, had the worst timing possible. If the speed of either vehicle had been different by even one mile-per-hour, what was a tragedy would have only been a close call. If either vehicle's speed had been ten miles-per-hour different, it would have been a non-event.
Unbelievably bad timing,is what that was.
In February, StupidGirl asked me to move to Las Vegas. It was a very sweet and kind offer. But I didn't go. I didn't go, because I had a relationship here in Indiana that was very important to me, and also because I had a job here. Now, I know, I also had friends and family and a house and blah blah blah, but the reasons I stayed were because of LaptopGirl and, to a much lesser extent, my job.
Two months later, my job was gone, and so was my relationship. Both had gone the way of the dodo. And StupidGirl had gone and got herself a shiny new boyfriend.
So that was certainly crappy timing. Nowhere near as crappy as the timing that my nephew and his friends experienced, but crappy nonetheless.
I could list a billion examples. Like how I met MixedSignalGirl because a deer ran in front of her car just when I happened to be driving behind her. Or how I found RockGirl because the "random journal" button at journalspace.com took me to her journal. Or how StupidGirl just happened to be on the rag and be my waitress on the same night.
Anyway, speaking of timing, I've got to go now. Maybe I'll finish this entry later.
Yesterday, I updated my facebook status thingy to say:
Sometimes, it takes a man's touch. Right, OddlyFamiliarGirl?Since this was just a bit cryptic, and since I'm bored, and since I thought this was funny, I thought I'd provide an explanation, and a short story.
I was sitting in a staff meeting - that fact the my life is ruled by meetings is a different story - and my phone rang. The caller was OddlyFamiliarGirl. I couldn't answer the call, of course, because I was in a meeting, but I was able to send her a text that I'd call her back at my earliest opportunity. Right after that my phone chimed again, this time to indicate a new voicemail message.
So, after my meeting, I listened to the voicemail. It said, in part, that OddlyFamiliarGirl couldn't get the door on her Jeep to close, and she wanted to know if I'd take a look at it.
Not many people know that, as a child, I often dreamed that someday I might be able to look at, and maybe even fix, peoples' car doors.
Anyway, once I finally got off work, I drove to the place where OddlyFamiliarGirl was waiting. She told me her door woes, and I went out to take a look.
Not to get too technical, but the latch thingy was extended when it should have been retracted. This was preventing the door from closing.
I pressed my thumb against the door button, watched the thingy retract, and then I closed the door. Then, because I'm nothing if not thorough, I opened and closed the door again.
Then I went back inside and made fun of OddlyFamiliarGirl for a while. That was instead of giving her my bill.
Then I updated my facebook status.
One of my friends, or "chicks" as OddlyFamiliarGirl calls them, read my status and emailed me to ask, "I'm intrigued. What did you do to OddlyFamiliarGirl? Should I be jealous now?"
I replied, "Don't be jealous. I just thumbed her button and made her happy."
(This is a repost from 2006. I'm too tired to come up with anything new this morning.)
I hate it when my most recent entry sucks, so I'm writing this one which hopefully sucks less.
Somebody last night - I think it was one of the PBDs in a moment of alcohol-induced pseudo-wisdom, made the following observation:
You should just follow your heart, and do the right thing.This advice was not directed specifically at me, as my own heart and I are no longer on speaking terms, but rather at the entire group of us gathered there at the island.
Head started to nod up and down in unison like commuters on a bumpy bus ride - imagery which looks much better in my head than it does on my screen.
Such a sage suggestion! Such worldly wisdom! Such axiomatic advice!
Such babbling bullshit!
I had to put a stop to it before people started getting whiplash.
"But what if following your heart and doing what's right are mutually exclusive?" I offered. "Remember that hearts are stupid and selfish. It's very rare for them to be right about anything. What if you're always finding yourself being forced to choose between following your heart and doing what's right?"
That stopped the bobbing.
"Well then that's pretty fucked-up," someone responded.
I can sense the eyes upon me sometimes. Looking for what, I don't know. Hoping for what, I don't know. Dreading what, I don't know. I really don't know much, it seems, but I do know that I can sense the eyes upon me sometimes, and I relish those times because (a) it's contact of a sort, and (b) it's all I have.
Anyway, I'm in a good mood again. Two nights in a row. Weird.
I take part of that back.
There are, actually, two people who I desperately want to understand me.
One of those people already does. And the fact that she lives over 700 miles away, and the fact that I've never met her - those truths change nothing.
There's another person who I wish would understand me. She doesn't. She probably never will. There's too much distrust, for some stupid reason that's out of my control. I plan to continue to live despite this. So there.
I think what I want to say right now is that it's okay that people don't get me. Fuck, half the time I don't even get myself.
If I try to be totally objective about things, then I decide that I'm a dumbass. That's one reason that I try to stay subjective.
I'd rather be a loser than a dumbass.
None of this is for me, and it never has been for me. If people would understand that, then they would understand 99.99999% of me.
I'm not holding my breath though. Partly because I can't hold my breath that long, but mostly because I don't care if people understand me or not.
It is what it is. It has been what it has been. It will be what it will be.
If you can take those last three sentences and not infer any meaning beyond what was written, then (a) I applaud you, and (b) Stick close to me - I may need someone to back me up at some point.
Tonight, I'm in an almost perfect mood. In love with being in love, and neither dashed hopes nor destroyed expectations can change that.
At least, not tonight.
I will feel what I feel.
I like it when I can just let my fingers fly and then I look at the screen and it's actual words and sentences and paragraphs. And sometimes those things even manage to dance well together, forming a sort of stage-show portraying my current thoughts and/or feelings and/or whatever.
This is not one of those times. This time, my words and sentences and paragraphs and all have palsy really bad, and they're just sort of twitching.
What's going to piss me off, I think, is when everything that everyone warned me about turns out to be true. My life will become a cacophony of I-told-you-so and You-should-have-listened and You-fucking-dumbass. I don't expect it to be very much fun. It's already started, and it already sucks.
Just because something turns out to be true, that doesn't mean that it was true all along. I think I've written about this before. Like, if I were to announce that I will win the lottery, and then I do win the lottery, that doesn't mean I was right with my prediction. It only means that I got lucky. This is kinda the same deal.
I don't care what people have said to me about this. I didn't want to hear about it then, and I don't want to hear about it now, and I definitely won't want to hear about it in the future.