My mother asked me the other day why I still have all my med bottles. She asked me why I don't just throw them out and I told her that I just wanted to hang on to them. Kind of like a timeline, I said, but I don't think she cared for that very much because she looked at me like I wasn't speaking Spanish. My father then said that I need to look at it from their point of view, and I asked what that was, and neither one of them said anything, but my mother, finally, said she didn't like it.
A few days ago, I was telling Jodi this little bit and she interrupted my telling to ask why was I keeping them. I said they were just like little mementos of the years since my diagnosis. And as I thought about it a bit more, I came up with something a little more sinister: once I was gone, these little plastic bottles would remain. All the chemical fighting, and I'd be dead and I'd leave behind lots of plastic. I said to Jodi that once I was gone, they're what would stay behind. I'm not certain what she said in response but it wasn't anything fully enthusiastic. That I do recall.
I'd also divined my parents' point of view: I'm going to die. These little bits are yet another grand reminder to them, I suppose, and to my friend, that I'm sick. Good thing too because I'd forgotten.
I don't want to turn it into a big thing but my question will always be (until it isn't fact, I suppose) is why is it that the ones who care about me the most seem to be the ones who remind me that I'm unwell? I'm not stupid, I know why, but at the same time, I wish they'd stop it. Because I don't really dwell on it as much as I think they do. I think about it from time to time sure, but what I thought would be a little eccentric way of looking at my being sick has suddenly turned into my building my proverbial coffin. The even more curious thing in regard to my family is how ever-present a specter looms over me. I know why they might think about this, but I wonder why it isn't enough for me to say I'm just doing this for the sake of doing it, it has no further meaning. It is they who add some sort of gray cloud over it. And at this point, I know there isn't anything that I can do to stop them from feeling so.
And it keeps happening.
It's rather frustrating.
It's so strange that from the very beginning everyone I know has said that my being sick isn't 'the end' and that I will still live a 'normal' life. If this is true (it isn't so let's cut THAT bullshit out right now, yes?), then stop being the reminders that I won't. How selfish am I?
Alright, I know these folk's reasons for talking to me in this manner are entirely legit and valid, because all feelings are valid. Even I know this. If this is what they think, I wonder why they won't talk to me about it when I actually ask. Why aren't we allowed to discuss these gloom-doom scenarios that everyone seems to already have, including me? Frankly, perhaps before, the boy was right and I ought to outright ask what everyone what they think about my being sick whenever these things happen. I mean, it sounds a little heavy-handed in way, but at the same time, I wish at all times my folks, my best friend, my friends saw me as me first and never ever this fucking disease.
Showing posts with label golden. Show all posts
Showing posts with label golden. Show all posts
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Junk Drawer
I'm listening to Isis's IN THE ABSENCE OF TRUTH right now after nearly posting a whiny rant about the band breaking up. I only just now discovered this, the end of the band. Which is terrible. But I posted a clumsy bit on why I love Isis over on Flickr...
This year I'm not optimistic at all, nor even realistic. 2011 will probably suck. Already, in 2011, the DMV is winning again, my car is falling apart more, and my wallet is crying. Boo-hoo, right? Anyway:
This year I'm going to do a bit of a 365 thing again, but because I'm pretty sick of myself still, I'm telling you about things I love. Because, well, I love me already, and a lot of people need better pop culture bits in their life that don't have the words 'gaga' or 'lakers' in them. Click here, there are two already, the aforementioned Isis and writer Neil Gaiman.
On the latter, I'm trying to study Gaiman's work. Because it would be fun to dissect his comics and novels and children's books and even blog posts. And at the same time, as I begin with NEVERWHERE, I'm wondering why am I doing it aside from my secret obvious reason? I think there's an underlying thread through all of his work that says something to me about our world; even in Wall or The Dreaming there are aspects of our universe. I kick myself for not being more academic over the years. Anyway, as it is, at the very least, I get to re-read some of the best stories I've ever read anywhere.
January is only three days old and already I know it won't be the end of all the personal life bullshit from last year. "So it goes..."
I'm not prone to body image issues. Sure, I complain about the few gray hairs I have, about my belly being too big for its own good, and, man, if I was only six inches taller! but I don't really take it to the next level, you know, when you start obsessing over it (if the folk I knew would just fucking stop that already!). I took a picture and immediately deleted it last night. That's it.
Saw David O. Russell's THE FIGHTER. Which was absolutely fucking great! I would totally have added it to my list if I had six spaces in it. So, let's see, Top Ten Movies: BLACK SWAN, THE SOCIAL NETWORK, INCEPTION, NEVER LET ME GO, SCOTT PILGRIM VS THE WORLD, THE FIGHTER... see? that's it! Whatever, go see it before it's out of theaters!
When Golden and I were recently on the phone, the two of us on the verge of tears for different reasons, I told her I wanted to give myself something new. I haven't traveled in a long time and I want to again. I love traveling. I love traveling alone most of all because I am better without people that way. Truth be told, the last trip I took I enjoyed the most was the alone bits in Dallas and San Diego and New York. But these places, I've been to and I want something new. I want to go to Seattle again, and Chicago, and again to Philadelphia. I never once imagined going anywhere else in the United States than these places. However, on my browser there is an open tab with a list that includes New Orleans, Austin, Cleveland, and Denver. Also, London would be lovely.
(Hm that last paragraph reminds me of Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE.)
I'm not sure what compelled me to jot all this down.
This year I'm not optimistic at all, nor even realistic. 2011 will probably suck. Already, in 2011, the DMV is winning again, my car is falling apart more, and my wallet is crying. Boo-hoo, right? Anyway:
This year I'm going to do a bit of a 365 thing again, but because I'm pretty sick of myself still, I'm telling you about things I love. Because, well, I love me already, and a lot of people need better pop culture bits in their life that don't have the words 'gaga' or 'lakers' in them. Click here, there are two already, the aforementioned Isis and writer Neil Gaiman.
On the latter, I'm trying to study Gaiman's work. Because it would be fun to dissect his comics and novels and children's books and even blog posts. And at the same time, as I begin with NEVERWHERE, I'm wondering why am I doing it aside from my secret obvious reason? I think there's an underlying thread through all of his work that says something to me about our world; even in Wall or The Dreaming there are aspects of our universe. I kick myself for not being more academic over the years. Anyway, as it is, at the very least, I get to re-read some of the best stories I've ever read anywhere.
January is only three days old and already I know it won't be the end of all the personal life bullshit from last year. "So it goes..."
I'm not prone to body image issues. Sure, I complain about the few gray hairs I have, about my belly being too big for its own good, and, man, if I was only six inches taller! but I don't really take it to the next level, you know, when you start obsessing over it (if the folk I knew would just fucking stop that already!). I took a picture and immediately deleted it last night. That's it.
Saw David O. Russell's THE FIGHTER. Which was absolutely fucking great! I would totally have added it to my list if I had six spaces in it. So, let's see, Top Ten Movies: BLACK SWAN, THE SOCIAL NETWORK, INCEPTION, NEVER LET ME GO, SCOTT PILGRIM VS THE WORLD, THE FIGHTER... see? that's it! Whatever, go see it before it's out of theaters!
When Golden and I were recently on the phone, the two of us on the verge of tears for different reasons, I told her I wanted to give myself something new. I haven't traveled in a long time and I want to again. I love traveling. I love traveling alone most of all because I am better without people that way. Truth be told, the last trip I took I enjoyed the most was the alone bits in Dallas and San Diego and New York. But these places, I've been to and I want something new. I want to go to Seattle again, and Chicago, and again to Philadelphia. I never once imagined going anywhere else in the United States than these places. However, on my browser there is an open tab with a list that includes New Orleans, Austin, Cleveland, and Denver. Also, London would be lovely.
(Hm that last paragraph reminds me of Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE.)
I'm not sure what compelled me to jot all this down.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Two
Yesterday afternoon, my best friend and I were on the phone for a bit. We caught up on some menial work things, not-so-menial life things, and we talked about boys. One of the things that came up during conversation was how 2010 sucked. Well, I'm the one that started because it did. As I said in the previous post, wishing is for regrets, but there was something I arrived to yesterday: 2010 taught me nothing.
Maybe my little cursory glance back to the preceding year is mired in my own bitterness and hate. Who knows? I think anyone who knows me well will say I'm probably wrong. Good thing they're all sleeping. So, in our talking, I was telling Golden how there are two moments that stand out to me from 2010 that make me feel good in their own way.
The first, back in February, when we were in San Diego and he was sleeping and I walked out into an early and sleeping downtown to get coffee and juice for us. I walked out and it felt so great and glorious because I can't really recall: I was alone and there was a bit of chill and no one was about and the sun was out. And I remember very clearly walking toward a main street , making a left, and the glare from the sun coming off a building hitting me especially strong but not hurtful. I was isolated in the city. And for a few moments, before I had to head back to the hotel where he'd be waking, it was the best place I could possibly have been (a while back, I listened to Mogwai's NEW PATHS TO HELICON PT 1 and it reminded me of that).
The second was in March, when Golden was in town and we were off to meet her and Terry so see J-Live in downtown Long Beach. Ricardo and I pulled into the parking lot, I don't remember what we were talking about (probably some bullshit having to do with drinking or girls or both), but we laughed and laughed. And as mean as it sounds, I remember glancing over at a group of girls who were getting out of a car, a few of whom were dressed ridiculously for the type of show we were about to catch, and I made a ridiculous comment about how the whores are out in full force. But Ricardo didn't laugh because he saw that they were girls we knew. Oops.
Golden asked me if even the relationship taught me anything useful and I don't think it did. Neither did constant doctor issues, neither did family troubles, neither did money problems, neither did work issues. I don't recall a single good thing - even learning experience - that I can take away from 2010. At least I had that in 2009.
But this is all coming off rather depressing and emo.
It's not necessarily that 2010 was all bad, even I know this and readily admitted. But as the year comes to a close, I'm left with a feeling of "was that it?" I'm left thinking that there was no forward movement in life. There were not transformations, there was no transgression, no illumination. Maybe I'm to fucking stubborn to see it and recognize it, all of these things, but I'd gamble 2011 that I'm not wrong.
Maybe my little cursory glance back to the preceding year is mired in my own bitterness and hate. Who knows? I think anyone who knows me well will say I'm probably wrong. Good thing they're all sleeping. So, in our talking, I was telling Golden how there are two moments that stand out to me from 2010 that make me feel good in their own way.
The first, back in February, when we were in San Diego and he was sleeping and I walked out into an early and sleeping downtown to get coffee and juice for us. I walked out and it felt so great and glorious because I can't really recall: I was alone and there was a bit of chill and no one was about and the sun was out. And I remember very clearly walking toward a main street , making a left, and the glare from the sun coming off a building hitting me especially strong but not hurtful. I was isolated in the city. And for a few moments, before I had to head back to the hotel where he'd be waking, it was the best place I could possibly have been (a while back, I listened to Mogwai's NEW PATHS TO HELICON PT 1 and it reminded me of that).
The second was in March, when Golden was in town and we were off to meet her and Terry so see J-Live in downtown Long Beach. Ricardo and I pulled into the parking lot, I don't remember what we were talking about (probably some bullshit having to do with drinking or girls or both), but we laughed and laughed. And as mean as it sounds, I remember glancing over at a group of girls who were getting out of a car, a few of whom were dressed ridiculously for the type of show we were about to catch, and I made a ridiculous comment about how the whores are out in full force. But Ricardo didn't laugh because he saw that they were girls we knew. Oops.
Golden asked me if even the relationship taught me anything useful and I don't think it did. Neither did constant doctor issues, neither did family troubles, neither did money problems, neither did work issues. I don't recall a single good thing - even learning experience - that I can take away from 2010. At least I had that in 2009.
But this is all coming off rather depressing and emo.
It's not necessarily that 2010 was all bad, even I know this and readily admitted. But as the year comes to a close, I'm left with a feeling of "was that it?" I'm left thinking that there was no forward movement in life. There were not transformations, there was no transgression, no illumination. Maybe I'm to fucking stubborn to see it and recognize it, all of these things, but I'd gamble 2011 that I'm not wrong.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Slanted & Enchanted
A lot of people have said to me over the years that things in life happen for a reason. Things must happen in a certain patterned way for life to revolve as it should. Most of these people are probably rather insane. I know of two who aren't, and the reason why I think they aren't insane is because there is an odd type of logic as we talk about certain things. One of them is my best friend and we had a long telephone conversation today. The other is my boyfriend, Corey.
Recently, I told Corey how everything I was reading or watching contained the name Didi. Watched Don Roos's excellent first film THE OPPOSITE OF SEX and in it Didi is the central terrible harridan of a lead character portrayed by Christina Ricci. As I was reading Don DeLillo's COSMOPOLIS, Erick Parker's art dealer lover is named Didi: an older woman who makes time for her young lover because he is more fascinating to her than attractive. Then, Corey lent me his copy of DRAWING BLOOD by Poppy Z Brite wherein Trevor Black's younger brother's nickname is Didi, but he dies at the beginning of the story so there isn't very much there about him anyway. In brief conversation over this with Corey, as he does when I talk to him about lots of things, he pointed out the very different outlets by very different creators about very different things all seemed to have found their way into my current state and obviously something clicked in me. I said, as I often do, it's just coincidence. Corey said to me that's several very specific coincidences. He may've laughed at that point.
Didi is Cynthia's nickname. Cynthia is a girl I think I know.
Late last winter, I realized that the girl from fall 2006 wasn't even around anymore. In various capacities. I'd lost the closest friend I'd made since moving back to California. Previously, of course as I found out, she stayed away from me for the very retarded reason that her boyfriend was feeling a bit insecure with me in the picture. And last winter, as she started seeing someone else, it got to be a very familiar scene. I'm leaving out the few tough talks she had with me and I with her about our rather strange dynamic. Keep in mind also that I'm leaving out a nearly ten year age difference. I've written before that it simply feels as if I was wrong in choosing this person as my friend. In a very unfair and selfish and irrational way, had I known what would happen, I wouldn't have pursued anything beyond a working relationship with her. So strange that folk that you're not romantically or familially (sic) linked to can hurt you.
Not everything has been bad. In fact, we've had lots of terribly great times. Great talks. Experiences. And even when I've been at my worst, I've managed to get a smile from her and vice versa. Ah, but we that could make things different, would be even?
So, all of these signs as Corey might say, right? I've not spoken to her in months. Over the last year, since a last trip out to Las Vegas, I've maybe seen her five different times? We live fifteen minutes apart. She goes to school five minutes away. It makes me wonder if she, like me, thinks that I'm not a very good friend. I wonder whether or not she thinks I'm not worth the effort as a person. Perhaps she's too much involved with whoever her current boyfriend is to not include me. Here I am going on and on, sort of putting the onus of our fractured relationship on her shoulders, I'm forgetting to burden my share of it. I do that. I wouldn't mind hearing it. But I won't.
In a similar way to how Corey and I were talking about her then, I had a brief conversation about her with Golden the other day. Maturity and age and friendship were themes, and in the middle of it I remembered something Corey said to me a few months back about when folk get married, each individual's friends fall into the background or disappear. I wonder whether it's that, you know, if it's what Corey said in a way. Do some people function this way? I know I do not and will not.
As recently as this week, Corey's had a conversation with an old friend with whom he had a really strong friendship which ended, not unsurprisingly, over a "misunderstanding." As he and I were texting about that late last night, it brought back to the forefront what I'd written weeks ago about my own old friend. Still, didn't finish those thoughts. But here I am writing all this histrionic melodramatic drivel instead, aren't I? This is why: Corey's having a one-man show in about a week and he sent out a Facebook even invite over it and I forwarded it to the people who I know who live in southern California, Cynthia being one of those on that very short list. This afternoon, Corey says she'd accepted the invite to go to his show. They've never met, and she and I have not had a friendly conversation in quite some time. Corey said to me it could be a sign that she wants to reconnect. Golden intimated the same thing. And as before I am skeptical.
But that's all I get.
Anyway, this rant is over. Or is it an observation?
Recently, I told Corey how everything I was reading or watching contained the name Didi. Watched Don Roos's excellent first film THE OPPOSITE OF SEX and in it Didi is the central terrible harridan of a lead character portrayed by Christina Ricci. As I was reading Don DeLillo's COSMOPOLIS, Erick Parker's art dealer lover is named Didi: an older woman who makes time for her young lover because he is more fascinating to her than attractive. Then, Corey lent me his copy of DRAWING BLOOD by Poppy Z Brite wherein Trevor Black's younger brother's nickname is Didi, but he dies at the beginning of the story so there isn't very much there about him anyway. In brief conversation over this with Corey, as he does when I talk to him about lots of things, he pointed out the very different outlets by very different creators about very different things all seemed to have found their way into my current state and obviously something clicked in me. I said, as I often do, it's just coincidence. Corey said to me that's several very specific coincidences. He may've laughed at that point.
Didi is Cynthia's nickname. Cynthia is a girl I think I know.
Late last winter, I realized that the girl from fall 2006 wasn't even around anymore. In various capacities. I'd lost the closest friend I'd made since moving back to California. Previously, of course as I found out, she stayed away from me for the very retarded reason that her boyfriend was feeling a bit insecure with me in the picture. And last winter, as she started seeing someone else, it got to be a very familiar scene. I'm leaving out the few tough talks she had with me and I with her about our rather strange dynamic. Keep in mind also that I'm leaving out a nearly ten year age difference. I've written before that it simply feels as if I was wrong in choosing this person as my friend. In a very unfair and selfish and irrational way, had I known what would happen, I wouldn't have pursued anything beyond a working relationship with her. So strange that folk that you're not romantically or familially (sic) linked to can hurt you.
Not everything has been bad. In fact, we've had lots of terribly great times. Great talks. Experiences. And even when I've been at my worst, I've managed to get a smile from her and vice versa. Ah, but we that could make things different, would be even?
So, all of these signs as Corey might say, right? I've not spoken to her in months. Over the last year, since a last trip out to Las Vegas, I've maybe seen her five different times? We live fifteen minutes apart. She goes to school five minutes away. It makes me wonder if she, like me, thinks that I'm not a very good friend. I wonder whether or not she thinks I'm not worth the effort as a person. Perhaps she's too much involved with whoever her current boyfriend is to not include me. Here I am going on and on, sort of putting the onus of our fractured relationship on her shoulders, I'm forgetting to burden my share of it. I do that. I wouldn't mind hearing it. But I won't.
In a similar way to how Corey and I were talking about her then, I had a brief conversation about her with Golden the other day. Maturity and age and friendship were themes, and in the middle of it I remembered something Corey said to me a few months back about when folk get married, each individual's friends fall into the background or disappear. I wonder whether it's that, you know, if it's what Corey said in a way. Do some people function this way? I know I do not and will not.
As recently as this week, Corey's had a conversation with an old friend with whom he had a really strong friendship which ended, not unsurprisingly, over a "misunderstanding." As he and I were texting about that late last night, it brought back to the forefront what I'd written weeks ago about my own old friend. Still, didn't finish those thoughts. But here I am writing all this histrionic melodramatic drivel instead, aren't I? This is why: Corey's having a one-man show in about a week and he sent out a Facebook even invite over it and I forwarded it to the people who I know who live in southern California, Cynthia being one of those on that very short list. This afternoon, Corey says she'd accepted the invite to go to his show. They've never met, and she and I have not had a friendly conversation in quite some time. Corey said to me it could be a sign that she wants to reconnect. Golden intimated the same thing. And as before I am skeptical.
But that's all I get.
Anyway, this rant is over. Or is it an observation?
Monday, June 28, 2010
Run
I don't want to come off as one of those assholes who find some strange sense of worth in saying out into the world that I never ask for anything (which I don't) so I won't. I'm a different sort of asshole. But in a strange, if not unexpected, turn of events, it's becoming increasingly difficult to put on that I'm fine and everything will be okay attitude when I wake up in the morning. Look, I think I'm a pretty realistic person, I really think I am, and perhaps that's where my naivetee comes from, my lack of maturity, my weirdly romantic notions about the world and life and people (which now sounds oxymoronic), so, realistically, I'm wondering how much longer this will all keep up.
Over the last three weeks, I've built up from walking to jogging 1-2 miles near daily (six days straight, on and off the others) because I've this need for something that is mine, you know. And counting on anything or anyone for it seems awfully difficult. My inbox and voicemail stay empty day in and day out and that gets to be really difficult to deal with given my family's and my situations. That's a huge piece I'm missing, really, daily work. The drudgery most working class folk complain about daily, I miss it. I accomplish things daily at work, frustrating as that may be. So, I run instead. If I could run for ten hours daily five days a week, really. But, please, that doesn't pay the bills.
When I talk to Corey, when I talk to my family, when I talk to my best friend, what can I say, this is a big part of it for me. Perhaps as Corey's intimated in the past, I am one of those people who define themselves by their work. It's become my life and without it, without that sort of structure and discipline, nearly everything else in me stops working properly. You see, it's happen a few times before. Details notwithstanding, I've been here before.
This is all the practical stuff. What's not necessarily the most important in life. But it makes life happen. Let's be real.
So fine, I just lay in bed trying to sleep, worrying about all this fucking bullshit, trying to ignore the slight pain in my knee, and I can't, and I fire up this computer, do some online looking and fill out more and more forms and at the end of each, after hitting the submit button, I think, foolishly, maybe futilely, this one will be it.
Anyway, a little venting and a little me cowering in some corner time is allowed I think. I'm all for a good attitude and all but I'm not made of stone. But while all of this happens, good and bad, I'm going for a quick run.
Good morning.
"I struggled to love and provide. How many of you know the true and bitter force of that simple word provide?"
- Don DeLillo, COSMOPOLIS
Over the last three weeks, I've built up from walking to jogging 1-2 miles near daily (six days straight, on and off the others) because I've this need for something that is mine, you know. And counting on anything or anyone for it seems awfully difficult. My inbox and voicemail stay empty day in and day out and that gets to be really difficult to deal with given my family's and my situations. That's a huge piece I'm missing, really, daily work. The drudgery most working class folk complain about daily, I miss it. I accomplish things daily at work, frustrating as that may be. So, I run instead. If I could run for ten hours daily five days a week, really. But, please, that doesn't pay the bills.
When I talk to Corey, when I talk to my family, when I talk to my best friend, what can I say, this is a big part of it for me. Perhaps as Corey's intimated in the past, I am one of those people who define themselves by their work. It's become my life and without it, without that sort of structure and discipline, nearly everything else in me stops working properly. You see, it's happen a few times before. Details notwithstanding, I've been here before.
This is all the practical stuff. What's not necessarily the most important in life. But it makes life happen. Let's be real.
So fine, I just lay in bed trying to sleep, worrying about all this fucking bullshit, trying to ignore the slight pain in my knee, and I can't, and I fire up this computer, do some online looking and fill out more and more forms and at the end of each, after hitting the submit button, I think, foolishly, maybe futilely, this one will be it.
Anyway, a little venting and a little me cowering in some corner time is allowed I think. I'm all for a good attitude and all but I'm not made of stone. But while all of this happens, good and bad, I'm going for a quick run.
Good morning.
"I struggled to love and provide. How many of you know the true and bitter force of that simple word provide?"
- Don DeLillo, COSMOPOLIS
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Choice
Here I am.
There's a bit to be said for going into things half-cocked, you know. Probably, most of what can be said isn't very good because jumping in the water without knowing how deep it is could lead to brain smashing results. Anyway.
It's been difficult. It is difficult. All these things that are happening right now and the things that are not happening. Said to my brothers the other day how it is the first time in our lives that we're finding ourselves more alike than ever...in dramatically despairing ways. We kind of laughed about it for a moment. Before, last week or the week before, the entire family is having lunch and we're talking about my niece's schooling and we're talking about the paradoxism of parents telling kids to not do what they did even though they came out better people for it. We're talking travel and we're talking going back to school (my sister-in-law is currently in a Master's Program) and having kids (new nephew, exactly twenty-three days old today). We're this little group of people who, when the water's not been deep enough, has been there for each other. For me. And I look around at these people I love and wonder who can we, collectively, turn to now? There is no one you see. And I'm talking about pragmatism, because that's an out right now that none of us seem to have.
Neither of my brothers and I have been able to find work. For whichever reasons there may be, it's come to the point where, personally, I'm having a lot of difficulty thinking about anything but and feeling, not lost, but a huge sense of weight, you know. My father has three more weeks worth of work. There are two kids in my immediate family, my mother and I are in treatment for our respective illnesses. This is what I think about a lot. It's what's making me worry a lot. Literally, it's what's keeping me up at night.
Corey and I were talking before and we said how despite my own take on it, I do very much feel like part of what makes me me is that I feel the responsibility of being able to provide not for myself but for him, for my family. For everyone. And it's affects me when I can't. It really does. Noble or not, just or not, courageous or not, it's fucking driving me insane.
And it's making me very sad.
I don't want to rant on and on about these weirdly socio-econimic structures we're in, the plight of the poor, the battles of the middle class, our constant consumerist culture, the irrelevance of bits of the private/public sector.
When I left Las Vegas five years ago this coming weekend, things were dismal and low and shattered in very many places. And the cliche of history repeating isn't far from my mind, and just like then, doing something about takes so much damned time. It does. It's not the lack of doing or the lack of focus or the lack of attention. That's what gets me a little powered for something. It's the waiting, this interim, this space that makes it all seem overwhelming and very stressful and very, very terrible. And, honest, this interim, as terrible as it feels sometimes, I don't know that it's not entirely deserved, you know.
I've never been one to cast off blame to anyone or anything when something bad occurs to me because these things happen because of what I do or don't do, and blaming anyone and anything else other than myself is total bullshit. But my problem is I'm harder on myself than anyone else. I guess that applies to most of us, doesn't it?
So, I've spent the last few hours imagining how I'm going to tackle this upcoming week and after a quick talk with Corey the other night, and joking a bit with my two brothers earlier, perhaps it doesn't need to be so difficult. What's upcoming? Choice.
There's a bit to be said for going into things half-cocked, you know. Probably, most of what can be said isn't very good because jumping in the water without knowing how deep it is could lead to brain smashing results. Anyway.
It's been difficult. It is difficult. All these things that are happening right now and the things that are not happening. Said to my brothers the other day how it is the first time in our lives that we're finding ourselves more alike than ever...in dramatically despairing ways. We kind of laughed about it for a moment. Before, last week or the week before, the entire family is having lunch and we're talking about my niece's schooling and we're talking about the paradoxism of parents telling kids to not do what they did even though they came out better people for it. We're talking travel and we're talking going back to school (my sister-in-law is currently in a Master's Program) and having kids (new nephew, exactly twenty-three days old today). We're this little group of people who, when the water's not been deep enough, has been there for each other. For me. And I look around at these people I love and wonder who can we, collectively, turn to now? There is no one you see. And I'm talking about pragmatism, because that's an out right now that none of us seem to have.
Neither of my brothers and I have been able to find work. For whichever reasons there may be, it's come to the point where, personally, I'm having a lot of difficulty thinking about anything but and feeling, not lost, but a huge sense of weight, you know. My father has three more weeks worth of work. There are two kids in my immediate family, my mother and I are in treatment for our respective illnesses. This is what I think about a lot. It's what's making me worry a lot. Literally, it's what's keeping me up at night.
Corey and I were talking before and we said how despite my own take on it, I do very much feel like part of what makes me me is that I feel the responsibility of being able to provide not for myself but for him, for my family. For everyone. And it's affects me when I can't. It really does. Noble or not, just or not, courageous or not, it's fucking driving me insane.
And it's making me very sad.
I don't want to rant on and on about these weirdly socio-econimic structures we're in, the plight of the poor, the battles of the middle class, our constant consumerist culture, the irrelevance of bits of the private/public sector.
When I left Las Vegas five years ago this coming weekend, things were dismal and low and shattered in very many places. And the cliche of history repeating isn't far from my mind, and just like then, doing something about takes so much damned time. It does. It's not the lack of doing or the lack of focus or the lack of attention. That's what gets me a little powered for something. It's the waiting, this interim, this space that makes it all seem overwhelming and very stressful and very, very terrible. And, honest, this interim, as terrible as it feels sometimes, I don't know that it's not entirely deserved, you know.
I've never been one to cast off blame to anyone or anything when something bad occurs to me because these things happen because of what I do or don't do, and blaming anyone and anything else other than myself is total bullshit. But my problem is I'm harder on myself than anyone else. I guess that applies to most of us, doesn't it?
So, I've spent the last few hours imagining how I'm going to tackle this upcoming week and after a quick talk with Corey the other night, and joking a bit with my two brothers earlier, perhaps it doesn't need to be so difficult. What's upcoming? Choice.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Blue Sky
Last night, while on the phone with Golden, I needed to take one my meds, and did. And tried very hard to articulate to my best friend how I'd just had a little dispiriting moment. She said I better continue taking my meds and I tried to tell her that it wasn't that I wouldn't continue taking them, but that the fact that I had just then done it made me think, 'Shit, here we are, for life,' and she said I better. So, I tried again that it wasn't as if the medication was an option but that I was yet again reminded that I had to take them because it'll keep me a little safer for alittle while longer (Corey and I joke that they keep us alive (which is true but then I guess for someone who's not HIV/AIDS positive, they might think that's a fucked thing for anyone to say, but, hey it makes us laugh)), and my best friend just castigated me a bit that I better not consider stopping.
Sigh, right?
I've often wondered what goes on through my family's individual minds about me whenever this topic comes up, intentionally or not. I was on the phone with Golden, so I just verybalized what I thought, and I wonder if she did the same. Who really knows. Sometimes I just want to ask them straight out if they think I feel different physically, do they think I feel as if I'm ebbing away, are they constantly thinking that I'm dying, what do they see when they see me? Two years ago I began shaving my head, and my mother had a fucking fit over that because she and my father both said it reminded them I was sick. Now, so far removed, I call bullshit on that. At the time I didn't, but I did ask if they honestly thought that's what I looked like, a sick person. Neither really said so.
Yes, every so often I have pangs of, 'Man, I am seriously fucked and sick and shit,' and I feel bad about it for a moment but it passes more quickly than you'd think. Maybe feel bad is the wrong phrase. But for a brief moment, I'm taken back to three years ago and I'm thinking that I've this weird dark cloud over me that no one I love except for Corey really understand. The people in my life, how do you tell them that randomly, briefly, for just a moment, I realize I've a disease that could be killing me rightnowthisverysecond?
Sure, even a dark rain cloud passes over time, but mostly after it's left its mark on the rain-soaked ground.
Sigh, right?
I've often wondered what goes on through my family's individual minds about me whenever this topic comes up, intentionally or not. I was on the phone with Golden, so I just verybalized what I thought, and I wonder if she did the same. Who really knows. Sometimes I just want to ask them straight out if they think I feel different physically, do they think I feel as if I'm ebbing away, are they constantly thinking that I'm dying, what do they see when they see me? Two years ago I began shaving my head, and my mother had a fucking fit over that because she and my father both said it reminded them I was sick. Now, so far removed, I call bullshit on that. At the time I didn't, but I did ask if they honestly thought that's what I looked like, a sick person. Neither really said so.
Yes, every so often I have pangs of, 'Man, I am seriously fucked and sick and shit,' and I feel bad about it for a moment but it passes more quickly than you'd think. Maybe feel bad is the wrong phrase. But for a brief moment, I'm taken back to three years ago and I'm thinking that I've this weird dark cloud over me that no one I love except for Corey really understand. The people in my life, how do you tell them that randomly, briefly, for just a moment, I realize I've a disease that could be killing me rightnowthisverysecond?
Sure, even a dark rain cloud passes over time, but mostly after it's left its mark on the rain-soaked ground.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Re-Gifters
We were talking gifts the other day.
I don't keep very many things people give me over the years, whether friends or ex's. Because there is a disassociation with the people who gave them to me. Corey and I were talking, and this is what I said. I don't return anything that was given to me that I don't like because I appreciate the gesture and thought. But once that particular relationship is dissolved, whether through my or the other person's actions/inactions, there is no point in cluttering my life with things.
Don't get me wrong: I keep things that truly matter in context.
But most things do not last that long. People don't last that long.
I'm really not much one for gifts. I mean, I like giving to someone something I think they will like, or I know they want, or both. But as far as I'm concerned, the gesture, not the thing itself, matters a little more.
I was thinking that there wasn't anything from the last, say, ten years that I've kept beyond the 'I like it' part of it. But there are. A few. One being the envelope Golden gave me back in 2003 with the zine she made. Another is from 2004 when Justin mailed me a framed and autographed version of this photo. Another is this bracelet Cynthia gave me. And most recently, it's this list of things Corey gave me for Valentine's Day. I have these things and will continue having them because they matter in the context of my life at these various points in time. And, truly, most everything else I've gotten does not stand up very well to this test.
(Don't misunderstand: I've other things from before, during, and after the ones above. But the sentimental cache if you will isn't there anymore and I keep a CD because I like the music in it, for example.)
Corey called it 'love stories in the trash' in a text. But it's not nearly that, I don't think. Sometimes, I come across something someone's given me and that person and I no longer have any sort of emotional or personal or even practical attachment, so why keep it? Years ago, this girl, Carly, gave me a framed picture of her and me at her birthday party and I got rid of it a few years ago because...there is not reason for me to have it any more. It reminds of all the things kids write in year books during the last week of classes and we write "K-I-T" but no one does it; it's the polite thing to do because we know full-well that we are not going to do it. I know I'm not. I don't have anything anyone's given me who is no longer a meaningful part of my life. With very few exceptions. Funny thing: my best friend tweeted this quote from SEX & THE CITY as I began typing this.
All of this reminds me, of course, of CHOKE by Chuck Palahniuk: "You'd be surprised how easy it is to close the door to your past."
I'm not sure if this means that I'm more utilitarian than I think I am, or just more petty. Probably a little of both (or a lot of both.).
But then it makes me think of whether or not I place a higher value on the thing than the person. I mean, I have a handful of things that mean something to me - a good memory, a sad one - but the person from whom it came, why don't I have the same emotional attachment to it? Obvious answer is, well, I held that person in high regard but they showed me I was wrong and they are worth less than what they say. How vile does that last sentence sound?
While I'm not partial to receiving (I'm going to snicker at the double entendre!) anything, I suppose thinking that the person who got me something to for any effect probably has in their mind that I will always have it. I mean, I do when I give. For the most part I think we all do. I really do. But once that relationship is dissolved, then what? Clutter. It's the literal representation of when we say about each other that we have a lot of baggage with us at all times. Perhaps when I get rid of that book you gave me because it comes with baggage: you.
I don't keep very many things people give me over the years, whether friends or ex's. Because there is a disassociation with the people who gave them to me. Corey and I were talking, and this is what I said. I don't return anything that was given to me that I don't like because I appreciate the gesture and thought. But once that particular relationship is dissolved, whether through my or the other person's actions/inactions, there is no point in cluttering my life with things.
Don't get me wrong: I keep things that truly matter in context.
But most things do not last that long. People don't last that long.
I'm really not much one for gifts. I mean, I like giving to someone something I think they will like, or I know they want, or both. But as far as I'm concerned, the gesture, not the thing itself, matters a little more.
I was thinking that there wasn't anything from the last, say, ten years that I've kept beyond the 'I like it' part of it. But there are. A few. One being the envelope Golden gave me back in 2003 with the zine she made. Another is from 2004 when Justin mailed me a framed and autographed version of this photo. Another is this bracelet Cynthia gave me. And most recently, it's this list of things Corey gave me for Valentine's Day. I have these things and will continue having them because they matter in the context of my life at these various points in time. And, truly, most everything else I've gotten does not stand up very well to this test.
(Don't misunderstand: I've other things from before, during, and after the ones above. But the sentimental cache if you will isn't there anymore and I keep a CD because I like the music in it, for example.)
Corey called it 'love stories in the trash' in a text. But it's not nearly that, I don't think. Sometimes, I come across something someone's given me and that person and I no longer have any sort of emotional or personal or even practical attachment, so why keep it? Years ago, this girl, Carly, gave me a framed picture of her and me at her birthday party and I got rid of it a few years ago because...there is not reason for me to have it any more. It reminds of all the things kids write in year books during the last week of classes and we write "K-I-T" but no one does it; it's the polite thing to do because we know full-well that we are not going to do it. I know I'm not. I don't have anything anyone's given me who is no longer a meaningful part of my life. With very few exceptions. Funny thing: my best friend tweeted this quote from SEX & THE CITY as I began typing this.
All of this reminds me, of course, of CHOKE by Chuck Palahniuk: "You'd be surprised how easy it is to close the door to your past."
I'm not sure if this means that I'm more utilitarian than I think I am, or just more petty. Probably a little of both (or a lot of both.).
But then it makes me think of whether or not I place a higher value on the thing than the person. I mean, I have a handful of things that mean something to me - a good memory, a sad one - but the person from whom it came, why don't I have the same emotional attachment to it? Obvious answer is, well, I held that person in high regard but they showed me I was wrong and they are worth less than what they say. How vile does that last sentence sound?
While I'm not partial to receiving (I'm going to snicker at the double entendre!) anything, I suppose thinking that the person who got me something to for any effect probably has in their mind that I will always have it. I mean, I do when I give. For the most part I think we all do. I really do. But once that relationship is dissolved, then what? Clutter. It's the literal representation of when we say about each other that we have a lot of baggage with us at all times. Perhaps when I get rid of that book you gave me because it comes with baggage: you.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Tonight, Next Year
We went to lunch and a short walk and a movie and a fast-food dinner.
We talk for hours about meaningful things. And there've been some frustrations on both sides of the conversation over the last year.
One of the things we talked about today (yesterday?) was time and how I feel my perception of time is skewed. Before, I've said that there is no such thing as time, and I'm awake all it is is change and entropy (grand and original though, hey?). But as we're talking briefly about the preceeding year, and I think again how everything that happened last year had to have happened in my life, it still feels as if everything was just yesterday (more accurately, all of it happened last week), and he says he feels he's a bit more removed than I am from all of that. Last year wasn't absolutely terrible, but it wasn't good, was it?
And when we're laying next to each other - sweat and come spent - I feel like I'm trying to see if tonight will seem like yesterday next year. Or if he'll see tonight as having happened years ago next year.
We both agreed that everything that's happened since January seems to be compressed into a much shorter amount of time than three months. A lot has indeed happened in three months for him and me and us, definitely not everything has been unambiguous and not everything has been sad.
Just got off the phone with my best friend and we're talking, not about time, no, but we're talking about making reckless choices, or having the choices be made for us. Which is the better option? As I tend to do, I vote for the former.
So, we strip off each other's clothes and move and maneuver and kiss and grind and lick and envelop each other and you know what? fuck next year.
We talk for hours about meaningful things. And there've been some frustrations on both sides of the conversation over the last year.
One of the things we talked about today (yesterday?) was time and how I feel my perception of time is skewed. Before, I've said that there is no such thing as time, and I'm awake all it is is change and entropy (grand and original though, hey?). But as we're talking briefly about the preceeding year, and I think again how everything that happened last year had to have happened in my life, it still feels as if everything was just yesterday (more accurately, all of it happened last week), and he says he feels he's a bit more removed than I am from all of that. Last year wasn't absolutely terrible, but it wasn't good, was it?
And when we're laying next to each other - sweat and come spent - I feel like I'm trying to see if tonight will seem like yesterday next year. Or if he'll see tonight as having happened years ago next year.
We both agreed that everything that's happened since January seems to be compressed into a much shorter amount of time than three months. A lot has indeed happened in three months for him and me and us, definitely not everything has been unambiguous and not everything has been sad.
Just got off the phone with my best friend and we're talking, not about time, no, but we're talking about making reckless choices, or having the choices be made for us. Which is the better option? As I tend to do, I vote for the former.
So, we strip off each other's clothes and move and maneuver and kiss and grind and lick and envelop each other and you know what? fuck next year.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
We Laugh
What's been happening isn't anything that's too surprising...for me.
And what's been happening is also one of the most beautiful adventures of my thirty-three years.
My lack of a life plan never included anything like what Corey brings to my life. And that IS surprising. What isn't is that I click so well with him. That he gets me and if he doesn't he tries to (people just don't try anymore, do they?). And he's funny and insanely smart and beautiful and such a nerd and such a lovely human. I say a lot how lucky I am to have him in my life, and I know I am. It isn't often if ever that anyone out in the world who isn't family, with one exception, astonishes me as much as he does. This is no hyperbole.
So, this man in the photo with me (which he took), the one I'm laughing with (were we laughing at the idea of taking pictures? waking up in the hotel after little sleep and lots of nakedness?), is he the one I've been waiting for only I didn't know it? I don't know...
...but I definitely want to find out.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Fate
As I'm typing this, I should be changing clothes and I got a text message saying, "p.s. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" from Corey.
Today, I turned thirty-three years old. And I think and I wonder what's the big deal with me? Why's it that even a birthday is more problematic for me than it need be? Of course, it's not always about me, so I just need to get over it.
Thirty-two was very impressive. I'm not prone to thinking about fate or destiny in any way, but, as I said to Corey on new year's day, perhaps the preceding year needed to happen the way it did because I learned so much from it. It hurt me and it loved me unlike anything ever before. It isn't hyperbole. I can look back and see various instances where I got a chance to show all my little cracks everywhere and be adored for it; I allowed myself to not be a piece of sharp metal all the time. My family and I, this year was very precarious and I'm glad well all came out of it relatively unscathed. And, for me, thirty-two showed me what I'm missing in my life.
Spent a lot of time with the best friend from the very beginning. Probably the most in nearly five years since I left Las Vegas. And as it's worked out, she was my foil through this last year. I don't know if she knows it, but with her reflecting what's good and right and appropriate at various points, I could see nearly every single time that what I did and said or not had value or had value taken away. I hardly ever see things in these terms. Because, mostly, I see life as a series of unconnected events I get the chance to wade through. And I still believe this. But just because I go through these experiences and see these people, I have a say in how it will all turn out.
Some things just are. But not everything can be left up to chance.
Golden and I would say often how we should be more punk rock about life and take chances. She and I exchange this little bit of wisdom, and I, for one, didn't stick to it. And now that thirty-three is here to stay, I'm reminded of something else I wrote late last year (which I deleted because I'm done with those histrionics).
I'm not going to foretell this year, but what I've seen so far of it, I love. Truly. Because already I'm just walking through a series of events and letting them happen to me. I'm exacting some of it. Big shock: it's better. Some things just are, true. Others do mean a lot more than anticipated. And yet, others cannot just be left alone. What I see for myself as far as I can taste is a wonderful man in my life, a family that's suffered (and still is) but who still remains united, my best friend making me grow more than I think she even knows, a job that's actually enjoyable and could take me places.
I'm rambling.
Thanks to my family and Golden and Corey, thirty-two was infuriatingly necessary. Thirty-three, because of all of them, will be extraordinary. Might even call it fate.
Today, I turned thirty-three years old. And I think and I wonder what's the big deal with me? Why's it that even a birthday is more problematic for me than it need be? Of course, it's not always about me, so I just need to get over it.
Thirty-two was very impressive. I'm not prone to thinking about fate or destiny in any way, but, as I said to Corey on new year's day, perhaps the preceding year needed to happen the way it did because I learned so much from it. It hurt me and it loved me unlike anything ever before. It isn't hyperbole. I can look back and see various instances where I got a chance to show all my little cracks everywhere and be adored for it; I allowed myself to not be a piece of sharp metal all the time. My family and I, this year was very precarious and I'm glad well all came out of it relatively unscathed. And, for me, thirty-two showed me what I'm missing in my life.
Spent a lot of time with the best friend from the very beginning. Probably the most in nearly five years since I left Las Vegas. And as it's worked out, she was my foil through this last year. I don't know if she knows it, but with her reflecting what's good and right and appropriate at various points, I could see nearly every single time that what I did and said or not had value or had value taken away. I hardly ever see things in these terms. Because, mostly, I see life as a series of unconnected events I get the chance to wade through. And I still believe this. But just because I go through these experiences and see these people, I have a say in how it will all turn out.
Some things just are. But not everything can be left up to chance.
Golden and I would say often how we should be more punk rock about life and take chances. She and I exchange this little bit of wisdom, and I, for one, didn't stick to it. And now that thirty-three is here to stay, I'm reminded of something else I wrote late last year (which I deleted because I'm done with those histrionics).
I'm not going to foretell this year, but what I've seen so far of it, I love. Truly. Because already I'm just walking through a series of events and letting them happen to me. I'm exacting some of it. Big shock: it's better. Some things just are, true. Others do mean a lot more than anticipated. And yet, others cannot just be left alone. What I see for myself as far as I can taste is a wonderful man in my life, a family that's suffered (and still is) but who still remains united, my best friend making me grow more than I think she even knows, a job that's actually enjoyable and could take me places.
I'm rambling.
Thanks to my family and Golden and Corey, thirty-two was infuriatingly necessary. Thirty-three, because of all of them, will be extraordinary. Might even call it fate.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Metal
Sitting in my car as I type this:
Last night we're on the phone and I'm on the verge of tears and maybe she doesn't notice but she's telling me exactly what I need to hear and I know it all to be true because I believe these things about myself and what my value is but probably because I'm a pretty prideful person I don't want to make time for more truth and seeing as how one bad day has turned into two I really ought to own these little tidal waves of emotion and allow myself to feel hurt and sad and cry my eyes raw but as I said to her this doesn't happen to me because I don't make it a habit of developing anything with other people because usually [they're] not worth my effort and she says how perhaps this is different and I know it is but that doesn't mean much to me right now.
I think it's so stupid of me to feel bad. These things happen so infrequently. Call it what you will, I'm made of metal and I can't have anymore of it. And it creeps in from the edges of my days. I feel so foolish.
Maybe one good long cry and that will be that. Maybe that's what I'll do tonight.
- sent from the world via BlogPress.
Last night we're on the phone and I'm on the verge of tears and maybe she doesn't notice but she's telling me exactly what I need to hear and I know it all to be true because I believe these things about myself and what my value is but probably because I'm a pretty prideful person I don't want to make time for more truth and seeing as how one bad day has turned into two I really ought to own these little tidal waves of emotion and allow myself to feel hurt and sad and cry my eyes raw but as I said to her this doesn't happen to me because I don't make it a habit of developing anything with other people because usually [they're] not worth my effort and she says how perhaps this is different and I know it is but that doesn't mean much to me right now.
I think it's so stupid of me to feel bad. These things happen so infrequently. Call it what you will, I'm made of metal and I can't have anymore of it. And it creeps in from the edges of my days. I feel so foolish.
Maybe one good long cry and that will be that. Maybe that's what I'll do tonight.
- sent from the world via BlogPress.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Squander
In the fall, I had this weird realization: with all the social networking (a phrase I hate, but HAVE TO embrace) everywhere, I know a lot more about strangers than most people I know personally. Which is a little sad I think. I mean, people with whom I share zip codes and cities, I should know them better, shouldn't I? I thought if it was my own aloofness that was making me think this way, but couldn't see that was the reason. Or the only reason. Over the last three weeks or so, as it turns out, I've come to discuss this strange realization with people I know pretty well, and, ignoring the sheer irony of that, I think I came to a pretty sad conclusion: not just anybody rates. In this case 'anybody' means me.
I'm not sure if disconnected is the right word. Probably more like abandoned.
Look, a couple years ago, Golden said to me how she's come to realize that people come and go in and out of your life for particular reasons, and it doesn't mean everyone's going to be close to you, no matter how much you'd like it. I kind of didn't want to accept this. Not until now. Which, in just typing it out right now, makes me feel so naive. But she is right.
I'm feeling a bit off. Probably sad and resentful and I'd really rather not be. But I can't help thinking about when I found out I was sick and thought I could go somewhere I could get that support and that attention I know I was entitled to. And not just that day, but for the remainder. It was the single most important day of my life and I hate feeling I squandered it. Is that wrong and unfair of me, heaping this huge responsibility onto someone who really didn't need it, couldn't handle it, or possibly never wanted it? What is it that I thought would come from it? I'm not sure, but I suppose as I think about it more and more, and little bits of anger grow, had I known how it's all worked out in two-plus years, I wouldn't have bothered.
It's just past three in the morning and I'm thinking about this now.
Have I said? I hate the twenty-first century.
I'm not sure if disconnected is the right word. Probably more like abandoned.
Look, a couple years ago, Golden said to me how she's come to realize that people come and go in and out of your life for particular reasons, and it doesn't mean everyone's going to be close to you, no matter how much you'd like it. I kind of didn't want to accept this. Not until now. Which, in just typing it out right now, makes me feel so naive. But she is right.
I'm feeling a bit off. Probably sad and resentful and I'd really rather not be. But I can't help thinking about when I found out I was sick and thought I could go somewhere I could get that support and that attention I know I was entitled to. And not just that day, but for the remainder. It was the single most important day of my life and I hate feeling I squandered it. Is that wrong and unfair of me, heaping this huge responsibility onto someone who really didn't need it, couldn't handle it, or possibly never wanted it? What is it that I thought would come from it? I'm not sure, but I suppose as I think about it more and more, and little bits of anger grow, had I known how it's all worked out in two-plus years, I wouldn't have bothered.
It's just past three in the morning and I'm thinking about this now.
Have I said? I hate the twenty-first century.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Alone, Together
Everything and everyone's winding down. I said earlier how everything in 2009, for better and not, I don't know that I would change it:
"2009, you were really good to me. really you were. showed me so many things i am capable of and not; that i can be closer to the person i want to be; that i can have people around me who love and appreciate my cynical heart. over all, you were honest to me, 2009. honest about everything and everyone, especially, when it came down to me, you made me cry when i needed to, and fear, and work, and struggle and pay and learn and adapt and, yes, even suffer a little. because i needed to.
so, 2009, thank you for the laughs and tears and holding my hand, even though i probably didn’t know i needed it."
Of course, what I am taking the most from it all is what three people in my life have shown me about themselves and about me.
My older brother, Rene, has been with me through everything. EVERYTHING. Stout and resolute, he's never let me down. He's picked me up every single time I've fallen and scraped my shins. He loves me unlike anyone in the world. I know it, and I feel it to be true. And it's more than fraternal and familial love. He's concerned if I've taken my meds, if I've money, if I'm sad. We have an open relationship after a fashion, but we never verbalize everything. I tell him I'm going out on a date, he laughs and says, 'Did she lose a bet?' and I tell him, 'No, he didn't,' and he clams up, unsure and maybe a little bit put off. But he asks me the day after if I had a good night. Without him in my life I'd be a poorer example of being a man and being a part of my family. And, you know, as we get older, and he sees my hair loss and I see the way he plays with his little girl, I can't ever imagine him being any other sort of person. In 2009, he was the most stable of everyone I know in every way possible, always level-headed, never an asshole, always firm but caring. And at my lowest points over the last year, he stood up for me when I felt no one else would or could.
Golden is my best friend and she makes me laugh. This year, for us both, has been full of everything great and everything sad that makes up our lives, people like us: grown ups that are still forming. I spent an early morning in January on her balcony in Las Vegas and we smoked our cigarettes and talked heartache for a little while and laughed over vegan donuts. And when I came to see her and she came to see me, she showed me so much strength and so much heart, I can never compete with her. Because she's one of a kind. The only woman I know my age who is everything wonderful in the world and owns her femininity like a perfect dress. This year we cried lots together, and she showed me the true meaning of love and sentiment and passion and truth. I don't tell her nearly enough, but she is what I aspire to be as a human. And even when everything seems lost, when seemingly everything and everyone was not rooting for me, she was, because she always has. She's the little sister I never had and I can't ever imagine my life without her in it.
(How I hear things in my head and then set down in words feels like such babble and such cliche.)
Corey is my unexpected bonus this year. I rail on and on about hating people and along comes this beautiful man into my life. And this year he showed me love in every form I've known and not and I can't be more grateful for it. Through the hours and days and months of knowing him and getting to know him, I see a person so unlike me that something in my heart and brain unlocks open to everything new I don't know and wasn't even aware existed. At my worst, he stood by me unlike anyone else has whom I've been involved with. He listened to me and heard my stories and told me his. He held my hand in the dark movie theater and told me exactly what I needed to hear every time without fail, and I am thankful for it. Because I couldn't ask for anything else in a man than everything he is. Killer smile.
I'm not feeling my best right now: everywhere everyone I love, so far away from me and that lonesome feeling still stings a bit.
I wouldn't be me without these people. Because all of them know everything about me and I love them for it. For making me be better no matter how hard I try to tantrum away. They see something in me that makes them care about me in ways I know no one else does. A new year, a new decade with three people who I love and admire and can't see my life without.
Good night, future.
"2009, you were really good to me. really you were. showed me so many things i am capable of and not; that i can be closer to the person i want to be; that i can have people around me who love and appreciate my cynical heart. over all, you were honest to me, 2009. honest about everything and everyone, especially, when it came down to me, you made me cry when i needed to, and fear, and work, and struggle and pay and learn and adapt and, yes, even suffer a little. because i needed to.
so, 2009, thank you for the laughs and tears and holding my hand, even though i probably didn’t know i needed it."
Of course, what I am taking the most from it all is what three people in my life have shown me about themselves and about me.
My older brother, Rene, has been with me through everything. EVERYTHING. Stout and resolute, he's never let me down. He's picked me up every single time I've fallen and scraped my shins. He loves me unlike anyone in the world. I know it, and I feel it to be true. And it's more than fraternal and familial love. He's concerned if I've taken my meds, if I've money, if I'm sad. We have an open relationship after a fashion, but we never verbalize everything. I tell him I'm going out on a date, he laughs and says, 'Did she lose a bet?' and I tell him, 'No, he didn't,' and he clams up, unsure and maybe a little bit put off. But he asks me the day after if I had a good night. Without him in my life I'd be a poorer example of being a man and being a part of my family. And, you know, as we get older, and he sees my hair loss and I see the way he plays with his little girl, I can't ever imagine him being any other sort of person. In 2009, he was the most stable of everyone I know in every way possible, always level-headed, never an asshole, always firm but caring. And at my lowest points over the last year, he stood up for me when I felt no one else would or could.
Golden is my best friend and she makes me laugh. This year, for us both, has been full of everything great and everything sad that makes up our lives, people like us: grown ups that are still forming. I spent an early morning in January on her balcony in Las Vegas and we smoked our cigarettes and talked heartache for a little while and laughed over vegan donuts. And when I came to see her and she came to see me, she showed me so much strength and so much heart, I can never compete with her. Because she's one of a kind. The only woman I know my age who is everything wonderful in the world and owns her femininity like a perfect dress. This year we cried lots together, and she showed me the true meaning of love and sentiment and passion and truth. I don't tell her nearly enough, but she is what I aspire to be as a human. And even when everything seems lost, when seemingly everything and everyone was not rooting for me, she was, because she always has. She's the little sister I never had and I can't ever imagine my life without her in it.
(How I hear things in my head and then set down in words feels like such babble and such cliche.)
Corey is my unexpected bonus this year. I rail on and on about hating people and along comes this beautiful man into my life. And this year he showed me love in every form I've known and not and I can't be more grateful for it. Through the hours and days and months of knowing him and getting to know him, I see a person so unlike me that something in my heart and brain unlocks open to everything new I don't know and wasn't even aware existed. At my worst, he stood by me unlike anyone else has whom I've been involved with. He listened to me and heard my stories and told me his. He held my hand in the dark movie theater and told me exactly what I needed to hear every time without fail, and I am thankful for it. Because I couldn't ask for anything else in a man than everything he is. Killer smile.
I'm not feeling my best right now: everywhere everyone I love, so far away from me and that lonesome feeling still stings a bit.
I wouldn't be me without these people. Because all of them know everything about me and I love them for it. For making me be better no matter how hard I try to tantrum away. They see something in me that makes them care about me in ways I know no one else does. A new year, a new decade with three people who I love and admire and can't see my life without.
Good night, future.
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