Scooter and I didn't have our "date" last night. He called me up with a list of things he needed to get done and the things he didn't tell me were just as loud as the things he did. He's troubled. Which of course makes me want to rescue him. Which of course he does not want. So of course I will not offer.
What I did offer was to postpone our evening together til next week, which he initially accepted, and rescheduled for Monday... he then said we could get together last night, just to eat and part company -and- get together on Monday. I said "sure". He said "call me when you get off work" and I was happy that I was going to violate my own boundaries and see him twice in the span of a few days. But then, 10 minutes before I was going to call him, he called me, said he "was running late" and needed to just get together Monday.
He also expressed that he broke up with his boyfriend, really wanted to talk to me and had lots to tell me about.
It's funny how I could spend the better part of a week thinking of ways to tell him that I don't think I can give him anything anymore based on how he treats me, and within the span of a few minutes on the phone I surmise he thinks the distance between us right now is strictly for my comfort and doesn't know that anything is wrong. He tortures me. Or is it just "me" torturing me?
Far more likely the latter, with a good dose of the former.
He's such a private person, and so guarded. What little he gives me seems to be such a sacrifice for him, like he thinks he's giving me way more than he actually is.
If I didn't love him, I wouldn't be here. But then, it's not my feelings I question.
He's 25 years old, irresponsible, messed-up, repressed and directionless.
Head says run. Frequently. Heart says he's the one. More frequently. Almost constantly. Head says all I want to do is rescue him. Heart says he's an amazing man who hasn't realized it yet. Head says he'll never know what he wants unless you cut and run and let him come back to you. Heart says he needs a friend more than a lover right now, and I can't seem to detect the presence of any other man with a soul so like mine.
Tick tock. Stay, go. Tick tock. Love, run. I wonder if there's any Libra in me? That I can't make the decision to walk away. A Capricorn will believe in love with his last breath, even if it's the cause of his last breath, I'm thinking.
Do I deserve someone who loves me unconditionally? Yes. Am I convinced that person isn't Scooter? Absolutely not. Am I fucking delusional? Probably. But I'm only a danger to my emotional self.
Ray LaMontagne - "Let It Be Me"
There may come a time, a time in everyone's life
Where nothin' seems to go your way
Where nothing seems to turn out right
There may come a time, you just can't seem to find your place
For every door you walk on to, seems like they get slammed in your face
That's when you need someone, someone that you can call.
And when all your faith is gone
Feels like you can't go on
Let it be me
Let it be me
If it's a friend that you need
Let it be me
Let it be me
Feels like you're always comin' on home
Pockets full of nothin' and you got no cash
No matter where you turn you ain't got no place to stand
Reach out for something and they slap your hand
I remember all to well
Just how it feels to be all alone
You feel like you'd give anything
For just a little place you can call your own
That's when you need someone, someone that you can call
And when all your faith is gone
Feels like you cant go on
Let it be me
Let it be me
If it's a friend you need
Let it be me
Let it be me
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Shaky on Every Front
My anxiety is taking over.
I have an appointment with a neurologist on December 1st. As this date approaches, the fear I have about it gets a stronger foothold. I realize that fear in the face of something that needs investigation is pretty counter-productive, but I'm still afraid. For years now, I have noticed an increasing tendency for my hands to shake. Sometimes it's inhibiting to performing tasks. You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I have very weak hands. Opening jars and bottles is an ordeal.
Of greater concern to me... the shaking has gotten significant enough for people to not only notice, but comment... a lot. I've inherited it from my father. He used to shake quite a bit. But according to my mother, he would never visit a doctor to have it examined. He didn't like doctors. He didn't like hospitals. No small irony that he died in one. But at any rate, if he did have some neurological disorder that he could genetically pass on to his son, I'm soon to find out. And I'm quite thoroughly terrified.
It could be nothing. It could be emotional stress. It could be that I need to set aside 10 minutes per day to scream and cry like a crazy person. As emotional as I am, I feel repressed. I feel like a person who's screaming and crying on the inside. Have you ever seen that episode of Six Feet Under where David has a waking dream of screaming during a funeral? I'm reminded of that.
Insecure thoughts are circling and rattling my cage. I'm thinking of how my parents had me late in life. I'm thinking of the legacy of poor health in each of their families. All of my uncles and aunts on my father's side, are all gone. 10 of them. All dead. My father was the youngest, and he's been gone for almost 19 years. The siblings on my mother's side including my mother are all still alive, and I figure if I can avoid the plague of obesity they all suffer from, I can dodge a few of the bullets they've all taken.
I have no delusions of living forever. And I don't think I'm afraid to die per say. I just don't want to be sick. I don't want to suffer and degenerate. Given the fact that I'm (as I've pointed out ad nauseum) alone in life, the prospect of being unable to care for myself is frightening. But I suppose no-more-so than the thought of sentencing a loved one to care for me.
Couple this (perhaps irrational) concern with the take-over at work... the approach of Christmas... my collapsing faith in any hope of a friendship/relationship/anything with Scooter... my overall stress of social interaction... and the pressure of merely existing....
And I think I've got a pretty good recipe for an all-systems-failure.
Taking a serious look at my health, and the potential to be really unwell, sheds a light on the fact that nothing really matters, but I don't know that I "live" that knowledge... so maybe a crisis, whether real or manufactured could be just what I need.
Shut it down. Shut it all down. Everything that's not key to my existence. The friends and family who don't bother. The job that, if lost, could force me into action I've never had the courage to take. Shut down the worry. Shut down the mother fucking future I cannot see and cannot change and could not affect otherwise. Shut it down. I don't want to think about it.
I want to be a tree. I want to long for nothing more than the sun hitting the greenery and the water that nourishes the roots. Fuck health problems. Fuck worry. Fuck being loved. Fuck being known. Fuck ever wanting to please another human being on this doomed ball of dirt. Fuck it all, for tomorrow I could be forced down by winds. Struck down by lightning. Cut down by some unwitting lumberjack. Today. This moment I still stand.
I stand and spout empty words about bravery and apathy I don't possess.
And I go that much more crazy.
*sigh*
I missed my appointment with Dr Truth today. Totally forgot about it. You'd think my mind would be on therapy given how stricken I feel. I'm going to be penalized 120-dollars for missing the appointment. Which makes me think I should stop making appointments in the event that I'm going to fuck-up and miss them. I can't afford to miss them. And it's not that I have issue with the concept. Dr Truth's time is valuable. I have to make appointments well in advance because his calendar is full. When someone just doesn't show up, it's a waste of his time. That doesn't alter the fact that I can't afford a 120-dollar fuck up. Yet, my co dependence asserts itself in the pattern of thought, that without him, I will have absolutely no one to listen to me fall apart. And my ego can't handle falling apart all by myself now, can it?
Last night I went to visit my soon-to-be-nephew in the hospital. He was in Toronto (or Markham rather) to have a hernia operated on. I didn't really want to go. It was a case of feeling it wouldn't matter to him whether I did or not anyway. I don't know him very well, and thought it might even seem weird that I would go and visit him, but... he was all alone with no family up here, in a boring hospital in the middle of nowhere. So I went. He's a nice kid. I like him a lot. Mind you, I took the opportunity to deliver the bad news that I can't afford to go to their destination wedding in January.
It took me an hour and a half to get there, and even longer to get home because I don't know the transit system up there very well, and missed a bus on the way back. It turned-out to be a blessing. I had to wait an hour, so I took refuge in a Shopper's Drug Mart and bought things I've been meaning to buy, but for whatever reason, haven't. I picked up the November issue of Details magazine with Chris Pine on the cover... band aids, tissues, peroxide, nail clippers (to replace the ones I sucked up the vacuum cleaner by accident) and probably most importantly... a bottle of Valerian Root. I wish I had some right now as a matter of fact. I've used it before for anxiety. There's really no reason why I should ever not be taking it. It brings on a wonderful wave of calm. Which makes up for it's horrible smell. (wet dog in a bottle anyone?)
I am grateful for my life. I am grateful for my problems that pale in comparison to the hardship that faces so many other people. I am grateful to be alive. To love and learn, and feel disenchanted with the whole ordeal. I am grateful to be creative enough to even wish to be a tree. And though it causes me self-afflicted misery... I am grateful to be self-aware. It simply must be better than ignorance and oblivion. Ok gratitude... stay with me. Balance me, ground me, heal me. I need your help so badly.
Rattling chains, fine-tuning the probe... unfurling the wings... the ghost-alien-angel will dwell among the humans another day.
Today's song of the day, is by Amy Grant. I will forever love this woman. I don't believe as she does, but if ever a true christian existed, I think it's her. So I'm not waiting for Jesus, but these lyrics speak to me anyhow. It's a great song.
Amy Grant - The Water
Quick sand
My heart is sinkin'
I try to run
But I can't stop thinkin'
I'm climbin' walls
I'm on the ceilin'
It's gonna take a miracle to heal me
I'm starin' down
Into the quarry
I see a stone
For every sorry
I'm on the edge
I'm goin' under
And after I die
I'm gonna rise from the water (oooh)
I wanna blast off
Let gravity disappear
I'm tired of fallin', fallin', fallin' from the weight of fear
Come and lift me up into the clean and clear
I'm waitin' on you, Jesus, in the water here
So come and wash me clean
The sky is red, there's
Blood on my hands
I can't deny
I'm guilty where I stand
The verdict's in
I hear them shoutin'
Send me a river to drown this mountain (oooh)
I wanna blast off
Let gravity disappear
I'm tired of fallin', fallin', fallin' from the weight of fear
Come and lift me up into the clean and clear
I'm waitin' on you, Jesus, in the water here
So come and wash me clean
Wash me clean
(Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me)
I have an appointment with a neurologist on December 1st. As this date approaches, the fear I have about it gets a stronger foothold. I realize that fear in the face of something that needs investigation is pretty counter-productive, but I'm still afraid. For years now, I have noticed an increasing tendency for my hands to shake. Sometimes it's inhibiting to performing tasks. You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I have very weak hands. Opening jars and bottles is an ordeal.
Of greater concern to me... the shaking has gotten significant enough for people to not only notice, but comment... a lot. I've inherited it from my father. He used to shake quite a bit. But according to my mother, he would never visit a doctor to have it examined. He didn't like doctors. He didn't like hospitals. No small irony that he died in one. But at any rate, if he did have some neurological disorder that he could genetically pass on to his son, I'm soon to find out. And I'm quite thoroughly terrified.
It could be nothing. It could be emotional stress. It could be that I need to set aside 10 minutes per day to scream and cry like a crazy person. As emotional as I am, I feel repressed. I feel like a person who's screaming and crying on the inside. Have you ever seen that episode of Six Feet Under where David has a waking dream of screaming during a funeral? I'm reminded of that.
Insecure thoughts are circling and rattling my cage. I'm thinking of how my parents had me late in life. I'm thinking of the legacy of poor health in each of their families. All of my uncles and aunts on my father's side, are all gone. 10 of them. All dead. My father was the youngest, and he's been gone for almost 19 years. The siblings on my mother's side including my mother are all still alive, and I figure if I can avoid the plague of obesity they all suffer from, I can dodge a few of the bullets they've all taken.
I have no delusions of living forever. And I don't think I'm afraid to die per say. I just don't want to be sick. I don't want to suffer and degenerate. Given the fact that I'm (as I've pointed out ad nauseum) alone in life, the prospect of being unable to care for myself is frightening. But I suppose no-more-so than the thought of sentencing a loved one to care for me.
Couple this (perhaps irrational) concern with the take-over at work... the approach of Christmas... my collapsing faith in any hope of a friendship/relationship/anything with Scooter... my overall stress of social interaction... and the pressure of merely existing....
And I think I've got a pretty good recipe for an all-systems-failure.
Taking a serious look at my health, and the potential to be really unwell, sheds a light on the fact that nothing really matters, but I don't know that I "live" that knowledge... so maybe a crisis, whether real or manufactured could be just what I need.
Shut it down. Shut it all down. Everything that's not key to my existence. The friends and family who don't bother. The job that, if lost, could force me into action I've never had the courage to take. Shut down the worry. Shut down the mother fucking future I cannot see and cannot change and could not affect otherwise. Shut it down. I don't want to think about it.
I want to be a tree. I want to long for nothing more than the sun hitting the greenery and the water that nourishes the roots. Fuck health problems. Fuck worry. Fuck being loved. Fuck being known. Fuck ever wanting to please another human being on this doomed ball of dirt. Fuck it all, for tomorrow I could be forced down by winds. Struck down by lightning. Cut down by some unwitting lumberjack. Today. This moment I still stand.
I stand and spout empty words about bravery and apathy I don't possess.
And I go that much more crazy.
*sigh*
I missed my appointment with Dr Truth today. Totally forgot about it. You'd think my mind would be on therapy given how stricken I feel. I'm going to be penalized 120-dollars for missing the appointment. Which makes me think I should stop making appointments in the event that I'm going to fuck-up and miss them. I can't afford to miss them. And it's not that I have issue with the concept. Dr Truth's time is valuable. I have to make appointments well in advance because his calendar is full. When someone just doesn't show up, it's a waste of his time. That doesn't alter the fact that I can't afford a 120-dollar fuck up. Yet, my co dependence asserts itself in the pattern of thought, that without him, I will have absolutely no one to listen to me fall apart. And my ego can't handle falling apart all by myself now, can it?
Last night I went to visit my soon-to-be-nephew in the hospital. He was in Toronto (or Markham rather) to have a hernia operated on. I didn't really want to go. It was a case of feeling it wouldn't matter to him whether I did or not anyway. I don't know him very well, and thought it might even seem weird that I would go and visit him, but... he was all alone with no family up here, in a boring hospital in the middle of nowhere. So I went. He's a nice kid. I like him a lot. Mind you, I took the opportunity to deliver the bad news that I can't afford to go to their destination wedding in January.
It took me an hour and a half to get there, and even longer to get home because I don't know the transit system up there very well, and missed a bus on the way back. It turned-out to be a blessing. I had to wait an hour, so I took refuge in a Shopper's Drug Mart and bought things I've been meaning to buy, but for whatever reason, haven't. I picked up the November issue of Details magazine with Chris Pine on the cover... band aids, tissues, peroxide, nail clippers (to replace the ones I sucked up the vacuum cleaner by accident) and probably most importantly... a bottle of Valerian Root. I wish I had some right now as a matter of fact. I've used it before for anxiety. There's really no reason why I should ever not be taking it. It brings on a wonderful wave of calm. Which makes up for it's horrible smell. (wet dog in a bottle anyone?)
I am grateful for my life. I am grateful for my problems that pale in comparison to the hardship that faces so many other people. I am grateful to be alive. To love and learn, and feel disenchanted with the whole ordeal. I am grateful to be creative enough to even wish to be a tree. And though it causes me self-afflicted misery... I am grateful to be self-aware. It simply must be better than ignorance and oblivion. Ok gratitude... stay with me. Balance me, ground me, heal me. I need your help so badly.
Rattling chains, fine-tuning the probe... unfurling the wings... the ghost-alien-angel will dwell among the humans another day.
Today's song of the day, is by Amy Grant. I will forever love this woman. I don't believe as she does, but if ever a true christian existed, I think it's her. So I'm not waiting for Jesus, but these lyrics speak to me anyhow. It's a great song.
Amy Grant - The Water
Quick sand
My heart is sinkin'
I try to run
But I can't stop thinkin'
I'm climbin' walls
I'm on the ceilin'
It's gonna take a miracle to heal me
I'm starin' down
Into the quarry
I see a stone
For every sorry
I'm on the edge
I'm goin' under
And after I die
I'm gonna rise from the water (oooh)
I wanna blast off
Let gravity disappear
I'm tired of fallin', fallin', fallin' from the weight of fear
Come and lift me up into the clean and clear
I'm waitin' on you, Jesus, in the water here
So come and wash me clean
The sky is red, there's
Blood on my hands
I can't deny
I'm guilty where I stand
The verdict's in
I hear them shoutin'
Send me a river to drown this mountain (oooh)
I wanna blast off
Let gravity disappear
I'm tired of fallin', fallin', fallin' from the weight of fear
Come and lift me up into the clean and clear
I'm waitin' on you, Jesus, in the water here
So come and wash me clean
Wash me clean
(Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me, Heaven wash me)
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Leaving "Everything But Poopie" Behind
Upon contemplating the complete abandonment of this blog in favour of something completely anonymous, I decided it would be a better idea to simply go forward with a new title.
I have one follower who checks in on a semi-regular basis, so it's not like there's much ceremony to engage in. Cheers to you lone reader. : )
The name "What I Leave Behind" is meaningful to me on a few levels, though it may seem a tad morbid. I am a tad morbid person. (I say this with a laugh.) First and foremost, everything I write here, I leave behind. I may say things time and again, but the words are, and will be, a part of my past. Hopefully dealt-with, celebrated or grieved with honest emotion.
When I started writing in this space I was a different person. The name "Everything But Poopie" was playful, and well-suited to all of my musings about being a dog owner.
I just noticed, that if you remove the letters "o" and "g" from "dog owner", you get "downer".
Perhaps.
I want to leave "myself" behind. In whatever I write. I want to leave a trail of who I am and the scope of what I felt, loved and cared for. Even if it only ever matters to me alone.
There's no goal to be known by those who don't already know me. I just want to leave a picture of "who I am", (or who I was) to anyone who does know me, to find when I'm gone. That sounds positively suicidal, but it's not. Self-indulgent maybe. But the intention is just "hey, I'm mortal".
And quite simply, I need to take everything that's so painfully inward, and release it. To be "known" for what makes me, me. That includes the things that amuse, move and inspire me. Not just anguish.
Therapy. Legacy. Biography. Emotion, wisdom, foolishness and ego.
Carved into the tree bark of the internet...
John was here.
I have one follower who checks in on a semi-regular basis, so it's not like there's much ceremony to engage in. Cheers to you lone reader. : )
The name "What I Leave Behind" is meaningful to me on a few levels, though it may seem a tad morbid. I am a tad morbid person. (I say this with a laugh.) First and foremost, everything I write here, I leave behind. I may say things time and again, but the words are, and will be, a part of my past. Hopefully dealt-with, celebrated or grieved with honest emotion.
When I started writing in this space I was a different person. The name "Everything But Poopie" was playful, and well-suited to all of my musings about being a dog owner.
I just noticed, that if you remove the letters "o" and "g" from "dog owner", you get "downer".
Perhaps.
I want to leave "myself" behind. In whatever I write. I want to leave a trail of who I am and the scope of what I felt, loved and cared for. Even if it only ever matters to me alone.
There's no goal to be known by those who don't already know me. I just want to leave a picture of "who I am", (or who I was) to anyone who does know me, to find when I'm gone. That sounds positively suicidal, but it's not. Self-indulgent maybe. But the intention is just "hey, I'm mortal".
And quite simply, I need to take everything that's so painfully inward, and release it. To be "known" for what makes me, me. That includes the things that amuse, move and inspire me. Not just anguish.
Therapy. Legacy. Biography. Emotion, wisdom, foolishness and ego.
Carved into the tree bark of the internet...
John was here.
Open Letter to Scooter
Tomorrow we meet again for dinner, and precious time spent together. You have no idea how much it means to me.
I wish you could see me the way I see you.
I wish my love were tangible and enveloping.
I wish I could properly convey how beautiful you are and how you consume me. I wish my words could be spoken. I wish you could know how I ache for you, only so you'd know how deep it goes and how safe you would be with me. How I long to keep you safe and give you everything I have to offer.
My love is so true.
It's so real.
It's so unrealized and forlorn. I wait for you.
I wait for you to see me and to love me back without any doubt or fear of abandonment.
I wait for you.
Or I wait for some other man to free me from the sad delusion I suffer from, that my waiting will be with reason and that we would be strong and true together.
Such a delusion. Like you can't break "broken".
I love you so much.
So deep.
So relentless.
So nurturing.
With such lust.
With such single-sighted longing.
With such a desire to think of you as my family.
I love you.
I love you.
Though it may yet break me.
Though you may never love me back.
I love you still.
I wish you could see me the way I see you.
I wish my love were tangible and enveloping.
I wish I could properly convey how beautiful you are and how you consume me. I wish my words could be spoken. I wish you could know how I ache for you, only so you'd know how deep it goes and how safe you would be with me. How I long to keep you safe and give you everything I have to offer.
My love is so true.
It's so real.
It's so unrealized and forlorn. I wait for you.
I wait for you to see me and to love me back without any doubt or fear of abandonment.
I wait for you.
Or I wait for some other man to free me from the sad delusion I suffer from, that my waiting will be with reason and that we would be strong and true together.
Such a delusion. Like you can't break "broken".
I love you so much.
So deep.
So relentless.
So nurturing.
With such lust.
With such single-sighted longing.
With such a desire to think of you as my family.
I love you.
I love you.
Though it may yet break me.
Though you may never love me back.
I love you still.
Beautiful Music
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-NpATPAa08&feature=player_embedded
Janelle Monae - Smile (by Charlie Chaplin)
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile
Janelle Monae - Smile (by Charlie Chaplin)
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile
Monday, November 22, 2010
Productive Nothing Day
I took the day off work today. I'm still burning off unused holiday time from 2010, which sounds normal enough except that in my employment world, it's now 2011, and I've still got 2 more days to use up before the "big move".
A day off should be something good. Why don't you be the judge of whether mine has been? I woke up at 8. Took out the recycling. Ate my breakfast, took my vitamins, watched porn, went to the laundromat, came home, walked to the grocery store for a bag of chips and a 2 litre bottle of Pepsi (pop is a rare treat) watched 4 episodes of Arrested Development (which is one of the funniest, most-enjoyable contributions to my life right now), ate lunch, potted a new plant, bought every Adam Lambert song I enjoy from iTunes, cleaned-out my iPod a little, made my bed with the bedding I washed at said laundromat, discovered I'd lost my fabric softener on the way home from the morning excursion, retraced my steps and found the fabric softener (eureka!), moped, contemplated smoking pot but decided against it because I still want to vacuum, now I'm blogging while I do my regular laundry downstairs. Oh yes, and I forgot to mention all the time I've spent thinking about Scooter all the while this funtastic day has been unfolding.
I am a lonely man. Not necessarily miserable, but dreadfully, unspeakably, alone.
And keeping a strong attitude about it. Learning to just exist with it. I say this because I wouldn't describe this day as depressing. I've certainly kept myself occupied.
For a 3 day weekend though, this one has sucked tremendous. You can feel the pull of the suction. The slurp of time and energy being drained as though from a valve in my private store.
That's not to say Friday night with Pugs wasn't fine and dandy. And Saturday's trip to Costco and afternoon/evening of pizza and substance abuse with Peachy and McMac wasn't fun. Even hanging out with Lactose and Skatz was ok. I've never mentioned them before because I have to take Lactose in small doses (ha! No, really.) Skatz is Lactose's boyfriend, and I like him well enough. I went to the Santa Claus parade with them, and then hung out at their apartment yesterday afternoon.
They're a happy/miserable couple who will break up messily one day. I hope I'm wrong.
I spent the majority of my time sleeping on their couch at any rate. They wanted to watch movies, and I don't know if it was the chill of being outside for the parade or the sleep deprivation of having the dogs all week, but I just couldn't keep my eyes open.
I ran into a guy from volleyball on the subway home from their place. I won't name him in the event that he requires a nickname later on, but he's really cute and kind of shy. We talked for my entire trip home. (He was headed farther north.) I really got a good feeling about him. I'm not going to allow myself any happy fantasies about him beyond that, but I may ask him for a date if he's even remotely happy to see me the next time we run into each other at volleyball. Why not? He's cute, articulate and nice. Why not.
I wish I could feel better about the productivity of this day. I didn't do my workout, or my stretching routine. I didn't do my morning pages, or work on any of my writing. Had I done any of those things I wouldn't feel so guilty.
But now, it's late enough to just wait for Lion to log on to Skype, retrieve my laundry, fold it, and vacuum. I have to vacuum. The dog hair is crazy and I don't want to track any into clean bedding tonight.
What a boring blog entry. Sorry.
Hopefully you'll enjoy my guilty pleasure, Adam Lambert. Mind you, I'm not really guilty about it. I really do love him. As a person I find him quite admirable. As an artist, he's nothing if not entertaining and talented.
Adam Lambert - For Your Entertainment (Brad Walsh remix)
So hot, out of the box
Can we pick up the pace
Turn it up, heat it up
I need to be entertained
Push the limit, are you with it?
Baby don't be afraid
Imma hurt you real good baby
Let's go, it's my show, baby, do what I say
Don't trip off the glitz that I'm gonna display
I told you, Imma hold ya down until you're amazed
Give it to ya til you're screamin' my name
No escaping when I start
Once I'm in I own your heart
There's no way to ring the alarm
So hold on until it's over
Oh!
Do you know what you got into
Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do
'Cause it's about to get rough for you
I'm here for your entertainment
Oh!
I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
You thought an angel swept you off your feet
But I'm about to turn up the heat
I'm here for your entertainment
S'all right
You'll be fine
Baby I'm in control
Take the pain
Take the pleasure
I'm the master of both
Close your eyes, not your mind
Let me into your soul
I'm gonna work it 'til your totally blown
No escaping when I start
Once I'm in I own your heart
There's no way to ring the alarm
So hold on 'til it's over
Oh!
Do you know what you got into
Can you handle what I am about to do
'Cause it's about to get rough for you
I'm here for your entertainment
Oh I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
You thought an angel swept you off your feet
But I'm about to turn up the heat
I'm here for your entertainment
Oh
Do you like what you see?
Oh
Let me entertain ya 'til you scream
Oh!
Do you know what you got into
Can you handle what I am about to do
'Cause it's about to get rough for you
I'm here for your entertainment
Oh!
I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
You thought an angel swept you off your feet
But I'm about to turn up the heat
I'm here for your entertainment
A day off should be something good. Why don't you be the judge of whether mine has been? I woke up at 8. Took out the recycling. Ate my breakfast, took my vitamins, watched porn, went to the laundromat, came home, walked to the grocery store for a bag of chips and a 2 litre bottle of Pepsi (pop is a rare treat) watched 4 episodes of Arrested Development (which is one of the funniest, most-enjoyable contributions to my life right now), ate lunch, potted a new plant, bought every Adam Lambert song I enjoy from iTunes, cleaned-out my iPod a little, made my bed with the bedding I washed at said laundromat, discovered I'd lost my fabric softener on the way home from the morning excursion, retraced my steps and found the fabric softener (eureka!), moped, contemplated smoking pot but decided against it because I still want to vacuum, now I'm blogging while I do my regular laundry downstairs. Oh yes, and I forgot to mention all the time I've spent thinking about Scooter all the while this funtastic day has been unfolding.
I am a lonely man. Not necessarily miserable, but dreadfully, unspeakably, alone.
And keeping a strong attitude about it. Learning to just exist with it. I say this because I wouldn't describe this day as depressing. I've certainly kept myself occupied.
For a 3 day weekend though, this one has sucked tremendous. You can feel the pull of the suction. The slurp of time and energy being drained as though from a valve in my private store.
That's not to say Friday night with Pugs wasn't fine and dandy. And Saturday's trip to Costco and afternoon/evening of pizza and substance abuse with Peachy and McMac wasn't fun. Even hanging out with Lactose and Skatz was ok. I've never mentioned them before because I have to take Lactose in small doses (ha! No, really.) Skatz is Lactose's boyfriend, and I like him well enough. I went to the Santa Claus parade with them, and then hung out at their apartment yesterday afternoon.
They're a happy/miserable couple who will break up messily one day. I hope I'm wrong.
I spent the majority of my time sleeping on their couch at any rate. They wanted to watch movies, and I don't know if it was the chill of being outside for the parade or the sleep deprivation of having the dogs all week, but I just couldn't keep my eyes open.
I ran into a guy from volleyball on the subway home from their place. I won't name him in the event that he requires a nickname later on, but he's really cute and kind of shy. We talked for my entire trip home. (He was headed farther north.) I really got a good feeling about him. I'm not going to allow myself any happy fantasies about him beyond that, but I may ask him for a date if he's even remotely happy to see me the next time we run into each other at volleyball. Why not? He's cute, articulate and nice. Why not.
I wish I could feel better about the productivity of this day. I didn't do my workout, or my stretching routine. I didn't do my morning pages, or work on any of my writing. Had I done any of those things I wouldn't feel so guilty.
But now, it's late enough to just wait for Lion to log on to Skype, retrieve my laundry, fold it, and vacuum. I have to vacuum. The dog hair is crazy and I don't want to track any into clean bedding tonight.
What a boring blog entry. Sorry.
Hopefully you'll enjoy my guilty pleasure, Adam Lambert. Mind you, I'm not really guilty about it. I really do love him. As a person I find him quite admirable. As an artist, he's nothing if not entertaining and talented.
Adam Lambert - For Your Entertainment (Brad Walsh remix)
So hot, out of the box
Can we pick up the pace
Turn it up, heat it up
I need to be entertained
Push the limit, are you with it?
Baby don't be afraid
Imma hurt you real good baby
Let's go, it's my show, baby, do what I say
Don't trip off the glitz that I'm gonna display
I told you, Imma hold ya down until you're amazed
Give it to ya til you're screamin' my name
No escaping when I start
Once I'm in I own your heart
There's no way to ring the alarm
So hold on until it's over
Oh!
Do you know what you got into
Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do
'Cause it's about to get rough for you
I'm here for your entertainment
Oh!
I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
You thought an angel swept you off your feet
But I'm about to turn up the heat
I'm here for your entertainment
S'all right
You'll be fine
Baby I'm in control
Take the pain
Take the pleasure
I'm the master of both
Close your eyes, not your mind
Let me into your soul
I'm gonna work it 'til your totally blown
No escaping when I start
Once I'm in I own your heart
There's no way to ring the alarm
So hold on 'til it's over
Oh!
Do you know what you got into
Can you handle what I am about to do
'Cause it's about to get rough for you
I'm here for your entertainment
Oh I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
You thought an angel swept you off your feet
But I'm about to turn up the heat
I'm here for your entertainment
Oh
Do you like what you see?
Oh
Let me entertain ya 'til you scream
Oh!
Do you know what you got into
Can you handle what I am about to do
'Cause it's about to get rough for you
I'm here for your entertainment
Oh!
I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
You thought an angel swept you off your feet
But I'm about to turn up the heat
I'm here for your entertainment
Friday, November 19, 2010
How I Met Pugs
Going to have dinner with Pugs tonight. Yummo, yummo, yummo... we're having Chinese take-out from China House restaurant on Eglinton West. It's a celebratory dinner because she got a 6-month contract job that she starts on Monday. I'm really happy for her. And quite proud of her too. Pugs is my 59 year old friend who lives one floor down from me in my building.
We sometimes go to the movies, sometimes play cards, and she quite frequently invites me over for dinner. She's a nice lady, and though she's lonely, she's assertive and social and when she has no friends, she introduces herself to strangers.
I know this, because that's how we met.
2 years ago when I was still a dog-owner, I used to run into Pugs in the elevator with her little dog "Suzette". We communed as most dog owners do with the good fortune of having dogs that don't want to kill every other dog they encounter.
You get 3 guesses what breed of dog she has, and the first two guesses don't count.
When I first met Pugs, she kind of spooked me a little, because she was so forward and a little socially awkward. But... loneliness does that. I'm learning first hand. Sometimes the mere act of speaking to strangers seems to project a second holographic head beside your real one for people to gawk at as they reach for non-existent pepper spray.
The first time Pugs and I had a significant conversation was the day she saw me toting around a book. (not an unusual sight) It was the Time Traveler's Wife. She's an avid reader, and took full advantage of the opportunity to ask me what I thought of the plot, and since I was loving it, I told her so. The next time I saw Pugs, she told me she'd picked-up a copy of the book and was reading it too.
One day she kinda cornered me in the elevator and just blurted out, "John, are you gay"? Bold, top-of-the-mind inquisition that brought a smile to my face. I replied, "Yes I am". And she was pleased that I would admit it to her. She said she wondered because I always referred to the dogs being with "my ex" every second week, and never saying ex "girlfriend" or "wife". Pugs also wanted me to know she had no issues with gay people and she was worried that we'd never be friends if I couldn't tell her. She then asked me if we could be friends outright, to which I replied with more than a little inward trepidation that we could.
I'm a little ashamed to admit that, because really, being friends with Pugs has added a wonderful element to my home life. It's really nice to have a friend who lives in another apartment in your building. We've borrowed things from one another. I've helped her with things she couldn't do on her own, looked after plants, and I'm going to look after Suzy for her for a weekend in January. And she cooks for me, and lends me books, and quotes me poetry and tells me stories. We take turns paying when we go to movies and restaurants. It's kind of like having a mother who's a friend.
Admittedly, I don't treat her like a mother, because I have issues with her getting too close, because she can be a little ...eccentric, and demanding. But for the most-part, I really do enjoy being friends with Pugs, and like that I can help her and be company. I don't want to even allude to it being charity, because she's been a friend and company for me too. It's not like I'm mister popular.
Pugs is a kind woman. She's led an emotionally difficult life, and she doesn't wield her solitude like a crutch. I admire her. Even if she thinks her dog is actually speaking to her.
Perhaps a stage in life that waits for me too.
Elvis Presley - "Are You Lonesome Tonight"
Are you lonesome tonight,
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?
Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?
I wonder if you're lonesome tonight
You know someone said that the worlds a stage
And each must play a part.
Fate had me playing in love you as my sweet heart.
Act one was when we met, I loved you at first glance
You read your line so cleverly and never missed a cue
Then came act two, you seemed to change and you acted strange
And why Ill never know.
Honey, you lied when you said you loved me
And I had no cause to doubt you.
But Id rather go on hearing your lies
Than go on living without you.
Now the stage is bare and I'm standing there
With emptiness all around
And if you wont come back to me
Then make them bring the curtain down.
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?
We sometimes go to the movies, sometimes play cards, and she quite frequently invites me over for dinner. She's a nice lady, and though she's lonely, she's assertive and social and when she has no friends, she introduces herself to strangers.
I know this, because that's how we met.
2 years ago when I was still a dog-owner, I used to run into Pugs in the elevator with her little dog "Suzette". We communed as most dog owners do with the good fortune of having dogs that don't want to kill every other dog they encounter.
You get 3 guesses what breed of dog she has, and the first two guesses don't count.
When I first met Pugs, she kind of spooked me a little, because she was so forward and a little socially awkward. But... loneliness does that. I'm learning first hand. Sometimes the mere act of speaking to strangers seems to project a second holographic head beside your real one for people to gawk at as they reach for non-existent pepper spray.
The first time Pugs and I had a significant conversation was the day she saw me toting around a book. (not an unusual sight) It was the Time Traveler's Wife. She's an avid reader, and took full advantage of the opportunity to ask me what I thought of the plot, and since I was loving it, I told her so. The next time I saw Pugs, she told me she'd picked-up a copy of the book and was reading it too.
One day she kinda cornered me in the elevator and just blurted out, "John, are you gay"? Bold, top-of-the-mind inquisition that brought a smile to my face. I replied, "Yes I am". And she was pleased that I would admit it to her. She said she wondered because I always referred to the dogs being with "my ex" every second week, and never saying ex "girlfriend" or "wife". Pugs also wanted me to know she had no issues with gay people and she was worried that we'd never be friends if I couldn't tell her. She then asked me if we could be friends outright, to which I replied with more than a little inward trepidation that we could.
I'm a little ashamed to admit that, because really, being friends with Pugs has added a wonderful element to my home life. It's really nice to have a friend who lives in another apartment in your building. We've borrowed things from one another. I've helped her with things she couldn't do on her own, looked after plants, and I'm going to look after Suzy for her for a weekend in January. And she cooks for me, and lends me books, and quotes me poetry and tells me stories. We take turns paying when we go to movies and restaurants. It's kind of like having a mother who's a friend.
Admittedly, I don't treat her like a mother, because I have issues with her getting too close, because she can be a little ...eccentric, and demanding. But for the most-part, I really do enjoy being friends with Pugs, and like that I can help her and be company. I don't want to even allude to it being charity, because she's been a friend and company for me too. It's not like I'm mister popular.
Pugs is a kind woman. She's led an emotionally difficult life, and she doesn't wield her solitude like a crutch. I admire her. Even if she thinks her dog is actually speaking to her.
Perhaps a stage in life that waits for me too.
Elvis Presley - "Are You Lonesome Tonight"
Are you lonesome tonight,
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?
Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?
I wonder if you're lonesome tonight
You know someone said that the worlds a stage
And each must play a part.
Fate had me playing in love you as my sweet heart.
Act one was when we met, I loved you at first glance
You read your line so cleverly and never missed a cue
Then came act two, you seemed to change and you acted strange
And why Ill never know.
Honey, you lied when you said you loved me
And I had no cause to doubt you.
But Id rather go on hearing your lies
Than go on living without you.
Now the stage is bare and I'm standing there
With emptiness all around
And if you wont come back to me
Then make them bring the curtain down.
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?
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