Okay, okay, OKAY! More like the south side. I get it, jeez...
So, honestly, where do these moneyless homeless people get the markers? Do they hold up blank pieces of cardboard until someone donates a marker, and then they get to come up with whatever it is they're begging for? Don't get me wrong--I know they aren't homeless because they're lazy, or stupid, or what-have-you. It sometimes happens to the best of people! But seriously--where are they getting the markers? Is there a "Place a Marker/Take a Marker" bin near homeless alleys? Do they save up that first donation just to buy a pack at the dollar store? What's the deal there? Maybe Sharpie has some type of tax-write-off deal for donating markers to the needy? Who knows...
Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?
Then there are the shitheads that pull out in front of you just to slam on the brakes twenty-five feet further down the road and make you slam on the brakes again while they wait to make that all-important left turn into the adult bookstore... Do they charge late fees at adult bookstores? Is it imperative you not wait for an actual break in traffic because those extra five minutes will mean Debbie Does Dallas won't be rented by someone in a desperate way because you were that late in returning it? And why are they called adult bookstores when really they are adult video stores? Is that just a PA thing?
Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?
And, I'm not sure why this crosses my mind at this moment, but I betcha there's a whole subculture of turtles that just don't get that turtlenecks are not made from actual turtle necks, and thus their protests are more than just a tad useless... But it does beg the question as to where the turtles are getting their markers for their protest signs...
Irregardless (which is just a fancy way of saying "Regardless"...), in five more days I blow this popsicle stand (which is a "I'm hiding my true emotions" way of saying "Sweet Jesus I'm gonna miss these people, but not the weather"...), and I still have so much to do that I honestly shouldn't be blogging at this moment, but I find it easier to deal with emotion by spewing the written word... Which is odd as I was told just a few short days ago that communication is my "biggest issue."
Figures... I may actually have to stop a homeless guy and ask him where he gets the markers. I may take up cardboard signage instead of blogging... THEN we'll see who can't communicate...
Be that as it may, as I look forward to my new life, my new beau (not to be confused with an old beau named Beaux who is coming to Florida with me--also known to the current roomie as that black-headed step child...), my new digs, and my new office, I can't help but grin ear to ear, while simultaneously shedding a tear...
Damn, I'm gonna miss these people...
I'm moving on south...
Monday, March 26, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
It's Official... In Other News...
Well, a lot of things are official, truth be told... Whether it be school zone speed limits (annoying), mandatory car insurance (a joke), or the fact that it's still illegal to kill morons (extremely annoying)...
I now have an apartment in Florida, of which I am now paying the electric bill, even though my ass doesn't move in for another 16 days...
Did I mention I was excited? One more "just because I can" shot of the now-becoming-infamous purple tub:
Other items that fall in the "Really Only of Interest to Me" category include:
As another side note that should be "official" in one capacity or another: I really really miss busting on fundies for being dumb asses, and the list of saved links is so goddamn long at this point, I'll have to forgo busting on some of the older stories when I finally do find the time to bust their chops, if only because the stories are older than, say, 6 months, and you've probably already heard about the sheer dumb-assedness of said stories, and thus it would be completely pointless to blog about said dumb-assedness...
Speaking of dumb asses...
Really?
Yes, really...
I'm still not sure how it happened... But I apparently spent the last 13 years of my life with a paranoid-delusional who thinks not only that I'm a dick who can't think for himself and simply lives to listen to what others have to say until I form an opinion of my own (and honestly, I refuse to turn this blog into a "Guess what the Ex Said Now" blog...), but if I don't vent here and get it all out, when I do reply to his latest email, I'll simply become the hurtful dick he thinks I am, and I so don't want to go down that road--ergo, I vent here, then email him later (not that he isn't reading this anyway, but there you are--a no-win situation...).
PURPLE TUB FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER!!!:
Okay, okay... So it's kind of a happy thought... And after our latest paragraph, completely warranted... Yes?
Yes...
Definitely a warranted, COMPLETELY-official, happy thought...
In other news...
I still can't afford to be an alcoholic, but then again, I also can't afford cable, so...
It's official... I'm a non-alcoholic, non-cable-watching, purple-bathtub-owning, soon-to-be-southern-Florida-residing gay white male...
In other news...
I now have an apartment in Florida, of which I am now paying the electric bill, even though my ass doesn't move in for another 16 days...
Did I mention I was excited? One more "just because I can" shot of the now-becoming-infamous purple tub:
Other items that fall in the "Really Only of Interest to Me" category include:
- an ex that thinks I'm being a dick when in fact I'm just trying to come across as coldly-detached-yet-civil,
- a certain blue-eyed hunk-a-hunk-a burning sexy waiting for me to arrive in said southern portion of the United States (Florida, for those of you who haven't been paying attention [for SHAME!!]), and
- an excitedly-nervous feeling deep, deep, deep down in the pit of my stomach...
As another side note that should be "official" in one capacity or another: I really really miss busting on fundies for being dumb asses, and the list of saved links is so goddamn long at this point, I'll have to forgo busting on some of the older stories when I finally do find the time to bust their chops, if only because the stories are older than, say, 6 months, and you've probably already heard about the sheer dumb-assedness of said stories, and thus it would be completely pointless to blog about said dumb-assedness...
Speaking of dumb asses...
Really?
Yes, really...
I'm still not sure how it happened... But I apparently spent the last 13 years of my life with a paranoid-delusional who thinks not only that I'm a dick who can't think for himself and simply lives to listen to what others have to say until I form an opinion of my own (and honestly, I refuse to turn this blog into a "Guess what the Ex Said Now" blog...), but if I don't vent here and get it all out, when I do reply to his latest email, I'll simply become the hurtful dick he thinks I am, and I so don't want to go down that road--ergo, I vent here, then email him later (not that he isn't reading this anyway, but there you are--a no-win situation...).
PURPLE TUB FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER!!!:
Okay, okay... So it's kind of a happy thought... And after our latest paragraph, completely warranted... Yes?
Yes...
Definitely a warranted, COMPLETELY-official, happy thought...
In other news...
I still can't afford to be an alcoholic, but then again, I also can't afford cable, so...
It's official... I'm a non-alcoholic, non-cable-watching, purple-bathtub-owning, soon-to-be-southern-Florida-residing gay white male...
In other news...
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Falling...
Ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife...
And you think you've found the knife...
And it isn't the butter knife, or the carving knife, or the fillet knife, but the steak knife...
And your heart is the steak...
(Granted, this probably isn't a post for vegans...)
But the feeling is there...
And all that can go through your head is, "I'm usually so rational, so reasoned, so analytical..."
But there it is...
and you can't not take that chance and run with it. Because it feels right, and it seems right, and you were so alone and so miserable for so long that if you don't jump at the chance, you will regret it, and you know it will be a mistake if you don't...
And you can't really explain it, because it doesn't make sense in a logical, rational way...
And your friends and your family, wanting to hope for the best for you, but also not wanting you to dive off a cliff only to realize no one put up the net? You see that concern and you see that love, and you love them for it...
But you have to go for it...
I spent so many years waiting for someone else, so many years waiting, hoping, trying to help and...
And then you had to leave...
And your heart broke all over again because you knew it was final, it was the end, and you thought, "Well, it's just not meant to be..."
And it may be a rebound, but you're pretty sure it isn't, but feelings are fickle things, and your mind reels and your heart sputters and your feet tap in nervous happiness, and the potential and hope for beautiful, wonderful things is there and the faith you thought you lost is there again, and it's screaming at you, "YES! YES! You need to do this! You need to be there, you need to make this happen!"...
I'm falling...
I'm 99% sure I'll be caught...
But again, it is falling...
And it's scary and nerve-wracking and emotionally raw and very new and exciting and...
And there it is...
Falling...
and enjoying it...
And you think you've found the knife...
And it isn't the butter knife, or the carving knife, or the fillet knife, but the steak knife...
And your heart is the steak...
(Granted, this probably isn't a post for vegans...)
But the feeling is there...
And all that can go through your head is, "I'm usually so rational, so reasoned, so analytical..."
But there it is...
and you can't not take that chance and run with it. Because it feels right, and it seems right, and you were so alone and so miserable for so long that if you don't jump at the chance, you will regret it, and you know it will be a mistake if you don't...
And you can't really explain it, because it doesn't make sense in a logical, rational way...
And your friends and your family, wanting to hope for the best for you, but also not wanting you to dive off a cliff only to realize no one put up the net? You see that concern and you see that love, and you love them for it...
But you have to go for it...
I spent so many years waiting for someone else, so many years waiting, hoping, trying to help and...
And then you had to leave...
And your heart broke all over again because you knew it was final, it was the end, and you thought, "Well, it's just not meant to be..."
And it may be a rebound, but you're pretty sure it isn't, but feelings are fickle things, and your mind reels and your heart sputters and your feet tap in nervous happiness, and the potential and hope for beautiful, wonderful things is there and the faith you thought you lost is there again, and it's screaming at you, "YES! YES! You need to do this! You need to be there, you need to make this happen!"...
I'm falling...
I'm 99% sure I'll be caught...
But again, it is falling...
And it's scary and nerve-wracking and emotionally raw and very new and exciting and...
And there it is...
Falling...
and enjoying it...
Anne Shirley: Good morning, Mrs. Harris.
Mrs. Harris: Walking as if we owned the world, are we?
Anne Shirley: So I do.
Anne Shirley: I feel as though someone's handed me the moon... and I don't exactly know what to do with it.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
When Earth Touched Sky...
Week 28
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Kirsten Doyle challenged me with "Chasing rainbows" and I challenged Bewildered Bug with "Dr Seuss rewrites a portion of Dante's Inferno...."
When Earth Touched Sky...
"In a time long lost, on an Earth you wouldn't recognize, before humanity, before time, before legend... Here is why you cannot chase rainbows, my child..."
***
"Look, it's really quite simple," the leprechaun said, slowly, enunciating each syllable. "Take the ax there, in your hand, and--" He lifted his arms up, and brought them down swiftly. "--slice the rainbow! Any idiot could do it."
The troll nodded, then, after processing the words, grunted. "Then you chop light," it muttered authoritatively. "I no need to do it."
The leprechaun sighed. "Yes, as I explained, you do need to do it. I get the gold, you get your bridge back! See?" he said, exasperated, pointing toward the clearing on the edge of the forest.
The troll gazed up from the shadows of the trees toward the rainbow of light spilling into the clearing just beyond. Distantly, beyond the shimmer, he could make out the bridge--his bridge, his home--the path to which was now blocked by the cascading colors.
The leprechaun sighed impatiently as he watched a tear collect in the corner of the troll's eye. "None of that now, you big ape," he snapped. "What are you, some kind of fairy like me? You're a troll! Act like it!"
"Miss bridge."
"And as soon as you slice through the Sky Queen's color shield, you'll get it back... Yes?" He nodded, as if nodding himself meant the troll would nod, and hence his point would be made.
"Cut light, get to bridge?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, yes, yes! Exactly! Cut the light, get to your bridge!"
The troll pondered the words of the small green man. He'd seen the pretty lights before. He saw what happened to other trolls, other axes. It wasn't pretty when one tried to break through the Sky Queen's light, whether it was to get at her gold, or simply to access a path or a road or a home...
Not. Pretty. At all.
He was strong. He knew this. He'd been the one, after all, who had finally knocked the Large Billy Goat Gruff down to size--and hence had a nice meal for weeks! He was the troll with the largest bridge in the oldest forest for a reason! Every little trollette for a thousand miles was his offspring! He, Tünder Troll, was king here!
But was that enough?
He pondered still.
The leprechaun, aware now after several of these types of moments, pulled out a pipe, stuffed it with tobacco, and arranged some moss at the base of a tree for a nice smoke and a nap. This, after all, could take a while. Trolls never came out of complex thoughts quickly, easily, or sometimes at all...
And thus was quite surprised when Tünder began strolling out of the trees toward the end of the rainbow. "Tünder? Buddy? You're really going to...? Yippee! That's right big guy! Go for it! Swing that ax! Save your bridge!" He bounded and leaped from branch to branch, stump to tree, grass to sky! This was it! This was the moment he got his gold back from the sky bitch!
He bounced along behind the ponderous beast, cheering and babbling, and thus was caught completely unawares when Tünder stopped--and he ran face-first into the troll's nether side.
"Ach! Wha-- Yuck! Haven't you ever heard of leaf-wiping? Ugh! Hey--hey! Why'd you stop, big guy? What's the--"
The troll pointed.
Before the light, shimmering brighter than any color behind her, stood the Sky Queen. She nodded once, sagely, slowly, as the unlikely pair acknowledged her with astonished eyes. "Duncan, you silly little thief," she said, meeting his light green eyes with her steely blue gaze. "You dare to try to attack the light with this brute?"
"Why... What...? Me? No, gosh, no," the leprechaun tittered nervously, bouncing from foot to foot nervously. "I was just... Trying to prevent him, you see, from... From, you know... I told him there were other bridges..." he trailed off.
"My bridge," Tünder stated, pointing beyond her shoulders, beyond the rainbow.
"Hmm, yes, I see," she said, turning her head ever so slightly. "But as your noble small friend pointed out, there are, indeed, other bridges. And this, at the moment, is where my treasures need to be stored."
She mistook his silence for uncomprehension. "You see," she started again, speaking more slowly, a wary eye on the leprechaun, "there's just no way to store gold in the heavens. Thus, I am forced to keep it here, on your land. It is not up to me where the rainbow lands, nor up to me when it changes location.
"So you see, my lumbering giant, sooner or later, you will have your bridge back. There's no need for violence. You just need patience, that's all. Sooner or later, the heavens will shift and the rainbow will store my treasures elsewhere!" she finished brightly.
Duncan had now slipped up on to the troll's shoulder and whispered vehemently: "She's scared, you see? She knows you can do it, she knows you can destroy the rainbow and get to your bridge! You can do it!"
"Silence, you vile little sprite!" she cried, stamping her scepter, causing the ground to tremble. "Take one more step toward the light and it will be considered an act of war!"
Tünder regained his balance, considering. Duncan, having fallen from the troll's shoulders, dusted off his normally tidy green suit.
"You've no right!" Duncan shouted, picking a leaf out of his beard. "This, this is our land! You send down your light, blocking creatures from their homes, their lives! I know why your rainbow lands where it does! I know about your thieving little light shield! Wherever there's gold, suddenly the light shows up, suddenly the land is deprived of it's metals and gems! You think we're stupid? You think we're just going to let you have it all? I don't think so, Highness!" he finished, spitting out the honorary term like poison.
She smirked and waved her scepter threateningly toward the green fairy creature.
Then Tünder stepped forward once more, raising his mighty ax.
"You wouldn't dare!" she sneered. She took a step back as the troll came closer. "You? You really think you'll be the one?" She laughed evilly, maniacally, then, with a quick motion, spun her scepter and launched a beam of light directly at the troll's chest.
It slammed and scattered as it struck--but still he came forward, ax raised. "My bridge," was all he said, as if acknowledging the blow as nothing more than conversation.
Again she attacked, her brow beginning to sweat with nervousness. Another beam of light shimmered from her scepter, again slamming into the troll's chest.
Still he plodded forward, ax held high resolutely, every step precisely measured.
She continued backing away, continued blasting light at the beast to no avail. When at last she could back no further, trapped against the rainbow shield, she fixed her eyes on Duncan. "You! You will pay dearly!" she sneered.
Duncan, piggy-backing on Tünder's back, waved cheerily. "I'm getting my gold back, wench! Looks like you're the one finally paying! Haha!"
"Argh!" she screamed, and, sending another bolt of light in their general direction, grabbed the red light of the rainbow and zipped up out of sight.
Tünder, having tuned out the noise and light of the screaming queen and the leprechaun on his back, reached the rainbow. With one last tensing of the shoulders, he let out a primal grunt and swung the ax with all his might.
Light shattered in silence. Blinded, the troll staggered back, dropping his ax, hands shielding his eyes. Duncan ran screaming for the trees. A giant sound, like thunder multiplied, boomed across them, sending them flying to the ground.
It was a few minutes before either one of them sat up.
Duncan rubbed his eyes. There, in all it's pure beauty, stood a gigantic iron pot filled with gold! He screamed again, this time with unmitigated joy. "It's mine! Yes, yes, yes! Tünder, you did it! You did it! Look!" Duncan leaped straight up into the air and dived right into the gems and coins. "Woo-hoo!" he shouted again, and began laughing uncontrollably.
"My bridge?"
Duncan stopped. Blinked. "Oh, yes, yes, your bridge." He turned around, "Yep, stinky old bridge still there. Have fun with that."
Tünder smiled. Troll smiles are ugly things to say the least, and Duncan cringed, gold temporarily forgotten by the sight of rotted teeth. Tünder didn't notice however, in his joy to race back under his bridge. His home.
***
... and this is why you can never find the end of the rainbow, my child. Chase all you want, but that gold is gone, and when Tünder swung his mighty ax, he not only got to go home again, he forever prevented the Sky Queen from being able to steal from us on earth again... Rainbows no longer touch the earth, my child. And they never will again...
Previous Challenges I have answered:
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Kirsten Doyle challenged me with "Chasing rainbows" and I challenged Bewildered Bug with "Dr Seuss rewrites a portion of Dante's Inferno...."
"In a time long lost, on an Earth you wouldn't recognize, before humanity, before time, before legend... Here is why you cannot chase rainbows, my child..."
"Look, it's really quite simple," the leprechaun said, slowly, enunciating each syllable. "Take the ax there, in your hand, and--" He lifted his arms up, and brought them down swiftly. "--slice the rainbow! Any idiot could do it."
The troll nodded, then, after processing the words, grunted. "Then you chop light," it muttered authoritatively. "I no need to do it."
The leprechaun sighed. "Yes, as I explained, you do need to do it. I get the gold, you get your bridge back! See?" he said, exasperated, pointing toward the clearing on the edge of the forest.
The troll gazed up from the shadows of the trees toward the rainbow of light spilling into the clearing just beyond. Distantly, beyond the shimmer, he could make out the bridge--his bridge, his home--the path to which was now blocked by the cascading colors.
The leprechaun sighed impatiently as he watched a tear collect in the corner of the troll's eye. "None of that now, you big ape," he snapped. "What are you, some kind of fairy like me? You're a troll! Act like it!"
"Miss bridge."
"And as soon as you slice through the Sky Queen's color shield, you'll get it back... Yes?" He nodded, as if nodding himself meant the troll would nod, and hence his point would be made.
"Cut light, get to bridge?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, yes, yes! Exactly! Cut the light, get to your bridge!"
The troll pondered the words of the small green man. He'd seen the pretty lights before. He saw what happened to other trolls, other axes. It wasn't pretty when one tried to break through the Sky Queen's light, whether it was to get at her gold, or simply to access a path or a road or a home...
Not. Pretty. At all.
He was strong. He knew this. He'd been the one, after all, who had finally knocked the Large Billy Goat Gruff down to size--and hence had a nice meal for weeks! He was the troll with the largest bridge in the oldest forest for a reason! Every little trollette for a thousand miles was his offspring! He, Tünder Troll, was king here!
But was that enough?
He pondered still.
The leprechaun, aware now after several of these types of moments, pulled out a pipe, stuffed it with tobacco, and arranged some moss at the base of a tree for a nice smoke and a nap. This, after all, could take a while. Trolls never came out of complex thoughts quickly, easily, or sometimes at all...
And thus was quite surprised when Tünder began strolling out of the trees toward the end of the rainbow. "Tünder? Buddy? You're really going to...? Yippee! That's right big guy! Go for it! Swing that ax! Save your bridge!" He bounded and leaped from branch to branch, stump to tree, grass to sky! This was it! This was the moment he got his gold back from the sky bitch!
He bounced along behind the ponderous beast, cheering and babbling, and thus was caught completely unawares when Tünder stopped--and he ran face-first into the troll's nether side.
"Ach! Wha-- Yuck! Haven't you ever heard of leaf-wiping? Ugh! Hey--hey! Why'd you stop, big guy? What's the--"
The troll pointed.
Before the light, shimmering brighter than any color behind her, stood the Sky Queen. She nodded once, sagely, slowly, as the unlikely pair acknowledged her with astonished eyes. "Duncan, you silly little thief," she said, meeting his light green eyes with her steely blue gaze. "You dare to try to attack the light with this brute?"
"Why... What...? Me? No, gosh, no," the leprechaun tittered nervously, bouncing from foot to foot nervously. "I was just... Trying to prevent him, you see, from... From, you know... I told him there were other bridges..." he trailed off.
"My bridge," Tünder stated, pointing beyond her shoulders, beyond the rainbow.
"Hmm, yes, I see," she said, turning her head ever so slightly. "But as your noble small friend pointed out, there are, indeed, other bridges. And this, at the moment, is where my treasures need to be stored."
She mistook his silence for uncomprehension. "You see," she started again, speaking more slowly, a wary eye on the leprechaun, "there's just no way to store gold in the heavens. Thus, I am forced to keep it here, on your land. It is not up to me where the rainbow lands, nor up to me when it changes location.
"So you see, my lumbering giant, sooner or later, you will have your bridge back. There's no need for violence. You just need patience, that's all. Sooner or later, the heavens will shift and the rainbow will store my treasures elsewhere!" she finished brightly.
Duncan had now slipped up on to the troll's shoulder and whispered vehemently: "She's scared, you see? She knows you can do it, she knows you can destroy the rainbow and get to your bridge! You can do it!"
"Silence, you vile little sprite!" she cried, stamping her scepter, causing the ground to tremble. "Take one more step toward the light and it will be considered an act of war!"
Tünder regained his balance, considering. Duncan, having fallen from the troll's shoulders, dusted off his normally tidy green suit.
"You've no right!" Duncan shouted, picking a leaf out of his beard. "This, this is our land! You send down your light, blocking creatures from their homes, their lives! I know why your rainbow lands where it does! I know about your thieving little light shield! Wherever there's gold, suddenly the light shows up, suddenly the land is deprived of it's metals and gems! You think we're stupid? You think we're just going to let you have it all? I don't think so, Highness!" he finished, spitting out the honorary term like poison.
She smirked and waved her scepter threateningly toward the green fairy creature.
Then Tünder stepped forward once more, raising his mighty ax.
"You wouldn't dare!" she sneered. She took a step back as the troll came closer. "You? You really think you'll be the one?" She laughed evilly, maniacally, then, with a quick motion, spun her scepter and launched a beam of light directly at the troll's chest.
It slammed and scattered as it struck--but still he came forward, ax raised. "My bridge," was all he said, as if acknowledging the blow as nothing more than conversation.
Again she attacked, her brow beginning to sweat with nervousness. Another beam of light shimmered from her scepter, again slamming into the troll's chest.
Still he plodded forward, ax held high resolutely, every step precisely measured.
She continued backing away, continued blasting light at the beast to no avail. When at last she could back no further, trapped against the rainbow shield, she fixed her eyes on Duncan. "You! You will pay dearly!" she sneered.
Duncan, piggy-backing on Tünder's back, waved cheerily. "I'm getting my gold back, wench! Looks like you're the one finally paying! Haha!"
"Argh!" she screamed, and, sending another bolt of light in their general direction, grabbed the red light of the rainbow and zipped up out of sight.
Tünder, having tuned out the noise and light of the screaming queen and the leprechaun on his back, reached the rainbow. With one last tensing of the shoulders, he let out a primal grunt and swung the ax with all his might.
Light shattered in silence. Blinded, the troll staggered back, dropping his ax, hands shielding his eyes. Duncan ran screaming for the trees. A giant sound, like thunder multiplied, boomed across them, sending them flying to the ground.
It was a few minutes before either one of them sat up.
Duncan rubbed his eyes. There, in all it's pure beauty, stood a gigantic iron pot filled with gold! He screamed again, this time with unmitigated joy. "It's mine! Yes, yes, yes! Tünder, you did it! You did it! Look!" Duncan leaped straight up into the air and dived right into the gems and coins. "Woo-hoo!" he shouted again, and began laughing uncontrollably.
"My bridge?"
Duncan stopped. Blinked. "Oh, yes, yes, your bridge." He turned around, "Yep, stinky old bridge still there. Have fun with that."
Tünder smiled. Troll smiles are ugly things to say the least, and Duncan cringed, gold temporarily forgotten by the sight of rotted teeth. Tünder didn't notice however, in his joy to race back under his bridge. His home.
... and this is why you can never find the end of the rainbow, my child. Chase all you want, but that gold is gone, and when Tünder swung his mighty ax, he not only got to go home again, he forever prevented the Sky Queen from being able to steal from us on earth again... Rainbows no longer touch the earth, my child. And they never will again...
Previous Challenges I have answered:
- [Week 1: All of Me]
- [Week 2: Child's End]
- [Week 3: Seeking Bonds]
- [Week 4: Just So You Know]
- [Week 5: Justice & Mercy]
- [Week 6: Tale of a Fateful Flick]
- [Week 7: Hell or High Water]
- [Week 8: Streaming Summer]
- [Week 9: Piss & Vinegar]
- [Week 10: Set It Free]
- [Week 11: Four Horsemen, Three Gods, a Transgendered Devil, and Lazarus Under a Pear Tree...]
- [Week 12: Worth a Thousand Words...]
- [Week 13: On the Down...]
- [Week 14: Hey Mister, Can You Spare Some Love?]
- [Week 15: Forever Is...]
- [Week 16: Death of a Betsy...]
- [Week 17: Big Bad]
- [Week 18: Coffee: Hot, Black, & Strong]
- [Week 19: The Queen's Confession]
- [Week 20: The Witch of Picassoid]
- [Week 21: Me, Mouse-self and I...]
- [Week 22: "O, Great Genie..."]
- [Week 23: A Funeral for Sven]
- [Week 24: Priceless]
- [Week 25: Empty]
- [Week 26: Armageddon It]
- [Week 27: Good Night and Good-Bye...]
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
"Seasonal Insomniatic Disassociative Disorder"...
or Something Shiny...
It's kinda starting to hit me, ya know? This whole moving to Florida thing. Mostly because of the reactions from my mother and sister...
When I left for the military, that was different. It was a given that I would come home--I mean, come on, a democrat was president. They don't tend to start wars. Go ahead, google it, I double-dog dare you....
I'll wait...
Okay, so I won't wait. Regardless, college was the same way--it's just assumed kids will come home, ya know? Whether it's holidays, summers... That's what you do 90% of the time--you go home, home, of course, being where your heart is, and my heart has always been with my family...
Most of the time.
Okay, okay, mostly most of the time.
You still love them...
But this...
This is moving. MOVING. (Yes, it needed the bold and underline treatment...) For work. For life. For keeps.
Not that I won't be home for weddings (there's on in the works, ya know!), holidays, special occasions... But it's no longer going to be home in the geographical sense of the word, in that, "My home is within an hour drive of all the major players." Two brothers, two sisters, the parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces and nephews...
I'm going to miss out on a lot. A LOT.
But I'm also going to experience so much more. MUCH MORE.
Okay, I'll stop THAT now.
Maybe...
Nah.
Anyway, something shiny.
Yes, shiny. (A little bit of tired randomness never hurt anyone...) You see, every summer, I get mild insomnia, usually late August, early September. Who knows why (although with the rate we label things "diseases" these days, I could coin a new medical condition for it, like "Seasonal Insomniatic Disassociative Disorder" or something....), but it's a pain in my keister.
It's striking early this year, and I know it's stress.
Knowing it was (is) stress, I channeled my inner nerd, did a spread sheet, crunched the numbers (color-coded, mind you), and I know I will be fine (albeit slightly poor) for the next two years until the debt is completely paid off--them's the breaks. But I *will* make it, and I *will* be fine...
But I lived with Eeyore so long, "doomspeak" is second nature. I abhor doomspeak, so much so that I now purposefully "optimize" every doomspeak scenario that enters the brain. Things like, "Well, even if Dad were on his death bed, what are the odds that I'd make it there before he died even if I still lived locally?" (Don't judge me!). Or, "Well, even if I did end up stranded on a deserted stretch of beach, I've seen cast-away long enough to know not to name my soccer ball 'Wilson,' so it'll all be good and I'll never freeze to death..."
I never claimed they weren't far-fetched doomspeak...
DOOMSPEAK.
(Told ya...)
My mom teared up a bit over dinner--not that this is unusual, but it was in regards to a "Five more weeks!" statement. I could hear Sylvia's voice crack ever so slightly looking at the pics of my new abode while I was on the phone with her. I'm jam-packing my schedule (for me, that is, being the quasi-anti-social being that I am) with a trip here, a lunch there, a dinner then, an outing here, an invitation over there...
I know once I'm down there, life is *really* going to slow down. I'm expecting it, and can't wait to dive into the books that have been packed away for the last ten years and reread some great classics and favorites. (At least, I *tell* myself I can't wait...) Practically, I can still call everyone in my family every day and gab, talk, laugh...
But I will no longer have the option of taking a day just to stop by.
And I think we're all kind of thinking that.
Life will go on. We will all survive, and thrive even.
But I will miss the convenience of having my loved ones close enough to hug.
HUG.
I'm gonna have to make that one last...
I'm going to miss them like you wouldn't believe.
Or, maybe you do.
But this is my blog, therefore, it's about me.
And them...
That's life, ain't it?
Something shiny... And bright... And family...
When I left for the military, that was different. It was a given that I would come home--I mean, come on, a democrat was president. They don't tend to start wars. Go ahead, google it, I double-dog dare you....
I'll wait...
Okay, so I won't wait. Regardless, college was the same way--it's just assumed kids will come home, ya know? Whether it's holidays, summers... That's what you do 90% of the time--you go home, home, of course, being where your heart is, and my heart has always been with my family...
Most of the time.
Okay, okay, mostly most of the time.
You still love them...
But this...
This is moving. MOVING. (Yes, it needed the bold and underline treatment...) For work. For life. For keeps.
Not that I won't be home for weddings (there's on in the works, ya know!), holidays, special occasions... But it's no longer going to be home in the geographical sense of the word, in that, "My home is within an hour drive of all the major players." Two brothers, two sisters, the parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces and nephews...
I'm going to miss out on a lot. A LOT.
But I'm also going to experience so much more. MUCH MORE.
Okay, I'll stop THAT now.
Maybe...
Nah.
Anyway, something shiny.
Yes, shiny. (A little bit of tired randomness never hurt anyone...) You see, every summer, I get mild insomnia, usually late August, early September. Who knows why (although with the rate we label things "diseases" these days, I could coin a new medical condition for it, like "Seasonal Insomniatic Disassociative Disorder" or something....), but it's a pain in my keister.
It's striking early this year, and I know it's stress.
Knowing it was (is) stress, I channeled my inner nerd, did a spread sheet, crunched the numbers (color-coded, mind you), and I know I will be fine (albeit slightly poor) for the next two years until the debt is completely paid off--them's the breaks. But I *will* make it, and I *will* be fine...
But I lived with Eeyore so long, "doomspeak" is second nature. I abhor doomspeak, so much so that I now purposefully "optimize" every doomspeak scenario that enters the brain. Things like, "Well, even if Dad were on his death bed, what are the odds that I'd make it there before he died even if I still lived locally?" (Don't judge me!). Or, "Well, even if I did end up stranded on a deserted stretch of beach, I've seen cast-away long enough to know not to name my soccer ball 'Wilson,' so it'll all be good and I'll never freeze to death..."
I never claimed they weren't far-fetched doomspeak...
DOOMSPEAK.
(Told ya...)
My mom teared up a bit over dinner--not that this is unusual, but it was in regards to a "Five more weeks!" statement. I could hear Sylvia's voice crack ever so slightly looking at the pics of my new abode while I was on the phone with her. I'm jam-packing my schedule (for me, that is, being the quasi-anti-social being that I am) with a trip here, a lunch there, a dinner then, an outing here, an invitation over there...
I know once I'm down there, life is *really* going to slow down. I'm expecting it, and can't wait to dive into the books that have been packed away for the last ten years and reread some great classics and favorites. (At least, I *tell* myself I can't wait...) Practically, I can still call everyone in my family every day and gab, talk, laugh...
But I will no longer have the option of taking a day just to stop by.
And I think we're all kind of thinking that.
Life will go on. We will all survive, and thrive even.
But I will miss the convenience of having my loved ones close enough to hug.
HUG.
I'm gonna have to make that one last...
I'm going to miss them like you wouldn't believe.
Or, maybe you do.
But this is my blog, therefore, it's about me.
And them...
That's life, ain't it?
Something shiny... And bright... And family...
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Another Day in the Life...
My dog continues to astound with his twelve-year-old prowess. You wouldn't think a 50-pound oldie like him would be into jumping up onto a 36-inch high dining room table just to watch me drive away from the house, would you?
You also wouldn't think that a dog's claws could leave such deep grooves in the wood of said dining room table...
Regardless, I have a most gracious host, and I have already found her a replacement dining room table that I will be picking up next Friday. Needless to say, I will not be putting said table together until I hand her back her house keys on March 30th as I migrate south for the duration of the next foreseeable stage of my life.
I've decided to bring the dog with me anyway. (Who am I kidding? Like it was ever a question!) On the bright side, I won't have any furniture for him to clamber and climb and leap onto for at least the first week of living in my new digs--besides my bedroom set, that is, and that, at least, should make him feel at home 1,500 miles away from any other home he's ever known. I'm hoping that same amount of comfort will be transferred to myself...
Beaux, on the other hand, seems to handle everything in stride. He could care less as I drive away in the morning, as long as he has food. You have to love the love of a cat. That UN-neediness is sometimes preferable.
For those who haven't yet seen, here are some pics of my new place (that I have yet to see in person):
Zee building...
Zee pool...
Zee door on zee left back corner, ground floor, is mine...
Zee living room, looking toward zee kitchen (left) and bathroom (right) and bedroom door (extreme right)...
Zee purple tub of wonder...
Standing in zee kitchen, looking toward front of living room...
Zee backyard with funny-looking wind chime holder...
Right side of zee kitchen, awaiting my culinary expertise...
Left side of zee kitchen, awaiting my dishpan hands...
I know, I know--you're all kinds of gaga over the tub, right? As one of my friends put it, that's "lavender," not "purple."
Tomato, to-mah-to. :) Truth be told, I'm just happy to have that tiny back yard complete with funky tree to hang my wind chimes on. I've been missing them like I never thought I would. (Here's hoping the new neighbor's like them just as much!)
Be that as it may, we are now at the 5 week countdown. In 5 weeks I leave for the south, no one knowing if ever to return (excepting major family events and holidays, of course!)
I'm just hoping I like it. I want to like it there. I want this to be a lovely new chapter, filled with... Well, not puppies, kittens, and rainbows--I have those in spades! But contentment. Perhaps some comfort. A bit of joy. And a killer tan. (Please spare me the skin cancer talk... Thanks!)
I am working out again, once again reaching for the never-having-before-attained-killer-six-pack (which I know I might not have in time for beach season), and I've got a pretty general new routine down living here with the roomie. But there's a short list (and growing) of other things, other hobbies, I will gradually incorporate into my daily routine (fingers crossed) including jogging, walking the dog, and a promise to myself to hit the beach once a month now that I'll be living within spitting distance (if by spitting distance we mean a five-minute drive or hurricane-force winds at my back at the time of expectoration).
In the meantime? I'll just be happy if my dog stays off the furniture...
You also wouldn't think that a dog's claws could leave such deep grooves in the wood of said dining room table...
Regardless, I have a most gracious host, and I have already found her a replacement dining room table that I will be picking up next Friday. Needless to say, I will not be putting said table together until I hand her back her house keys on March 30th as I migrate south for the duration of the next foreseeable stage of my life.
I've decided to bring the dog with me anyway. (Who am I kidding? Like it was ever a question!) On the bright side, I won't have any furniture for him to clamber and climb and leap onto for at least the first week of living in my new digs--besides my bedroom set, that is, and that, at least, should make him feel at home 1,500 miles away from any other home he's ever known. I'm hoping that same amount of comfort will be transferred to myself...
Beaux, on the other hand, seems to handle everything in stride. He could care less as I drive away in the morning, as long as he has food. You have to love the love of a cat. That UN-neediness is sometimes preferable.
For those who haven't yet seen, here are some pics of my new place (that I have yet to see in person):
Zee pool...
Zee door on zee left back corner, ground floor, is mine...
Zee living room, looking toward zee kitchen (left) and bathroom (right) and bedroom door (extreme right)...
Zee purple tub of wonder...
Standing in zee kitchen, looking toward front of living room...
Zee backyard with funny-looking wind chime holder...
Right side of zee kitchen, awaiting my culinary expertise...
Left side of zee kitchen, awaiting my dishpan hands...
I know, I know--you're all kinds of gaga over the tub, right? As one of my friends put it, that's "lavender," not "purple."
Tomato, to-mah-to. :) Truth be told, I'm just happy to have that tiny back yard complete with funky tree to hang my wind chimes on. I've been missing them like I never thought I would. (Here's hoping the new neighbor's like them just as much!)
Be that as it may, we are now at the 5 week countdown. In 5 weeks I leave for the south, no one knowing if ever to return (excepting major family events and holidays, of course!)
I'm just hoping I like it. I want to like it there. I want this to be a lovely new chapter, filled with... Well, not puppies, kittens, and rainbows--I have those in spades! But contentment. Perhaps some comfort. A bit of joy. And a killer tan. (Please spare me the skin cancer talk... Thanks!)
I am working out again, once again reaching for the never-having-before-attained-killer-six-pack (which I know I might not have in time for beach season), and I've got a pretty general new routine down living here with the roomie. But there's a short list (and growing) of other things, other hobbies, I will gradually incorporate into my daily routine (fingers crossed) including jogging, walking the dog, and a promise to myself to hit the beach once a month now that I'll be living within spitting distance (if by spitting distance we mean a five-minute drive or hurricane-force winds at my back at the time of expectoration).
In the meantime? I'll just be happy if my dog stays off the furniture...
Thursday, February 16, 2012
White and Purple and Semantics, Oh My!
It's amazing the ways your subconscious chooses to deal with sudden shifts in life and reality.
I find myself suddenly addicted to white. In the last three weeks alone, I've bought 10 white shirts--V-neck, crew neck, short sleeved, long sleeved. 20 new pairs of white socks join at least two pairs of new white underwear, and the apartment I'm looking to rent in Florida? White from top to bottom, if one does not count the very funky purple bathtub...
Not that one rents an apartment solely for bathtub color, but it's nice to know I can get excited about more than one color at a time.
Incidentally, I'm imagining this is how a whole generation of people felt when color television replaced black-and-white television...
Perhaps not.
But when one no longer has to see how many clothes were ruined by the terrible water that existed inside the washing machine--well, it just gives you a whole new appreciation for what you can and cannot purchase and expect to last longer than three or four washings, you know?
I have almost nothing left of the wardrobe I left with. Half of it is because they were orange-stained, orange-spotted, or otherwise... The otherwise being an overall uniform orange-ish shade that iron does when it doesn't actually feel like ruining your clothes, but doesn't want them to stay the same shade that they were to begin with either.
The other half being, of course, the 70 or so pounds I've lost. Just the other night, when I slipped on that pair of size 34 jeans and expected to have to pull ever so slightly... And didn't have to pull? The fact that I could still fit two fingers easily between the waistband and my actual waist?
You don't have to imagine how weird it feels to feel your clothes touching your body. Now that I can purchase clothing that actually fits my not-quite-lanky-but-getting-there build, I have to wonder when the consciousness of fabric against skin will disappear. Not that I consider myself skinny yet. (After all, in my head, skinny doesn't come with love handles... They will be banished if I have any say about it!) But the fact that I once again turn heads when I enter a club is a good feeling, and while I know even on my best days I'm about a seven, I'll take it.
Speaking of seven...
And this is *not* to brag, but an observation of slight incredulity and slight pride...
And may be TMI for my more motherly reading audiences.... (Mom, you have been warned... Yes, YOU, Mom... No, my other Mom... Duh!)
Apparently I'm gifted in the "downstairs" area. As my most recent paramour put it, "Well, of course you don't think it's big--you've had it your whole life!"
Touche... But true, I suppose. Unlike (I think? I'm on the verge of clicheing my race here...) most gay men, I don't really think about it, whether it's mine or theirs, you know? I expect a man to have one, of course. It's kind of integral, actually, to the whole "gay" thing! But it never crossed my mind with any past lovers to think, "Oh! That's big!" or "Oh, it's so cute and little!" That last one may have landed me a punch in the face if I had ever thought it, let alone said it! But I think you get the drift. I still disagree on semantics, I suppose. After all, most people consider Hawthorne a large dog, but to me, 50 lbs is barely on the medium side.
But what do I know?
That I love white, I suppose. And size 34 jeans.
And I'm probably gonna have a purple tub.
I find myself suddenly addicted to white. In the last three weeks alone, I've bought 10 white shirts--V-neck, crew neck, short sleeved, long sleeved. 20 new pairs of white socks join at least two pairs of new white underwear, and the apartment I'm looking to rent in Florida? White from top to bottom, if one does not count the very funky purple bathtub...
Not that one rents an apartment solely for bathtub color, but it's nice to know I can get excited about more than one color at a time.
Incidentally, I'm imagining this is how a whole generation of people felt when color television replaced black-and-white television...
Perhaps not.
But when one no longer has to see how many clothes were ruined by the terrible water that existed inside the washing machine--well, it just gives you a whole new appreciation for what you can and cannot purchase and expect to last longer than three or four washings, you know?
I have almost nothing left of the wardrobe I left with. Half of it is because they were orange-stained, orange-spotted, or otherwise... The otherwise being an overall uniform orange-ish shade that iron does when it doesn't actually feel like ruining your clothes, but doesn't want them to stay the same shade that they were to begin with either.
The other half being, of course, the 70 or so pounds I've lost. Just the other night, when I slipped on that pair of size 34 jeans and expected to have to pull ever so slightly... And didn't have to pull? The fact that I could still fit two fingers easily between the waistband and my actual waist?
You don't have to imagine how weird it feels to feel your clothes touching your body. Now that I can purchase clothing that actually fits my not-quite-lanky-but-getting-there build, I have to wonder when the consciousness of fabric against skin will disappear. Not that I consider myself skinny yet. (After all, in my head, skinny doesn't come with love handles... They will be banished if I have any say about it!) But the fact that I once again turn heads when I enter a club is a good feeling, and while I know even on my best days I'm about a seven, I'll take it.
Speaking of seven...
And this is *not* to brag, but an observation of slight incredulity and slight pride...
And may be TMI for my more motherly reading audiences.... (Mom, you have been warned... Yes, YOU, Mom... No, my other Mom... Duh!)
Apparently I'm gifted in the "downstairs" area. As my most recent paramour put it, "Well, of course you don't think it's big--you've had it your whole life!"
Touche... But true, I suppose. Unlike (I think? I'm on the verge of clicheing my race here...) most gay men, I don't really think about it, whether it's mine or theirs, you know? I expect a man to have one, of course. It's kind of integral, actually, to the whole "gay" thing! But it never crossed my mind with any past lovers to think, "Oh! That's big!" or "Oh, it's so cute and little!" That last one may have landed me a punch in the face if I had ever thought it, let alone said it! But I think you get the drift. I still disagree on semantics, I suppose. After all, most people consider Hawthorne a large dog, but to me, 50 lbs is barely on the medium side.
But what do I know?
That I love white, I suppose. And size 34 jeans.
And I'm probably gonna have a purple tub.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Directionless in ...
A 10 minute drive to a local Walmart turned into an hour and fifteen minute countryside drive.
Not on purpose.
That's what happens when you
What isn't half the beauty, is, of course, the 1/4 tank of gas I didn't plan on using, the fact that I wouldn't have even been lost if the goddamn store I originally was going to go to had been open during the business hours clearly posted on both their website AND on the door right above the "CLOSED" sign, and if I had bothered to do a quick google search.
On another note, someone opened their fat trap and told the ex-hubby I was moving to Florida before I had a chance to tell him this Sunday, but that's the way life rolls, eh? I'd rather he heard it from me, but what can I do? At least he has time to let it sink in before I go pick up any left-over mail and the few CDs that were inadvertently left at the house. Perhaps it can be a civil discussion? (Fingers crossed.)
As it stands, things are moving forward. Almost all the ties have now been severed, newness abounds (with seemingly every car trip), and things WILL be onward and upward. I will accept nothing less.
In the bright side, I found out where the chili-pepper festival is held on my own. On the dark side, it wasn't happening at this time of year.
Not on purpose.
That's what happens when you
- Live in a new neighborhood
- Have to navigate that new highway you haven't driven on
- Live in small town, PA
What isn't half the beauty, is, of course, the 1/4 tank of gas I didn't plan on using, the fact that I wouldn't have even been lost if the goddamn store I originally was going to go to had been open during the business hours clearly posted on both their website AND on the door right above the "CLOSED" sign, and if I had bothered to do a quick google search.
On another note, someone opened their fat trap and told the ex-hubby I was moving to Florida before I had a chance to tell him this Sunday, but that's the way life rolls, eh? I'd rather he heard it from me, but what can I do? At least he has time to let it sink in before I go pick up any left-over mail and the few CDs that were inadvertently left at the house. Perhaps it can be a civil discussion? (Fingers crossed.)
As it stands, things are moving forward. Almost all the ties have now been severed, newness abounds (with seemingly every car trip), and things WILL be onward and upward. I will accept nothing less.
In the bright side, I found out where the chili-pepper festival is held on my own. On the dark side, it wasn't happening at this time of year.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
In a Neighborhood Near You...
I can't sleep. Not because clowns will eat me or anything. That's one thing I can certainly say has never made me shake in the metaphorical boots people keep going on about.
What has me shaking (in boots that I can only imagine are made out of snakeskin and look great on cowboys that I don't sleep with, though not by choice but most probably because of region) is the fact that my life now occupies a ten foot by 5 foot by 6 foot square in one corner of what will no longer be my living room. I'm sitting on a chair that will no longer be mine, typing on a keyboard that will no longer be mine, on a blog that hasn't been mine lately but is now being reclaimed, among other things.
Now let me be clear-- Hmm, now I'm channeling Obama...
Let me say this, then: I know I will be fine. "Fine," of course, being one of those words used to answer the questions of life that no one really cares to ponder too deeply, lest they learn something about themselves or others that may make them uncomfortable. So perhaps "fine" isn't what I'm trying to convey.
I will land on my cowboy-bootless feet. I will find love and happiness again. I will make it through these next few weeks and months, mourning the relationship and husband I'm leaving behind in my own way (which I'm also sure I'll learn how to mourn a 12.5 year relationship), learning once again how to be alone and enjoy my own company.
Some of this I'm greatly looking forward too. But there are definite things I will miss, not only about having a companion, but having had this specific companion. There will always be things I love about him, always memories I will cherish to my dying day, and always a place in my heart that he will reside in.
This is probably a given, and shouldn't need said, but I said it anyway, because I know, now that I am leaving, he will be reading.
So be it.
Hundreds, perhaps millions, of other people have gone through this and been "fine," cowboy boots notwithstanding. And even though some may disagree, I'm nothing if not rational and logical, with a dash of dreamer and romantic, with leanings toward optimism--ergo, I will be fine.
But at 1:30 a.m., when your brother and father are to arrive in 7.5 short hours to figure out how to fit your life into their respective vehicles...?
I don't feel fine at the moment. Which, of course, is to be expected in this kind of situation. I think. Maybe.
It's almost a shame Oprah's off the air. Almost. She'd be eating this stuff up, and probably trying to get me onto see Dr. Phil. Wouldn't that be fun?
But I digress.
I've never liked seeing my life in boxes. I'm a nester. I like to see knick-knacks of places I've been, or photos of people I love, or items that were once owned by those I loved. I love rows upon rows of books, separated by subject, alphabetical by author, from earliest to latest work published. Same for my music.
And my closet? I look forward to not sharing a closet! To have my clothing once again in color order, from darkest to lightest, on all wooden hangars, and further separated by season?
I know no one believes that I am a highly-organized person. Well, except those I work with which see me in action, attacking and reorganizing the supply closet, neat stacks of folders on my desk, stapler, scotch tape dispenser, and hole punch neatly lined up to one side of my monitor, little plastic bins for rubber bands, paperclips, and pens.
But most, if not all of my friends, have never known me without the other half, so I can't say I blame them for thinking we're just two big pack rats who can't file a piece of paper to save our lives! It's hard to have a system of organization when someone doesn't use your system of organization. Of course, having been raised by my mother, where I get this need to have everything hyper-organized, I also know that in and of itself can be an unhealthy life, and thus for the last 12.5 years, I haven't once made a stink about it.
Now I don't need to.
Of course, you, dear reader, are reading all this and thinking, "Wait--you're leaving him because he's disorganized and can't hang your clothing in color order?"
Of course not. There's more issues between us than Carter has liver pills. And perhaps, when wounds have healed, when hearts have begun to mend, and people won't see things as an attack but instead as the therapy and venting one needs in life in order to stay sane--then perhaps we can get into those things.
By then Armageddon may have happened, or the Mayans may have annihilated us, or a tsunami may take down the entire East Coast of the United States! But we'll just see how it goes, shall we?
I'm starting up and stepping out into my life. I'll be shedding some tears, perhaps getting too drunk on a few nights in the near future, and maybe even second-guessing decisions that have been made, not just recently, but long past.
But that is how I will grow, and learn, and live again.
I've missed you, blog. I've missed you, my audience (if, indeed, there still be one here waiting patiently for me to get my life back in order).
But mainly? I've been missing me.
And I'm coming back.
Just as soon as I find that apartment and unpack. And get my clothing hung in color order. And my books separated. Alphabetized. Color folder filing system...
Did I mention the new car that goes with my new life? Fucking Bambi. My new life also includes a call for the extermination of all deer. But that will be a short-lived campaign, I'm sure. I'm a sucker for those big doe eyes, like the rest of you.
Hello, world. I'm Jason. Welcome to My Life & Otherwise... Complete without cowboy boots in a neighborhood near you.
What has me shaking (in boots that I can only imagine are made out of snakeskin and look great on cowboys that I don't sleep with, though not by choice but most probably because of region) is the fact that my life now occupies a ten foot by 5 foot by 6 foot square in one corner of what will no longer be my living room. I'm sitting on a chair that will no longer be mine, typing on a keyboard that will no longer be mine, on a blog that hasn't been mine lately but is now being reclaimed, among other things.
Now let me be clear-- Hmm, now I'm channeling Obama...
Let me say this, then: I know I will be fine. "Fine," of course, being one of those words used to answer the questions of life that no one really cares to ponder too deeply, lest they learn something about themselves or others that may make them uncomfortable. So perhaps "fine" isn't what I'm trying to convey.
I will land on my cowboy-bootless feet. I will find love and happiness again. I will make it through these next few weeks and months, mourning the relationship and husband I'm leaving behind in my own way (which I'm also sure I'll learn how to mourn a 12.5 year relationship), learning once again how to be alone and enjoy my own company.
Some of this I'm greatly looking forward too. But there are definite things I will miss, not only about having a companion, but having had this specific companion. There will always be things I love about him, always memories I will cherish to my dying day, and always a place in my heart that he will reside in.
This is probably a given, and shouldn't need said, but I said it anyway, because I know, now that I am leaving, he will be reading.
So be it.
Hundreds, perhaps millions, of other people have gone through this and been "fine," cowboy boots notwithstanding. And even though some may disagree, I'm nothing if not rational and logical, with a dash of dreamer and romantic, with leanings toward optimism--ergo, I will be fine.
But at 1:30 a.m., when your brother and father are to arrive in 7.5 short hours to figure out how to fit your life into their respective vehicles...?
I don't feel fine at the moment. Which, of course, is to be expected in this kind of situation. I think. Maybe.
It's almost a shame Oprah's off the air. Almost. She'd be eating this stuff up, and probably trying to get me onto see Dr. Phil. Wouldn't that be fun?
But I digress.
I've never liked seeing my life in boxes. I'm a nester. I like to see knick-knacks of places I've been, or photos of people I love, or items that were once owned by those I loved. I love rows upon rows of books, separated by subject, alphabetical by author, from earliest to latest work published. Same for my music.
And my closet? I look forward to not sharing a closet! To have my clothing once again in color order, from darkest to lightest, on all wooden hangars, and further separated by season?
I know no one believes that I am a highly-organized person. Well, except those I work with which see me in action, attacking and reorganizing the supply closet, neat stacks of folders on my desk, stapler, scotch tape dispenser, and hole punch neatly lined up to one side of my monitor, little plastic bins for rubber bands, paperclips, and pens.
But most, if not all of my friends, have never known me without the other half, so I can't say I blame them for thinking we're just two big pack rats who can't file a piece of paper to save our lives! It's hard to have a system of organization when someone doesn't use your system of organization. Of course, having been raised by my mother, where I get this need to have everything hyper-organized, I also know that in and of itself can be an unhealthy life, and thus for the last 12.5 years, I haven't once made a stink about it.
Now I don't need to.
Of course, you, dear reader, are reading all this and thinking, "Wait--you're leaving him because he's disorganized and can't hang your clothing in color order?"
Of course not. There's more issues between us than Carter has liver pills. And perhaps, when wounds have healed, when hearts have begun to mend, and people won't see things as an attack but instead as the therapy and venting one needs in life in order to stay sane--then perhaps we can get into those things.
By then Armageddon may have happened, or the Mayans may have annihilated us, or a tsunami may take down the entire East Coast of the United States! But we'll just see how it goes, shall we?
I'm starting up and stepping out into my life. I'll be shedding some tears, perhaps getting too drunk on a few nights in the near future, and maybe even second-guessing decisions that have been made, not just recently, but long past.
But that is how I will grow, and learn, and live again.
I've missed you, blog. I've missed you, my audience (if, indeed, there still be one here waiting patiently for me to get my life back in order).
But mainly? I've been missing me.
And I'm coming back.
Just as soon as I find that apartment and unpack. And get my clothing hung in color order. And my books separated. Alphabetized. Color folder filing system...
Did I mention the new car that goes with my new life? Fucking Bambi. My new life also includes a call for the extermination of all deer. But that will be a short-lived campaign, I'm sure. I'm a sucker for those big doe eyes, like the rest of you.
Hello, world. I'm Jason. Welcome to My Life & Otherwise... Complete without cowboy boots in a neighborhood near you.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
New is Old, Old is New... Including T-shirts...
Per my friend Kelly, I'm coming up with a lot of cool T-shirt slogans lately.
It should be noted, of course, that the Daddy of all T-shirts for my new, up-and-coming clothing company, will be a T-shirt that reads "CHB" on the front, and "Cold-Hearted Bastard" on the back. It's a bit of a story that will be even funnier eventually.
Eventually.
Other T-shirt contenders include things like
More unexpected newness was found in an old place--or, we should say, a friend from many years ago. Thirteen years had passed since I'd seen him last--fifteen years in actuality if we discount the one chance meeting at the local gay bar in Allentown trying to converse for a brief two minutes over booming, rhythmic music.
A lot can change in fifteen years, and things cross your mind at 36 that never even crossed your subconscious at 21 years of age, not the least of which is the fact that at 21, you just assume you're hot; at 36, you need to evaluate that in whole new ways. At 21, you know you aren't good at sex, but more than make up for it in energy and enthusiasm; at 36, you hope you've learned enough to be awesome at sex while retaining that same energy and enthusiasm.
Add to the fact that I haven't been on a date in 13 years, and I was a nervous wreck...
Nervous disaster is probably more accurate.
And then your eyes meet. You forgot they were that stunning light shade. You remember again the way he blushes, even still, with eyes crinkled in disbelief that you do find him more attractive then ever. You remember that chiseled jaw line, the way his nose curved up slightly, and as your hand reaches out to caress his jaw, it remembers automatically how to tilt it just so for that long, deep kiss...
And then you remember that you will have to try to remember that you haven't kissed another man for the last thirteen years. Will this be familiar? Different? And by how much? Will it be that silly awkward teenage make-out type session, with hands fumbling, not knowing where to hit but knowing a target is there somewhere? Or will the past rear up from where it has been buried, and we can pick up just a little of where it had been left?
An evening with an old flame...
People keep asking if this will stop me from moving to Florida, if I feel the need to try to reclaim this past and make it my present and future. I can admit the thought had crossed my own mind, but fleetingly. I know myself well enough at this point in my life to know I'm not only not ready to start a new relationship, unlike 21-year-old self who wanted a relationship come hell or high water. 36-year-old Jason is going to Florida, but for the 2 months he is still in the area, he will enjoy the company of his family and friends, old and new.
Life is just starting again. And while I think a lot of people at my stage in life, just out of a long relationship and beginning to step out again on to the dating scene go through this, reaching out to comfortable people and happier times in the past? I will not be content going backward.
And that's part of what would happen if I did change my mind at this point and not go forward with my current plans. Life would once again stall.
I think I should point out, having a relationship is not "stalling." But I do think you know what I mean. Reaching out and trying to recapture the past, while comforting, cannot sustain one as a means of approaching life. And while all the "newness" of singlehood settles about me, and my self, my personhood, finds ways to cope and deal with what at times is extremely stressful, extremely exciting, and extremely boring in alternating ways, I am finding that excitement is becoming the overriding emotion. While I still harbor sadness and anger and other unresolved emotions from the end of my relationship, it is tempered by a lot of the good and happy memories I carry of him and our past.
My life these past 13 years have not been a mistake--if anything, most of those years are precious and beautiful to me, and always will be. But it is also still too soon to revisit that person and try to foster a friendship, I think. It's only been a week--it's definitely too soon to try to be friends. I am hoping, however, that for the time being, we can be civil, respectful, and not overly emotional.
That's a bit too much to fit on a T-shirt though...
It should be noted, of course, that the Daddy of all T-shirts for my new, up-and-coming clothing company, will be a T-shirt that reads "CHB" on the front, and "Cold-Hearted Bastard" on the back. It's a bit of a story that will be even funnier eventually.
Eventually.
Other T-shirt contenders include things like
- A Little Rock Goes a Long Way
- No Matter--I'm Getting Laid Tonight
- Power Bottoms = Top Rated
More unexpected newness was found in an old place--or, we should say, a friend from many years ago. Thirteen years had passed since I'd seen him last--fifteen years in actuality if we discount the one chance meeting at the local gay bar in Allentown trying to converse for a brief two minutes over booming, rhythmic music.
A lot can change in fifteen years, and things cross your mind at 36 that never even crossed your subconscious at 21 years of age, not the least of which is the fact that at 21, you just assume you're hot; at 36, you need to evaluate that in whole new ways. At 21, you know you aren't good at sex, but more than make up for it in energy and enthusiasm; at 36, you hope you've learned enough to be awesome at sex while retaining that same energy and enthusiasm.
Add to the fact that I haven't been on a date in 13 years, and I was a nervous wreck...
Nervous disaster is probably more accurate.
And then your eyes meet. You forgot they were that stunning light shade. You remember again the way he blushes, even still, with eyes crinkled in disbelief that you do find him more attractive then ever. You remember that chiseled jaw line, the way his nose curved up slightly, and as your hand reaches out to caress his jaw, it remembers automatically how to tilt it just so for that long, deep kiss...
And then you remember that you will have to try to remember that you haven't kissed another man for the last thirteen years. Will this be familiar? Different? And by how much? Will it be that silly awkward teenage make-out type session, with hands fumbling, not knowing where to hit but knowing a target is there somewhere? Or will the past rear up from where it has been buried, and we can pick up just a little of where it had been left?
An evening with an old flame...
People keep asking if this will stop me from moving to Florida, if I feel the need to try to reclaim this past and make it my present and future. I can admit the thought had crossed my own mind, but fleetingly. I know myself well enough at this point in my life to know I'm not only not ready to start a new relationship, unlike 21-year-old self who wanted a relationship come hell or high water. 36-year-old Jason is going to Florida, but for the 2 months he is still in the area, he will enjoy the company of his family and friends, old and new.
Life is just starting again. And while I think a lot of people at my stage in life, just out of a long relationship and beginning to step out again on to the dating scene go through this, reaching out to comfortable people and happier times in the past? I will not be content going backward.
And that's part of what would happen if I did change my mind at this point and not go forward with my current plans. Life would once again stall.
I think I should point out, having a relationship is not "stalling." But I do think you know what I mean. Reaching out and trying to recapture the past, while comforting, cannot sustain one as a means of approaching life. And while all the "newness" of singlehood settles about me, and my self, my personhood, finds ways to cope and deal with what at times is extremely stressful, extremely exciting, and extremely boring in alternating ways, I am finding that excitement is becoming the overriding emotion. While I still harbor sadness and anger and other unresolved emotions from the end of my relationship, it is tempered by a lot of the good and happy memories I carry of him and our past.
My life these past 13 years have not been a mistake--if anything, most of those years are precious and beautiful to me, and always will be. But it is also still too soon to revisit that person and try to foster a friendship, I think. It's only been a week--it's definitely too soon to try to be friends. I am hoping, however, that for the time being, we can be civil, respectful, and not overly emotional.
That's a bit too much to fit on a T-shirt though...
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