High atop the Emerald City, in a penthouse pad that's suitable for a
Superhero (which, by the way, I understand is worth in the ball-park of a
cool $10 bills), a certain guy tries to work his magic to throw one of the most elegant and
well-appointed shin-digs you'll find this side of La-La Land. Be
impressed (he wants you to be). And I was... Truly.
For the first time in four years, I will not be attending "his" Oscar Party, and, I should say, I have mixed emotions. He, by the way, is my Ex's very dearest friend in the whole world, "Little Lord Flaunts it A Lot, " or maybe, for better taste sake, "Mr. Opulence," "The Big O," or for simplicity sake, just, "B.O."
Actually, full credit for the affair does not go to B.O, but to his
ex-lover of almost 20 years. B.O. broke up with him two years ago, and like
all couples, they had two sides, two distinct personalities that
blended into one. B.O. was the "serious" side,
and his partner, who was the gregarious, the bubbly, and the effervescent one, created the social veneer. He was the straw who stirred the drink, organized the affair, circulated among the guests, and B.O. paid the bills, and looked eternally flustered and furtive.
Just imagine sashaying through Titanic-sized rooms, daintily nibbling on delectable finger-foods while chatting with a Pantheon of guests. While traipsing along, you peer through a seemingly endless glass window overlooking, on two sides, the entire lighted city night-scape. On the third side is a panoramic view of the charming, yet rugged Puget Sound. If you're not careful, you will be seduced by the natural beauty, but the show is inside.
The piece de resistance is the eleven-seat home movie theater fully equipped with deep-cushioned leather theater seats and temperature control. If that's too cushy for you, you can always move out to the living area where a Godzilla-Vision TV Screen awaits. And I know that if you really needed your privacy, there'd still be several sets available in one of bathrooms, bedrooms, or sitting rooms in that 3-story Xanadu.
Like any veneer, after Lover left, the social side of B.O's veneer began to crack and fade. In 2011 and 2012, the Oscar Parties were still opulent, but the crowd dwindled substantially, and the spirit was rather polite and subdued, almost melancholic. For all that was said about the ex-lover, he did know how to throw a great party, and make guests feel at ease. The same could not be said of B.O. Let's say that if you had to equate the level good times to that of an aroma, B.O's parties lived up to his nick-name.
A couple of days ago my Mother said, let's have an Oscar Party, and I all I could think was... B.O - well, not just him, but the our circumstances right now... Mom, me, and my step-father who is in an Alzheimer's, nearly vegetative state. The Picture of the Year is "Lincoln," a film about the hard, cold, tragic Civil War - the bloodiest conflict in Human History. I almost said no, then I thought about B.O, and how hard he tried to create an ambiance. Then I thought about us with the ambiance of "What Ever Happened Baby Jane," and I realized, that is Hollywood! Pass the Ritz Crackers and Cheese Whiz. Now that smells like fun...
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
The Mystery of it All
I knew my part in the break-up - I'd been depressed for over a year, and I just couldn't get my feet under me.
Yes, I was slipping and sliding down the slope of life. I was tired, despondent. I'd lost hope and purpose, and through it all, I couldn't land a job. I tried - a lot.
In 2012, I had approximately ten interviews, not to mention several technical phone screenings, and not one bloody job was to be had out of that lot. My confidence was shot, and I didn't know which way to turn. I was living off credit cards and borrowing money. She was supportive, but something was telling me that what she said was not the whole truth, just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath, was the rest of the monster mass of frozen water, the kind the Titanic ran into.
I needed help, and I sought it. At first I went to a counselor for a scaled fee: 60.00 for an hour session. He was okay, but he was ten to fifteen years younger than me. Part of my affliction was dealing with Middle-Age, realizing, perhaps, that my career in Software Development was coming to a close. In my unemployment, I'd lost a step or two technically, and the gap seemed harder and harder to close. Also, I was not certain if it was truly the field for me. I am not a geek, more of a people person, and I'd been feeling like it was an ill-fit.
After four sessions and $260.00 more on my credit card, I decided the counseling sessions were an ill-fit. I told the counselor that I could no longer afford the sessions, and we ended our meetings.
I'm also an Alcoholic. I gave up drinking almost three years ago. Being booze-free has been a boon to me. I was a binge drinker, mostly drinking heavily when I was under lots of stress. My fear, when I stopped drinking, was that I was going to feel more anxious than I did when I drank. But much to my amazement, it had the opposite effect. For once in my life, the monkey was off my back, and I was happily learning to cope without alcohol.
Though, I was finding a reason for living through sobriety, the struggle to find work and all the fall-out from that was killing my self-worth. I was not pleasant to live with. I was angry and frustrated. Sometimes, I'd be short with her, and start arguments to relieve stress. Sometimes I'd lament that life was not worth living. I know it took a toll on her, but I needed someone to talk to, probably another counselor.
I met a man on Facebook. He took an interest in me - a rather keen interest, and showed it by posting hearts with arrows through them, airbrushed bouquets of flowers, and other slogans of endearment - the kind that are seen on Hallmark Cards on Valentine's Day. He posted these on my page. I thought it was sweet, but it made my girlfriend jealous.
I assured her our association was jovial and superficial, but she was not buying it. She once told me, "I know what you are capable of," meaning that I'm kinky, twisted, and would do anything to satisfy my libido, which is not quite true - close, but no cigars. She laid down the law, and told me that I was not to contact this man again.
By this time, our situation was getting more and more dire. We were starting to dislike lots of things about each other. At night we'd sit on opposite ends of the couch, barely speaking. Sometimes we were fine, but other times, the tension was palpable. Maybe I could have done more to mitigate the situation, but perhaps, it was just the natural course of things.
The next evening, I called my friend on the phone. He posted about it on Facebook. We spoke of he, my ex, and I getting together for dinner. I thought it was a great idea.
The next day, while at work, she discovered the post. I'd completely forgotten about it. She called me after she saw it. In a nutshell, she broke up with me. At the time, I was shocked, but now, it all seems so surrealistic. Did it really happen? Was our entire relationship just a dream? Once again, I'm brought back to something my father used to say. In the end, everything fades into mystery.
Yes, I was slipping and sliding down the slope of life. I was tired, despondent. I'd lost hope and purpose, and through it all, I couldn't land a job. I tried - a lot.
In 2012, I had approximately ten interviews, not to mention several technical phone screenings, and not one bloody job was to be had out of that lot. My confidence was shot, and I didn't know which way to turn. I was living off credit cards and borrowing money. She was supportive, but something was telling me that what she said was not the whole truth, just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath, was the rest of the monster mass of frozen water, the kind the Titanic ran into.
I needed help, and I sought it. At first I went to a counselor for a scaled fee: 60.00 for an hour session. He was okay, but he was ten to fifteen years younger than me. Part of my affliction was dealing with Middle-Age, realizing, perhaps, that my career in Software Development was coming to a close. In my unemployment, I'd lost a step or two technically, and the gap seemed harder and harder to close. Also, I was not certain if it was truly the field for me. I am not a geek, more of a people person, and I'd been feeling like it was an ill-fit.
After four sessions and $260.00 more on my credit card, I decided the counseling sessions were an ill-fit. I told the counselor that I could no longer afford the sessions, and we ended our meetings.
I'm also an Alcoholic. I gave up drinking almost three years ago. Being booze-free has been a boon to me. I was a binge drinker, mostly drinking heavily when I was under lots of stress. My fear, when I stopped drinking, was that I was going to feel more anxious than I did when I drank. But much to my amazement, it had the opposite effect. For once in my life, the monkey was off my back, and I was happily learning to cope without alcohol.
Though, I was finding a reason for living through sobriety, the struggle to find work and all the fall-out from that was killing my self-worth. I was not pleasant to live with. I was angry and frustrated. Sometimes, I'd be short with her, and start arguments to relieve stress. Sometimes I'd lament that life was not worth living. I know it took a toll on her, but I needed someone to talk to, probably another counselor.
I met a man on Facebook. He took an interest in me - a rather keen interest, and showed it by posting hearts with arrows through them, airbrushed bouquets of flowers, and other slogans of endearment - the kind that are seen on Hallmark Cards on Valentine's Day. He posted these on my page. I thought it was sweet, but it made my girlfriend jealous.
I assured her our association was jovial and superficial, but she was not buying it. She once told me, "I know what you are capable of," meaning that I'm kinky, twisted, and would do anything to satisfy my libido, which is not quite true - close, but no cigars. She laid down the law, and told me that I was not to contact this man again.
By this time, our situation was getting more and more dire. We were starting to dislike lots of things about each other. At night we'd sit on opposite ends of the couch, barely speaking. Sometimes we were fine, but other times, the tension was palpable. Maybe I could have done more to mitigate the situation, but perhaps, it was just the natural course of things.
The next evening, I called my friend on the phone. He posted about it on Facebook. We spoke of he, my ex, and I getting together for dinner. I thought it was a great idea.
The next day, while at work, she discovered the post. I'd completely forgotten about it. She called me after she saw it. In a nutshell, she broke up with me. At the time, I was shocked, but now, it all seems so surrealistic. Did it really happen? Was our entire relationship just a dream? Once again, I'm brought back to something my father used to say. In the end, everything fades into mystery.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
My Mind is a Haunted House
We still live in that place, the happy couple who met that April day, in the Sculpture Park, next to the behemoth steel work that looks like the hull of a ship. Maybe I was lonely or wanting to experience the thrill of meeting a woman like some cad does in the movies.
"Maya?" She looked at me with a cock of her head, squint of her eyes. "Maya, is that you?"
"No, I'm not Maya," she replied.
"Funny, you look so much like Maya," I answered.
I remember how bright the sun shined, especially on a day when it probably should have been raining.
Things that don't make sense excite me. If it had been cloudy would I have said hello to her? Then we could have avoided the break-up nearly four years later, and I would have no memories of any of the events. They float through my head like ghosts in an attic.
One thing I know for certain, is that if it had been raining, she wouldn't have been sitting outside next to the sculpture, and I wouldn't have said hello to her.
Maybe it was the sun that brought us together. It's hard to know - so hard to know. We are not together, and looking back on our relationship, everything is so surrealistic, like it never happened. Before, if you asked me, "Have you ever seen a ghost?" I would have said, no. Now, closing my eyes, and remembering our love, I can sincerely say, yes, I have seen ghosts, and they live in my memory like it is a haunted house.
"Maya?" She looked at me with a cock of her head, squint of her eyes. "Maya, is that you?"
"No, I'm not Maya," she replied.
"Funny, you look so much like Maya," I answered.
I remember how bright the sun shined, especially on a day when it probably should have been raining.
Things that don't make sense excite me. If it had been cloudy would I have said hello to her? Then we could have avoided the break-up nearly four years later, and I would have no memories of any of the events. They float through my head like ghosts in an attic.
One thing I know for certain, is that if it had been raining, she wouldn't have been sitting outside next to the sculpture, and I wouldn't have said hello to her.
Maybe it was the sun that brought us together. It's hard to know - so hard to know. We are not together, and looking back on our relationship, everything is so surrealistic, like it never happened. Before, if you asked me, "Have you ever seen a ghost?" I would have said, no. Now, closing my eyes, and remembering our love, I can sincerely say, yes, I have seen ghosts, and they live in my memory like it is a haunted house.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
To Date, or Not to Date...
For the last five weeks, I've been posting and answering ads on Craigslist. The results have been mostly no-goes or one-trick pony dates. There've been several where I've emailed back and forth twenty or thirty times, and after agreeing to meet at a certain location and time, the woman disappeared without a trace. I've come to the point where I snicker and move on without much of a thought. Having gotten back into a writing state, I see it as fodder for the fires, and relief that I don't have to get too involved, which begs the question of, why bother at all?
In my mind, I've not been dating. I've been calling these encounters "Coffee Dates." Simple diversions to meet a woman and have a conversion. Being a social creature, I need connection. Maybe, at times, I'd like something else - a fling, a one night stand, Friends With Benefits, maybe even, a real friend, but mostly, I'm happy to share a couple of cups of coffee and a brief, fleeting moment of socializing. And I don't limit my encounters to women. A man answered my ad and asked if I would consider having sex with him? I said it wasn't my desire, but I'd be happy to meet for coffee and conversation. He, agreed, then never showed up.
I think all humans are Connection-centric. We spend our lives behind cubicles, in offices, alone in our minds and thoughts. Every once in a while, maybe every other day, we need to venture out to reaffirm that we are, in fact, made of flesh and blood, and someday will die. Maybe, each other is all we have to cling onto... Or, maybe, all we have to live for...
I received and email from one of my Craiglist connections. A month ago I answered her ad, and ever since then we've been trying to carve out a time to meet, but to no avail. Yesterday, she said she had time, would I like to meet in the early evening? Of course, I responded. Two or three emails later, we were poised on the brink of meeting.
As I waited for her at this particular cafe, the guilt-ridden voice of conscience invaded my mind... You've only been out of your four year relationship for three months... You've moved cross-country, and now need to find significant employment... You must take care of your step-father with Alzheimer's...
Suddenly, I began hoping for failure. I hope I'm not attracted to her... I hope she finds me repulsive... I'll throw caution to the wind, and speak about anything that comes to my mind like why I think paper clips are one of the most ingenious inventions in the history of humankind... I'll do anything so I won't have to face the prospect of rejection. And yet, I was there for a connection - a chance to meet another who shares this existence with me, and maybe, when we parted, I'd look up at the stars, and say to myself, "It's worth it - I'm not alone."
I didn't know what she looked like, and neither did she know what I looked like. In our haste to meet, we'd failed to exchange pictures. That seemed like a good sign because it meant, perhaps, we were both looking for something that went beyond the surface. Maybe we could be friends, or, perhaps, something more...
Time passed. I watched customers enter. Is that her? No, she's staring straight ahead at the menu board high above and behind the counter. She's got coffee on her mind, not a date.
Men and woman entered, ordered, sat down, or left. You always know when you're going to get stood up, but this wasn't one of those times.
I looked to my right, in the direction of the door, and my eyes locked with those of a beautiful woman. She was about 5'4", petite, long black hair, perhaps in her late 20's/early 30's, casually, yet stylishly dressed, and most amazingly, she had the most bright and wide smile across her face. It was a beam of grace. I instantly shot up in my seat. Unable to express words, I gesticulated in pantomime-manner something to the effect of "this is it" or "here we are," and it felt wonderful.
The time we spent was memorable. It was so joyous and animated that I decided to turn a "Coffee Date" into full-fledged date. We went to an Indian restaurant, but she hadn't eaten much Indian food, so she asked for my opinion on what to order. We had lots of fun deciding. She ordered a lamb dish and I ordered Chicken Tikka. For bread, we had Parata and Poori. I turned her on to Mango Lassis. It's a always great sharing new things with someone new. The world, truly, becomes new again.
Where do we go from here? I still have doubts as to whether I should be seriously dating at this point. I really should get a more stable job. Most likely when I do, my mind will not be asking. I'll know.
But there is the memory of last night and how beautiful she was... And since life is not perfect, and truly a work in progress, and we're never really as complete as we could be, is it possible that we could still see one another, and before you know it, I will have things in place?
As they say in Latin, Videbimus...
In my mind, I've not been dating. I've been calling these encounters "Coffee Dates." Simple diversions to meet a woman and have a conversion. Being a social creature, I need connection. Maybe, at times, I'd like something else - a fling, a one night stand, Friends With Benefits, maybe even, a real friend, but mostly, I'm happy to share a couple of cups of coffee and a brief, fleeting moment of socializing. And I don't limit my encounters to women. A man answered my ad and asked if I would consider having sex with him? I said it wasn't my desire, but I'd be happy to meet for coffee and conversation. He, agreed, then never showed up.
I think all humans are Connection-centric. We spend our lives behind cubicles, in offices, alone in our minds and thoughts. Every once in a while, maybe every other day, we need to venture out to reaffirm that we are, in fact, made of flesh and blood, and someday will die. Maybe, each other is all we have to cling onto... Or, maybe, all we have to live for...
I received and email from one of my Craiglist connections. A month ago I answered her ad, and ever since then we've been trying to carve out a time to meet, but to no avail. Yesterday, she said she had time, would I like to meet in the early evening? Of course, I responded. Two or three emails later, we were poised on the brink of meeting.
As I waited for her at this particular cafe, the guilt-ridden voice of conscience invaded my mind... You've only been out of your four year relationship for three months... You've moved cross-country, and now need to find significant employment... You must take care of your step-father with Alzheimer's...
Suddenly, I began hoping for failure. I hope I'm not attracted to her... I hope she finds me repulsive... I'll throw caution to the wind, and speak about anything that comes to my mind like why I think paper clips are one of the most ingenious inventions in the history of humankind... I'll do anything so I won't have to face the prospect of rejection. And yet, I was there for a connection - a chance to meet another who shares this existence with me, and maybe, when we parted, I'd look up at the stars, and say to myself, "It's worth it - I'm not alone."
I didn't know what she looked like, and neither did she know what I looked like. In our haste to meet, we'd failed to exchange pictures. That seemed like a good sign because it meant, perhaps, we were both looking for something that went beyond the surface. Maybe we could be friends, or, perhaps, something more...
Time passed. I watched customers enter. Is that her? No, she's staring straight ahead at the menu board high above and behind the counter. She's got coffee on her mind, not a date.
Men and woman entered, ordered, sat down, or left. You always know when you're going to get stood up, but this wasn't one of those times.
I looked to my right, in the direction of the door, and my eyes locked with those of a beautiful woman. She was about 5'4", petite, long black hair, perhaps in her late 20's/early 30's, casually, yet stylishly dressed, and most amazingly, she had the most bright and wide smile across her face. It was a beam of grace. I instantly shot up in my seat. Unable to express words, I gesticulated in pantomime-manner something to the effect of "this is it" or "here we are," and it felt wonderful.
The time we spent was memorable. It was so joyous and animated that I decided to turn a "Coffee Date" into full-fledged date. We went to an Indian restaurant, but she hadn't eaten much Indian food, so she asked for my opinion on what to order. We had lots of fun deciding. She ordered a lamb dish and I ordered Chicken Tikka. For bread, we had Parata and Poori. I turned her on to Mango Lassis. It's a always great sharing new things with someone new. The world, truly, becomes new again.
Where do we go from here? I still have doubts as to whether I should be seriously dating at this point. I really should get a more stable job. Most likely when I do, my mind will not be asking. I'll know.
But there is the memory of last night and how beautiful she was... And since life is not perfect, and truly a work in progress, and we're never really as complete as we could be, is it possible that we could still see one another, and before you know it, I will have things in place?
As they say in Latin, Videbimus...
Friday, February 15, 2013
A Second Chance
Misunderstandings have been common. Even though she is my mother, and I am her son, sometimes the gap between us is as wide as an ocean. Clear communication has always been a problem. I love her dearly, and she is an incredible person with a great heart, the personification of Matthew 25:35, 'when I was a stranger...', but when it comes to making herself understood, it is often a challenge to know what she really means.
This morning it was time to take Pepito out for his morning relief session. The sun was shining, but not into the dark corners of my mind, where the voices of doubt and dismay were whispering their diabolical prognostications. "Oh, that's not possible, Monkkey, you had your day, now it's over. Just move over, and let the world pass you. Atta Boy. Good Monkkey..."
"But Mr. Bluster, " I said, to myself, to the doubting voice. "If I was to put forth a gigantic effort - like they say about faith moving mountains..."
"Over-rated," snickered the voice. "Now get yourself to the end of the line. Eventually, something will fall in your lap, meaningless as it may be...."
By the time I reached the kitchen where my mother was standing, holding a ripped open envelope, my mood had turned into spilled battery acid. She held up the envelope. I mustered a "good morning," but it had all the of emotion of a robotic telephone voice. I passed pretending not to see the envelope. I led Pepito to the back door, opened it. He went out, and I followed.
When I came back into the kitchen, there was Mom still holding the envelope. She opened her mouth, but no words were coming out. Her eyes were shut, her face strained to force out syllables. And then, I couldn't help but remember all those times growing up when she stood there about to tell me something that I already knew the answer to, but couldn't spit it out.
"The thing came for you in the mail," she finally said. "Thing" being a ubiquitous term for something others should fill in the blanks for, because Mom always expected everyone else to know what she was thinking, because that's the way Mom thought, and that so badly pissed me off.
What it turned out to be was a doctor's evaluation of my lab results. Rather than just saying, "Hey, my Doc read your results. All is well," Mom had to waffle and fumble like she does when she misplaces car keys for the eighth or ninth time during a day, or rummages around for her pocket book for her bank card like she's on an Easter Egg Hunt. I admit she's gotten better, but even hunting for the card three times a day as opposed to five or six becomes very old very quickly.
"Mom, communication is very difficult with you, " I said before I could contain myself. "I mean why can't you just say, the results are in, and all is well?"
"Why do I always have to say what you want me to say?" she snapped. Her eyes closed, her body tensed.
"I don't know what you mean by 'thing,'" I said. "I'd just like it if you could be a little more clear - that's all."
She didn't respond. She stood at the counter, fixing a bowl of cereal. In past times, I would have pressed her until we'd argue back and forth, which would result in a shouting match at the top of our lungs. But for me, these were different times, and I was going to do my damnedest to change.
"Look, I'm sorry," I said. There was a pause. She clenched her teeth, then turned to me with the ferocity of a cornered animal. "Why is it you're always right, and I'm always wrong? Why are you always putting me down?" she blurted out.
"I'm offering you an apology," I said. "Why is it you just can't accept it, and we move on?"
We stared at each other long and hard. I was quite pissed at her, as she was probably with me, but there didn't seem to be any reason to battle each other anymore. Too much time had passed. There had been too much pain and too much hurt from the both of us towards each other. It was time to learn to make peace.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I really do mean it."
Her eyes fell to the floor. "I know," she said. I watched her for a few seconds, then I reached forward, and touched her upper arm with my open hand. She forced a small smile, continued to stare at the floor. I lowered my hand to my side, stood for a moment, then slowly walked out of the room.
This morning it was time to take Pepito out for his morning relief session. The sun was shining, but not into the dark corners of my mind, where the voices of doubt and dismay were whispering their diabolical prognostications. "Oh, that's not possible, Monkkey, you had your day, now it's over. Just move over, and let the world pass you. Atta Boy. Good Monkkey..."
"But Mr. Bluster, " I said, to myself, to the doubting voice. "If I was to put forth a gigantic effort - like they say about faith moving mountains..."
"Over-rated," snickered the voice. "Now get yourself to the end of the line. Eventually, something will fall in your lap, meaningless as it may be...."
By the time I reached the kitchen where my mother was standing, holding a ripped open envelope, my mood had turned into spilled battery acid. She held up the envelope. I mustered a "good morning," but it had all the of emotion of a robotic telephone voice. I passed pretending not to see the envelope. I led Pepito to the back door, opened it. He went out, and I followed.
When I came back into the kitchen, there was Mom still holding the envelope. She opened her mouth, but no words were coming out. Her eyes were shut, her face strained to force out syllables. And then, I couldn't help but remember all those times growing up when she stood there about to tell me something that I already knew the answer to, but couldn't spit it out.
"The thing came for you in the mail," she finally said. "Thing" being a ubiquitous term for something others should fill in the blanks for, because Mom always expected everyone else to know what she was thinking, because that's the way Mom thought, and that so badly pissed me off.
What it turned out to be was a doctor's evaluation of my lab results. Rather than just saying, "Hey, my Doc read your results. All is well," Mom had to waffle and fumble like she does when she misplaces car keys for the eighth or ninth time during a day, or rummages around for her pocket book for her bank card like she's on an Easter Egg Hunt. I admit she's gotten better, but even hunting for the card three times a day as opposed to five or six becomes very old very quickly.
"Mom, communication is very difficult with you, " I said before I could contain myself. "I mean why can't you just say, the results are in, and all is well?"
"Why do I always have to say what you want me to say?" she snapped. Her eyes closed, her body tensed.
"I don't know what you mean by 'thing,'" I said. "I'd just like it if you could be a little more clear - that's all."
She didn't respond. She stood at the counter, fixing a bowl of cereal. In past times, I would have pressed her until we'd argue back and forth, which would result in a shouting match at the top of our lungs. But for me, these were different times, and I was going to do my damnedest to change.
"Look, I'm sorry," I said. There was a pause. She clenched her teeth, then turned to me with the ferocity of a cornered animal. "Why is it you're always right, and I'm always wrong? Why are you always putting me down?" she blurted out.
"I'm offering you an apology," I said. "Why is it you just can't accept it, and we move on?"
We stared at each other long and hard. I was quite pissed at her, as she was probably with me, but there didn't seem to be any reason to battle each other anymore. Too much time had passed. There had been too much pain and too much hurt from the both of us towards each other. It was time to learn to make peace.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I really do mean it."
Her eyes fell to the floor. "I know," she said. I watched her for a few seconds, then I reached forward, and touched her upper arm with my open hand. She forced a small smile, continued to stare at the floor. I lowered my hand to my side, stood for a moment, then slowly walked out of the room.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
No Valentine Blues for Monkkey
I love chocolate - there's no doubt about that. Since I stopped drinking alcohol, chocolate (among other vices) has become my drug. There's something about it's sweet, creamy nature that makes me come back for more. I'm not fussy, either. A great high end like Knipschildt or Noka is stupendous, but I'm also happy with a Snicker's Bar or a pack of M + Ms, peanuts or plain.
I also love love, or the idea of it, especially romantic love. There's nothing like a new love to make my insides quiver, my pulse quicken, and the world, boring and bothersome as it is much of the time, to appear to be a new and strange place. Now that is one of the greatest miracles known to humankind.
Today is Valentine's Day - the perfect day to combine my favorite loves, chocolate and love. But this year there is no combining the two. There is no love in my life, neither new or old. There is just me, and I am quite content not to be bound to someone else. I hear so many people despairing about how they would love to have someone in their lives for Valentine's Day, but I'm telling you, count your blessings if you don't. Ask your married friends - the ones who have been married for five years or more. Sure they'll say that marriage is great, but buy them a couple of drinks, and see what really comes forth. See who's smiling now.
Perhaps next year, a year after my relationship has ended, I'll be singing a different song, but for now I'm content not to have filled out some silly card, bought a dozen ridiculous roses, or spent a fortune on high-end chocolates that I wouldn't be eating myself. No, I can just lay back and let the rest of them squirm and waste their money. Happily, I will eat my chocolates alone.
I also love love, or the idea of it, especially romantic love. There's nothing like a new love to make my insides quiver, my pulse quicken, and the world, boring and bothersome as it is much of the time, to appear to be a new and strange place. Now that is one of the greatest miracles known to humankind.
Today is Valentine's Day - the perfect day to combine my favorite loves, chocolate and love. But this year there is no combining the two. There is no love in my life, neither new or old. There is just me, and I am quite content not to be bound to someone else. I hear so many people despairing about how they would love to have someone in their lives for Valentine's Day, but I'm telling you, count your blessings if you don't. Ask your married friends - the ones who have been married for five years or more. Sure they'll say that marriage is great, but buy them a couple of drinks, and see what really comes forth. See who's smiling now.
Perhaps next year, a year after my relationship has ended, I'll be singing a different song, but for now I'm content not to have filled out some silly card, bought a dozen ridiculous roses, or spent a fortune on high-end chocolates that I wouldn't be eating myself. No, I can just lay back and let the rest of them squirm and waste their money. Happily, I will eat my chocolates alone.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Reality at the Beach
My favorite prayer is, God, don't let reality crush me. I love and hate this life. If it wasn't for all the day to day responsibilities, disappointments, heart-breaks, let-downs, failures, and betrayals, I might call this place Nirvana or Heaven, but maybe that's why it's called Life.
I get it that I'm supposed to adjust and cope. I know that you have to create your own version of reality, and you reap what you sew, there's good times and bad times, and you gotta roll with the punches, and I've heard all the cliches that support the fact that you have to deal with it, but I still dream of being a kid again when reality was that thing beyond the hills and mountains of forever, and that, maybe, it was possible to never have to face it.
Last night I didn't sleep well. I went to Starbucks, and drank coffee. It kept me up till almost 3 a.m. I woke up bleary-eyed and feeling like my joints were glued in place. Pepito sprang from his den of blankets, furiously licked my face. It meant pee-pee time. I had no choice but to stretch and heave and push my body out of bed to take him out. I ambled downstairs like a bear emerging from hibernation, and went out into the morning light.
My eyes were blinded by the explosion. Few things are better than bright sunlight glinting off snow. I was jolted back to life, and even though I was a bit fuzzy-headed, I knew I had to make the most out of this day. I went back inside, and ordered Coleton to get dressed so we could go for a ride to the beach. I love how that kid can go from idly pushing his Lego cars and trucks one second to a state of full-tilt-throttle-open-Indy-car roaring to the finish line the next. That kind of enthusiasm can either make you crazy, or make you say, geez, I wish I was a kid again. At that moment, I fully embraced kid-crazy enthusiasm.
The catch-phrase was, "That's so five seconds ago." All the way to the beach, he kept baiting me with it. It must have been from one of the cartoons he watched, but when I'd show animated mock-enthusiastic disapproval, he erupted in laughter, Pepito being buffeted and jolted on his lap.
"Hey, that's so 4 seconds ago," he said, with an impish gleam in his eyes.
"What?" I cried out, as if kicked in the stomach. "Four seconds. I can't even breath in that time." More uncontrolled laughter. The countdown went to three, then it went to two, then to one not long before we drove into the parking lot.
Of all the beaches in town, South Pine Creek Beach gives the illusion of something a bit wild. It's not deep, maybe 40 feet at its greatest point, and not long, probably about two football fields in length, but it's far enough away from the few adjoining houses and buildings that you feel like you're on the edge of a point of no return. It's the perfect place for a boy and a dog to cut loose, and lose themselves in the moment.
While we walked, I took plenty of pictures with my cell phone. Boy and dog joyfully ran in the wind. The sun sparkled off the water. Waves rose and broke with a crash and a hiss on the well worn light-coffee-colored sand. Pepito whizzed about in butterfly bursts, turns, and stops, sniffing the sand and rocks. Coleton stood at the water's edge shouting out at the surf, sun, and sky. It reminded me of a primordial praise song and dance to the Gods and Goddesses. To high-minded academics and critics, it could have contained endless symbolism. To him it was probably just a lot fun - the unbridled urge-fulfillment that kids indulge in on a regular basis. It's the stuff that most adults, save for those in the Arts, have lost. To me, it was a view on the most wondrous, precious parts of my reality.
I didn't want to leave, like I always don't, but there comes a time when you have to. Reality has a voice, and it was calling. Besides, there was that other voice - that of Coleton telling me he was hungry, and a Seven-Eleven was not far away.
I get it that I'm supposed to adjust and cope. I know that you have to create your own version of reality, and you reap what you sew, there's good times and bad times, and you gotta roll with the punches, and I've heard all the cliches that support the fact that you have to deal with it, but I still dream of being a kid again when reality was that thing beyond the hills and mountains of forever, and that, maybe, it was possible to never have to face it.
Last night I didn't sleep well. I went to Starbucks, and drank coffee. It kept me up till almost 3 a.m. I woke up bleary-eyed and feeling like my joints were glued in place. Pepito sprang from his den of blankets, furiously licked my face. It meant pee-pee time. I had no choice but to stretch and heave and push my body out of bed to take him out. I ambled downstairs like a bear emerging from hibernation, and went out into the morning light.
My eyes were blinded by the explosion. Few things are better than bright sunlight glinting off snow. I was jolted back to life, and even though I was a bit fuzzy-headed, I knew I had to make the most out of this day. I went back inside, and ordered Coleton to get dressed so we could go for a ride to the beach. I love how that kid can go from idly pushing his Lego cars and trucks one second to a state of full-tilt-throttle-open-Indy-car roaring to the finish line the next. That kind of enthusiasm can either make you crazy, or make you say, geez, I wish I was a kid again. At that moment, I fully embraced kid-crazy enthusiasm.
The catch-phrase was, "That's so five seconds ago." All the way to the beach, he kept baiting me with it. It must have been from one of the cartoons he watched, but when I'd show animated mock-enthusiastic disapproval, he erupted in laughter, Pepito being buffeted and jolted on his lap.
"Hey, that's so 4 seconds ago," he said, with an impish gleam in his eyes.
"What?" I cried out, as if kicked in the stomach. "Four seconds. I can't even breath in that time." More uncontrolled laughter. The countdown went to three, then it went to two, then to one not long before we drove into the parking lot.
Of all the beaches in town, South Pine Creek Beach gives the illusion of something a bit wild. It's not deep, maybe 40 feet at its greatest point, and not long, probably about two football fields in length, but it's far enough away from the few adjoining houses and buildings that you feel like you're on the edge of a point of no return. It's the perfect place for a boy and a dog to cut loose, and lose themselves in the moment.
While we walked, I took plenty of pictures with my cell phone. Boy and dog joyfully ran in the wind. The sun sparkled off the water. Waves rose and broke with a crash and a hiss on the well worn light-coffee-colored sand. Pepito whizzed about in butterfly bursts, turns, and stops, sniffing the sand and rocks. Coleton stood at the water's edge shouting out at the surf, sun, and sky. It reminded me of a primordial praise song and dance to the Gods and Goddesses. To high-minded academics and critics, it could have contained endless symbolism. To him it was probably just a lot fun - the unbridled urge-fulfillment that kids indulge in on a regular basis. It's the stuff that most adults, save for those in the Arts, have lost. To me, it was a view on the most wondrous, precious parts of my reality.
I didn't want to leave, like I always don't, but there comes a time when you have to. Reality has a voice, and it was calling. Besides, there was that other voice - that of Coleton telling me he was hungry, and a Seven-Eleven was not far away.
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