The Goodbye Post

"And the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings."

I'm not happy.

Personally, professionally, and any other -ally you might think of. I'm just not. I feel very tired, very stalled, and very lethargic in my lack of complacency. There are so many things that just don't seem to be going right, and what I'm doing isn't helping. Rather than continue to calibrate and skate through the days, I'm making a full scale adjustments. I'm turning the levers and pushing the buttons and hopefully heading in a new direction.

I left Vegas, where I had an amazing time, and realized I didn't want to go back to my "real life." It's not because I spent three days doing nothing but driving and enjoying myself, and work was the last thing on my mind. It was because I felt like me, the me who can just be me, for the first time in a while. I liked the freedom to be myself and to have fun whilst it happened. Maybe that's my fault for posing and posturing here, but it wasn't something I was even conscious of until I had extricated myself from this place.


When I got into town I just kept driving until I hit the ocean. I parked my car by Ma'Kai and walked down to the beach. I stood there, watching the tide, alone with my thoughts and the promise of whatever lay beyond that dark horizon. I watches as waves were born in parts, meeting in the middle. I watched cares melt away and wondered why I spend so much time cooped up in offices and apartments. I'm paying a price for living in Los Angeles, so I may as well make the best of what it has to offer. I need to get a bike. I'll ride it down to the beach more often.

Walking away from the sounds of seashells, I wondered to myself. I wondered if I'd have the balls to leave LA if I spent the next year making the most of it and still didn't like it here, or the life I was living. I moved out here in August of 2003. If I can't accept the best and the worst it has to offer half a decade later, I think I might have no choice but to pack it in. There are plenty of other options out there, and a writer can work from anywhere as long as he has a place to write and some inspiration after all.

Speaking of writing, this will be my last blog entry for the foreseeable future. This is one of the bad habits I've fallen into, chronicling every day, every bad feeling, and trying to capture every moment. The moments pass, as we've already discussed. I don't need them all preserved in poorly written recollections on the Internet to remember them. It's not like remembering and describing captures what they really are or what they really mean. I remembered what I said, about moments, way back in my blog. I wrote, "This moment is infinity, and it's getting longer." I don't know exactly what it means, but I know what it meant at that time in my life. I don't want it to have the same meaning anymore.

So I'm not going to blog. This is a crutch I need to live without. It feeds depression, and I'm not going to give in to that trap. I'm not down for that cause any longer. I'm not going to hang out online. I've already given up myspace, but I'm not going to hop on IM either outside or work. Too many opportunities to screw things up. When I get bored and want to do something lame and potentially hazardous to my mind, I'm going to do one of two things: Write or go to the gym. Both are good for me in different ways, and if I do either enough, it will pay big dividends.

2007 has been a really shitty year for me. We're exactly three and a half months in, and already enough things have gone wrong to last the entire year. I've been through the ringer, and we still have 8.5 more months to go before I can get things on track for the next one. I need to salvage what I can right now and not look back. I'm going to try and live a real life I enjoy. More doing things, less Internet. Some other changes are in store as well, but we're still working out all the details.

I guess that's it. I haven't explained things nearly as well as I would have liked, but this is me writing to me, so really I'm the only one that needs to understand. There are hundreds of thousands of blogs out there. Feel free to find a much better one to get your fix if this one never starts up again.

Thanks for reading. Have a nice life.

On the Road

I'm hitting the road in a couple minutes. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.

Bye.

Glutton for Self Punishment

I wish I knew what was wrong with me. I really do.

I was set in my ways. All I had to do was keep my head down, mind my own business, and avoid certain dangerous traps. Well, one dangerous trap, an interest in someone else's life, and poking my head out later and I'm kicking myself. What is it about this girl that I can't shake? Okay, don't answer that. I can name too many things, and we would all be here a while. Why do I always slip up on Wednesdays and Thursdays?

I guess the problem for me is that I've been using music as a major crutch for me. And it's been good. My walk on Tuesday night with nothing but the iPod was an emotionally cleansing experience. So I hear this song tonight in an unexpected and dangerous place. And my heart skips a beat. Literally. I was just so damn shocked. I was typing and saying things I wasn't meaning to say. Don't get me wrong, it was nothing inappropriate or out of line, but the timing wasn't exactly right. And I said these things, and then walked into the hallway. I had a chat with my roommate about sports and Lost and a few other things. I went in the bathroom for a minute, and when I came back, I was cursing myself for being stupid.

The music was different. I wasn't different, but I felt different. And so did everything else. So now I'm kicking myself wondering why I make the same mistakes over and over. And while when I look in the mirror (literally) and have a realization, I can't believe in it a few days later. Or maybe why I should stay the hell off the Internet exhausting ways to pass the time when I should be finding a more productive waste of my time.

I can blame the music this time. For tricking me into thinking something, and for the fact that there isn't a song that matches up with my exact situation or mindset. There are songs in the vein and the mood and the style of what I need, but lyrics or situations are added. I'm not scorned, just broken. The song I'm writing is called, "I Opened the Door to My Heart (You Slammed it Shut)." It's a misleading title but the lyrics tell my tale. They'll confuse some other lost soul one day when the Rectum album gets released ("Damn Near Killed 'im" - In stores never).

***
So I'm headed to the Vegas in the morning. Gonna see some shows and hang out with Jordan. I'm going to have to do this trip on the cheap side, because all my money (literally) is earmarked for my IRA since I didn't remember to contribute earlier. Well, I figure the me 30 years from now will appreciate this sacrifice and the slight interest charge my AmEx will accrue before I can pay it off. Anyhow, I'm looking forward to it. Quite a bit, more than I have anything in a while (with the exception of The Lookout, which I was stoked for).

I would love to leave my computer here, but I'll need to check and make sure my priority book for the week goes out, so I'll need to be reachable and able to view things. I really hope I don't do anything else stupid while tethered to this keyboard. Knowing me, I'll find a new way to screw up. I'll probably end up posting a pic of my genitalia (which does not exist) and have my blogger account get deleted. Years of life gone.

But that's kind of the thing about life. You live it, living for every moment of every day, but you can't capture a moment. Every moment you love, hate, or are any emotion in between is fleeting and gone before you even realize. Sucks for the good ones, but is the only way to cope with the bad I assume. And you remember one of my favorite quotes, right? "“One minute was enough, Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection” Perfection is this ever-changing monster you can never attain, and when you get that moment-- *poof* It's gone.

I've had some moments. Or maybe I should say I lived through them. I'd love to get a few more going pretty soon. Because this moment I seem to be stuck in is the opposite, and it's lasting much longer than I would like. What was that thing I once wrote when my blog was interesting? Something about this moment is your life, and it's lasting forever. Wish I could remember.

Apparently I gave Cov some good advice a couple years ago when she was in my shoes. I said something about how one day she would wake up and miss missing him. Man I wish that was me right now. Because missing the person is much worse than missing the feeling. Especially on fucking Wednesdays and Thursdays. I'll be fine for the next five or so days, and then Wednesday night I'll be having a hard time again. Come on empty advice I had no business giving... Kick in for me.

Stupid moments...

Friends Across the Globe Converging

If I can survive out here until August, two people I like and respect will be moving to Los Angeles.

Mike from NCSA is moving out here following a summer of post-graduation whatevering.

Alexander from Atlanta via NCSA is coming following whatever crazy travels have taken him to Peru and who knows where else.

I admire both of them immensely. They're both better people and definitely better filmmakers than I. I'm proud to call them my friends, and I'll be happy to hang out with them in this, the city what swallows souls.

*

Tonight I went to dinner. I ordered the wrong chicken with my chicken curry, but I still enjoyed it. Tali's storytelling got even better.

I came home to an e-mail from Signe that told me Kurt Vonnegut was dead. There are not words.

He will be missed.

*

Fast Ended

Well, Passover came and went. And while I didn't go to a Seder, I did follow the general rules of keeping Kosher for the holiday for the full eight days and nights. Which brought us to tonight, and time to break the fast.

I was supposed to hang out with Tali, but she was busy not eating sushi and talking down a half-shaved 300 lb. beauty queen from doing anything drastic while watching American Idol. I thought about heading to the Oyster House for some tasty food and beverage choices, but passing out during the Braves game (we won, again!) meant driving to Studio City and consuming alcohol probably wasn't the best idea. So where to eat I mused...

I was deciding between deli or Italian (ptew!) food, when I settled on going to Jerry's Famous. Seeing as how it's a short 1.72 miles from my apartment, it seemed like the perfect walk. In shorts. But seriously, I type this to you completely in earnest. There's definitely something to be said for a really great walk. It's almost cathartic, allowing you to purge whatever is on your mind and focus on nothing but the journey and the zen-like state of getting there.

It helps when you have the right soundtrack. I grabbed my iPod, which was half charged and not updated (definitely not with the 40 sad songs I got yesterday), but I did a quick search and threw on the T's. I hit play and let it rip in whatever order the player saw fit. Man, I don't know why it wasn't working the last time I listened, but this was the perfect set for my trek. I was struck by how simple, at least in lyrics, a lot of the songs were. Very little was hidden in metaphors or similes; it's just honest and from the heart. I'm not that hard to please with music. Don't suck, and make sure it's pleasing to the ear, or at the very least interesting. Sure, it's indie pop music (an oxymoron, I'm aware), and that's the reason people delve into cliches when they try to explain their lives, but it's necessary for the good of those not smart enough to express themselves when left to their own devices.

Jerry's - tongue and chopped liver on sour dough. Unintentionally brought to me as a triple decker sandwich. Any bread is good bread when you've been without. Diddy Riese - chocolate chip cookie and mint chip ice cream sandwich. Rob - stuffed.

It was a good walk. Despite a voice mail setback earlier in the evening, all was right with the world. I was moving fast, listening to the soundtrack of my moment, and even managing the occasional smile. It's funny. I do see the world differently now. There's less general disdain for random people, I no longer find absolute misery in public solitude, and I feel like my outlook has changed so much. Maybe it's her doing, maybe it's maturing, or maybe it's the drugs. I don't know, but it feels good not to despair.

I'm doing well. One foot after another, one day at a time. I sound like an alcoholic, but I'm already recovered. Just one more thing to do, and all is right with the world.

***
Apparently I passed the test. Go me.

(I'll tell you what this means if and when anything comes of it. Otherwise, ask the only person who's online more than me.)

6 Weeks

Man, how time dies.

I'm doing well, all things considered. Except for the mania which has marked my recovery process, I'm functional, capable of smiling, and more bored than actually upset most of the time.

If I had to give an estimate, I'd say that most days I'm 84% recovered. I don't think I'll ever get to 100%, at least not until everything is said and done, but I'm shooting for 99% pretty soon. I'd like my friend back, and I think it's necessary to be in that 99th percentile before that's a good idea.

Busy Day for ATL Sports

My little bar atop gmail kep distracting me with tails of woe from the homeland.

1 - Harrington joins Falcons as backup to Vick.

2 - Hampton has torn tendon.

3 - Hawks suspend Smith.

Okay, so #1 isn't woe, but it was a distraction.

The Rest of Sunday

I watched the premiere of Entourage, which they're actually calling the second half of Season 3, ate sausage and matzah for dinner, talked with my roommate, watched two more episodes of Raines to catch me up to speed, crawled into bed and watched The Terminal which kept me up until about 3am. Then I had to respond to a facebook message from Michelle, which asked me to respond to an e-mail from her on January 23rd. Before any more time passed, I did. And now I'm wondering if I can wake up in 3 hours and 45 minutes (7am) to go for a jog.

Life... It goes.

Worries

When a relationship ends amicably, or at the very least without incident, most people assume both people go through roughly the same grieving process. They get sad, run the gamut of emotions, and generally miss one another. At least, that's what we assume. What if only one person misses the other?

It's a terrible thing to think, but the idea popped into my head tonight. What was supposed to be a leisurely stroll to Walgreen's to satiate my sweet tooth suddenly turned into a walk that got evil thoughts in my brain. I just kept thinking about how alone I feel right now dealing with this, despite the aid of friends. Then I wondered, would it be easier if I knew she was doing the same? Sure. But what if she isn't? I don't need her to be as sad or as miserable or anything like that, but I need her to feel something. And I know she does, but how crippling is it to think that someone in the same position might not be?

Which of course led me to less crippling but equally sad thought number two. I'm going to be replaced. While we've both stated that continuing this friendship is important, we've just as decisively put a stop to it "for now." There's no communication, and thus, we're depending on other friends for friendship. So first I'll end up replaced as her best friend, and then later as the man she loves. I don't need both per se, but I'd sure like to hang on to at least one of those. I can't imagine Los Angeles without her, because I know what it was like for the 15 months before she was even in my life, and the following 10 before I started getting to know her.

This time thing sucks as, because it's such the double-edged sword. It's necessary, but it's a slippery slope between enough and too much.

What I Did When

Thursday:
Phil sent out an evite in the morning inviting everyone (all the TC related people) to go see 300 at the Century City Mall by the office. One response reminded me that it's never too soon to know nothing about someone.

I had an impromptu lunch with my boss to discuss the future. It got me excited, and took my mind off of things. I was pumped, making notes, thinking, and trying to put things in motion. Then I was at work after everyone at the office left, and Blond and Sarah showed up. We walked up to the mall where people were enjoying drinks at Harper's Happy Hour. I told the waiter, "I'll have nothing," a few more drinks were drunk, and we headed up to the AMC.

300 was really good. It's a disservice to call it MTV done right (stylistically), but anything that hyper-stylized in order to be edgy is going to beg some comparisons. Really enjoyable, really visceral, and really satisfying. I have to say, there were 2 or 3 times in the movie where my "Aw shit..." reflex took over and I just watched in awe at what was happening.

Somehow we had timed things perfectly and the movie got out a little bit before a showing of The Lookout was scheduled to begin. I looked every employee right in the face, convinced Blond and Sarah to join me, and then walked right into the other theater. It didn't matter that everyone spent ten minutes talking in the middle of the lobby. No one was going to mess with us, because this is LA after all. And then a manager walked into the theater with a flashlight. He asked the girls in the front row for tickets and ID. And then he left... "Is anyone else's heart pounding?" Sarah asked. Yes, I answered, but not much faster than usual.

The movie was really good. I was psyched by the premise, the cast, and the filmmaker behind it. It did not disappoint. Scott Frank needs to write and direct more movies. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is solidifying his reputation as one of the best actors working right now with seemingly every movie. In the young category, he only has Ryan Gosling to compete with. Ultimately, his only downfall will be going for the big pay day or never aging. I'd compare him to a darker Johnny Depp with less eccentricity in his characters.

Friday:
Over 11 hours at work, and then I went home. I was supposed to be meeting Tali, my Internet friend whom I'd never met at some point, but she was busy blogging or something. She's in town for a filmmaking thing, and so she has all these responsibilities for it. Anyhow, I finally headed out just before 9 (I think) and picked her up by The Bridge. She wasn't intimidated by the fact that my car hasn't been washed in almost 500 days, or that I could be a complete psycho. You know, because I'm not.

Even though she had already broken Passover, we agreed that we would try to eat somewhere where we could follow the rules. I figured we could find somewhere in Westwood, so I drove to the Village and found parking almost immediately. We walked around a little while so we could see our options and so she could say she'd seen it, then decided on Damon & Pythias - Food For the Gods. Yeah, that's the name. You'd think it would be Greek based on name and architecture. It's not. I think she had a barbecue chicken salad, and I had a southwest steak salad. Pretty good stuff.

But the question on everyone's mind is... Was this girl crazy or what? Nope, she's totally normal, well adjusted, and someone I wouldn't mind hanging out with if she lived a little closer than Miami, even if she does get cold too easily. And, she's an excellent storyteller.

I drove her by the pier and Santa Monica and down toward Venice until the roads got crazy. She thinks I'm much less shy/depressed/depressing than I seem online. Then she was gone, and I went back to my real life.

Saturday:
Fox Saturday Baseball fooled me by beginning their broadcast at Turner Field in Atlanta and then showing the Dodgers game here instead. Can't really remember all of what happened. I read three chapters of How to Make Money like a Porn Star! I set up my XBOX 360 in the living room on our new old TV and hooked it up to XBOX Live, and downloaded some demos. I should really own more than one game myself and get all my borrowed crap back to people. And I need to buy Crackdown, because it kicks ass.

I watched the Donnie Darko Director's Cut which seemed to add about 3 meaningless scenes and a bunch of transitions. I can't help but think interlaying text over Donnie's eye didn't make any sense. It's still good, but the original is cooler. All the added stuff would have worked fine as part of the bonus features.

More blah during the day I'm sure, made sausage and had matzah for dinner. Note to self, protein tastes much better in milk than water. Much better.

I tried to watch Slap Shot as I went to sleep, but I was too tired from doing nothing all day.

Sunday:
It's only 6, so my day is incomplete, but here goes anyway.

Woke up around 10:30, and peed for about six minutes. Um, I got out of bed first. I put on what I can refer to here only as self-help videos on my laptop when I got back into bed. They're not, but it's a byproduct of watching them I guess. The Braves kicked it off early, then beat the Mets while I checked the score online. Guess who's in first place?

Ate some food (matzah, in case you were wondering), played some more game demos, came in here and laid on the bed. That's pretty much half of what I do now. I put on my iTunes, play some music, and lie on the bed thinking of nothing and everything. Sometimes I sleep, other times I just lay there.

Today I tossed and turned, trying three different pillows. None of them helped me escape the sad realization I came to. Damn... So close. Better luck tomorrow. I'm a mess.

Then I wrote a blog.

Happy Easter, gentiles.

Seagull

Dear Seagull,
I wrote you a letter. I'm not sending this letter because I don't want to burden you. If you decide you're up for it, I think it might be good for you to take a look. I'll try not to send without your permission.

Respectfully,
-Beagle

Assistance

Sometimes you talk to exactly the right people.

You don't always hear the things you want to hear. Sometimes it's the last thing you want to hear, but it's what you need to hear. Luckily, in the process of talking to the right people, you learn things that help you to deal with whatever you hear.

Thanks to everyone who helped me out. You've been invaluable during the last few weeks. Thanks for just being there.

Frustrater

Why does everything end up the same? The same thoughts, the same conclusions. The same feeling, which is not feeling. I'm tired but unable to sleep, because every day is blah. Blah blah blah.

SSDD, for lack of a better term.

I just need one more thing to change. Well, maybe two things. This time zone isn't working for me, especially if games go to extra innings.

Somebody, please help.

Not a Robot, Apparently

So the good news is, I'm not broken.

Waking up this morning, I realized I do have the capacity to feel. Well, feel something other than comfortably numb. The catch is, I may need to be asleep to do it. After waking up, I had the distinct aroma of sadness and disappointment in my brain.

I could remember two dreams, both involving some of the same characters. In one, a happy meeting occurred, plans were made, and then I was stood up. I paced back and forth in my room, only it wasn't my room. It was sort of the generic room I think of when I think of high school romance. It was the room I pictured Sarah writing Dave the letter I once read about her disappointment when the phone rang and it wasn't him. It was my room emotionally, but it wasn't a room I've ever lived in. I paced back and forth, back and forth, looking at my cell phone, making calls, and being annoyed when it went to voice mail.

And here's where things get fuzzy. I don't remember waking up until I was actually up this morning. So I think I actually must have fallen from one dream to the next, like crashing through one of those paper walls they have in certain Asian countries and ending up in a totally different place. Brian and Paul Rothstein were there. We were in someone else's large house, maybe a mansion, and Brian was opening boxes addressed to me. They were filled with comics, among them the Ennis/Robertson joint, The Boys. A young child, I think a girl, was asking questions about the books content, and for us to explain the word shit to her. Paul did his best, using dream magic to somehow shift the word from shit to shawl, and explain that it was used to cover certain parts of the body in inclement weather.

Then the puppet show was about to begin, and more spectators filed in. I was surprised at who showed, and I meekly said hello to them. There was a beat, and then someone began chastising me. They began with, "Even though you've been nice lately," which I didn't know what to make of, and then things got worse. I don't think I heard more than a line or two, and nothing was particularly vitriolic, but I woke up sad.

I woke up sad, and this made me happy. I was happy I could feel, and sad because of what had transpired, and what does that say about my subconscious if I'm standing up and being rude to myself. Then I was numb again, because I realized this hadn't happened, and that it was merely a dream. And maybe if I can convince myself that all bad things occur within dreams, even if I don't mean to, I'll be trapped in this state forever, floating through my days.

Intellectually I still feel. Emotionally, I'm detached. I want the worlds to merge again. I wonder why this is happening. I wonder why I couldn't remember I was in Seattle for three days until I looked on my blog to find out what I did this weekend. I need a time machine. Or a fast forward button. Just a one time thing. Get me back to the real.

Passed Over Seder

I didn't go to a Seder last night or tonight. As penance, I'm doing laundry.

In addition to being in my numb funk, I've been thinking about why I always feel like I'm getting nagged to do the things required of me as a Jew whenever there is a holiday. Why does no one question the fact that I eat meat and cheese together (bathing a cow in its mother's milk), or that I do work on the sabbath. What makes one holiday more important than another, especially when I've been taught that Shabbat and the high holidays are the most important.

Right now, I don't feel as though religion is that important to me. I believe that faith, belief in something, is much more important than following the strict dogma imposed by religions. Religions provide a template for how to live your life. I live my life the way Judaism taught, as best I can. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I should actually say as it suits me. I'm not perfect. But then again, neither is religion. It can be perverted, and often is. Nothing is a greater sticking point for people than what they believe in their souls. It's the reason discussions of politics become so volatile, and the reason religion is often tied to politics.

I believe in many of the things Judaism has taught me. When you get right down to it, I believe in its commandments and its rules. But I don't believe that I must follow everything exactly to the letter. I believe that if I believe, and follow the blue prints for how to live my life as a pious person, I don't need anything else.

One day I'd like to get into a rhythm of going to services. I'd like to make sure I don't skip out on holidays, and I definitely want to do the occasional Shabbat service. But right now, religion isn't what's important to me. Maybe that makes me a terrible person. But one must be true with one's self before he can think about anything bigger or beyond.

Status Report

Dear faithful reader,
this entry marks #375 for this iteration of my personal blog. It began shortly after a drunken phone call from someone I would later love. Questions were asked, and could not be answered, and I needed a change. The idea was to present a me to the world that was less pathetic, less self-important, and more interesting. In the 375 posts since 8.30.2005, I'd like to think I've accomplished this more than I've failed.

So who am I now? I can't answer this question. 5 weeks ago I knew exactly who I was, what I wanted, and roughly where I was headed. Ever since, things have gone wacky. In the past few days, it's almost as if I'm having an out-of-body experience. I'm literally seeing everything from an outsider's perspective, watching myself act. Everything is strangely detached, like some turned the reality in reality off. Imagine flying over your world, watching it all, but being above the cloud layer where you know nothing can touch you.

I don't know how I feel about anything right now, because I'm not really feeling. I hate certain people (artists), but that seething isn't there. I know there's supposed to be some pain in my heart, but I don't feel it. I can think about it rationally, but on a purely gut level it doesn't exist. Did I suddenly reach a zen-like state through meditation I'm not aware of? I'm at a loss to explain any of it, but I know that I'm confused as all hell. Maybe it's the fact that I've been sleeping on my amazing pillow top mattress, which was vying with some heavy competition at the hotel in Seattle, for weeks on end now. I don't know.

I was having a hard time not furrowing my brow today. It was a stretch just to explain how I wanted to look. Normal brow, even tempered. I found the key walking home from work. I smiled, knowing endorphins are supposedly released and that they would be bring me some modicum of happiness, so that maybe the scowls would stop. And what did I realize. It worked. Walking down the street, a stupid smile on my face, I felt better. Just because you have nothing to smile about, it doesn't mean you shouldn't. And I don't think until earlier tonight I had ever had a thought even remotely that cheery without a reason.

So I'm sitting here, my stomach churning, begging me to open my gullet, and I'm just here. I'm in the moment, and out of the moment, James Blunt cooing softly in the background. It's Passover and I'm not going to any Seder services. My hair looks damn good, and nothing makes sense. Am I so miserable that I've snapped and become calm as a Hindu calf? Am I actually blissful? Maybe I've finally learned to stop sweating the small stuff. That might explain this sudden and strange transformation.

I've made so many changes of late, and I wonder if that has anything to do with it. To those looking from the outside in, they're largely imperceptible. As I've said, it's more calibration than outright changes (hair being the exception). It makes me laugh. A week or two ago it would have made me sad. These tiny tweaks, adjustments to the world around me, and now I'm feeling like a totally different person.

I just wish bliss came with purpose, which I don't really have right now. I want a time machine. Not sure if I want to go backward or forward, but I'd like the option to escape the now. It's true what Favreau said. You miss the pain. Maybe it's the meds. Maybe it's the friends. Maybe it's the music.

I don't need life to make sense. I just need a direction and a kick in the ass. This is my status report. I hope you're content.

Thanks for reading.

Their Time?

The NCAA Championship game just went to commercial, accompanied by the music of Plain White Ts. It was the first track off their last album, Every Second Counts entitled "Our Time Now."

I was a little surprised, but good for them. I'm a big fan, and I've been listening to them a lot lately. Congrats, boys.

***
I'll have another post later tonight. It will be #375, and I'm calling it Status Report.

I'm Thinking About Bells

Typing this from my hotel room in Seattle. There's already a workblog entry posted that detailed most of today's events.

Uneventful flight, scary cab driver to the hotel. Although, he was nothing compared to cinder block lead foot man. The courtesy shuttle driver from our hotel that took us to Marz liked to floor it. And it didn't matter if he was going 8 blocks or 8 feet between stops. He was on his way like he couldn't wait to get there. He also had a hard time finding the hotel, despite me giving him the exact address. "I've never approached it from this angle before."

Lunch was fun. We probably walked the wrong way from the con. Instead of rows of restaurants (which were there, but unseen if we went the other way), we found a million places selling kitchen equipment and furniture that looked like restaurants. But they weren't. A sandwich place had wait staff that yelled at us and dropped lettuce. A Greek place had a shattered front window and no customers.

We ended up at a Vietnamese place where I ate Pho. Michael wouldn't try the fish sauce that came with his dish. I'm disappointed in him. Although, if you get in close (or you get the raw stuff), it does smell like the stuff that comes out of Pete's butt when he gets too excited. Pete is my dog back home, so no cause for alarm. Anyhow, the food brought back memories. I try not to think about things, but I do. Every day is a step, this was just a rockier one. And also, I need to know how to order what I want, instead of guessing and hoping for the best. I think I did okay today, but this is just one meal. I need a guide I can keep in my wallet.

I think the real test for me is what I do as I pass all of these gift shops. I'm in the habit of buying bells. But not for me. So I'm not sure if I want to pass up this trip to the Pacific Northwest and not get one. I know what it says if I do. I know what it says if I don't. But here's the thing. Do I know anything? I think there are multiple readings based on whether or not I buy a bell in Seattle. We'll see how it goes.

I know, much of this I shouldn't be writing about. But I'm tired, so I gave in. Sue me. Go read someone else's blog if you don't like it.

Out the door @ 5am

I have to be ready for my shuttle in just over 5 hours, so I'm going to transfer some files to my laptop, gather some cords, and hit the hay.

All in all, today wasn't a bad day. I had a major slip, but that's because sometimes the unexpected happens. Anyhow, here comes a 3-day distraction.

As mentioned on the workblog, I'll be spending the next 3 in Seattle attending the Emerald City Comicon, along with some of my cohorts on the creative side. It's my first trip to the Seattle area, and I'm looking forward to it. Apparently there's a needle there.

Have a good weekend. I'll try to post something while I'm gone, but these things tend to get busy.

Adam Church is Dreamy

Adam Church is my friend. Sometimes he's funny.



This is one of those times.

***
I'm going to experiment with video a little bit more in the coming weeks/months. Not sure I can stand to look at myself, but I like the idea of staring into a tiny black square and saying the things I normally say in word format. I'm considering attempting something at the con this weekend for the work blog, but it will be totally unplanned, so the audio may be whack.

Addendum

I should also add that I'm no longer wasting time on myspace and facebook, because they are a waste of time, and detrimental to my desired mental state and future progress.

New Directions

So I've been blogging pretty much nonstop since I got back from New York. Longtime readers will remember one of my last posts over at Trivial Consequence 2.0 from my xanga/lj days, wherein I discovered a website which noted a correlation between the depressed and journaling. It was sad to think that all my rantings were merely the way in which many depressed folk got their rocks off. I knew it was therapeutic, and cathartic, but the article claimed that it was a self-fulfilling prophecy in which the journaling merely strengthened the depressive state because that's what it dwelled on.

So I did a few more posts, tidied up, and moved to the wonderful world of blogger, bringing what I hoped was a new spin on my life to The Definite Maybe. Problem is, I'm not happy with the last four weeks here. It's sad, and pathetic, and whiny. And I don't like it. This blog isn't supposed to be exempt from that, but it's not supposed to be consumed by it, and representing it every day. I've had a reason. More than one if you count me being sick too. This break up has wrecked me, and for every good day, there's at least twice as many bad. There's been plenty of fodder to feed the cycle. One friend told me she really liked a recent post because of its honesty. It said exactly what I was thinking at the time, but it followed 25 that were exactly the same but lesser.

I got an e-mail this morning, and I got angry. I responded, there was a response, and I responded again. I've been trying to talk with Annie for so long after some initial contact in the days following the break up, that I don't even know what I wanted to say. So today I said goodbye, and that I didn't want to bother her anymore. I sent her a long e-mail. I tried to say everything I've been wanting to say to her in a dialogue, but in monologue format. I hope I got it all out there. It was the honesty I was searching for in these blogs, but it felt better here. She said thanks, and reiterated that in time we'd be able to get our friendship back. And while I'd love for it to be more, and I told her so, that's the most important thing for me.

No more tags with Annie, heart break, or the like. I have to try and move on, and constantly talking about the same thing day in and day out isn't helping anything. Rest assured, it's on my mind. Not a day goes by that it isn't front and center. I spend the quiet moments wondering if only I had done this, or that, or... And it's a terrible feeling. To think, if only the many small adjustments I made in the few days following the breakdown would have been enough. If I had had the balls enough to try a little harder without saying, "I'm trying, but I may not be able to do it." The pessimist in me shoots down everything. I'm trying not to look at things as shit, or something that could turn to shit, before I even try it. I'm trying a lot of things, many of which she tried to get me to do while we were together. It's not that I didn't try, but I never went 100%. And now, it all seems so easy. Why didn't I make these calibrations? How different would things be if I did?

The thing that upsets me most, when I think these sad thoughts in the quiet moments, is that I'm not sure I ever showed her how much I appreciated her. I tried to tell her, and I tried to show her, but I don't think it was ever enough. For everything she did, for everything she meant. She deserved better. I'm not saying that she deserves better than me (she does), but she deserves better than the me I gave her. And the kicker is, four weeks later, these little calibrations, I feel like I'm so much better equipped to give her that, but it's a day late and a dollar short. And it's not that she's moved on, and screw me, but she's moving on, and she's living her life.

I have to try and do the same thing. Take every day one day at a time, and make the most of it. I can't think about future things. I can't look at a calendar and say, "On this date, everything will be fine." It's like an alcoholic - one day, one step, one choice at a time. I want to get to a point where we're good again. And if the only way to do that is apart, so be it. Her happiness right now means more to me than my own. Go ahead, cry that single tear. I'm selfless that way. Maybe that doesn't show enough value for myself, but right now I'd rather worry for her than me, because I know with isolation and escapism, I'll eventually be okay.

There was an odd moment tonight. We went to Ma'Kai to celebrate Blond and Sarah moving to LA. While I could trace the genesis of my relationship with Annie to a number of spots (two restaurants in which I accused her of liking me with the aid of alcohol, a garage, the spot of our first official date), there was one place where it became real. Yes, for those who can still remember the first sentence of this paragraph, that would be Ma'Kai, where we shared our first kiss, a week before our first date. On the drive over, I was thinking about how the west side has so many memories of us, and the things we did. I got sad. Even as I entered Ma'Kai, knowing she wouldn't be there with us, I got sad. I looked at the spot where it happened. I got sadder still. But at some point during the night, I turned and looked again. And I smiled. And while I had been thinking how sad all of these memories were for weeks now, I had an epiphany. These weren't sad memories. These were great ones, filled with happiness and love, and a few others that made those moments even sweeter. And while it hurts to think I might not be making any new ones along the same lines, I've got the old ones. And I wouldn't trade them. Not for anything.

So the point is, I'm going to try and push this thing in a new direction. I'm not saying I'm going to get happy and upbeat, because while that may have lasted for 468, there was a damn good reason it did. But I'm going to not try and pawn off my depression about this on the rest of the world. I've written enough, and I've said my peace to her. I've talked to enough of who I believe are the right people in my life to have gotten the right kind of advice (thanks everyone who helped). I'm ready to let her go, and give myself a shot to really do it. It's still not what I want, but it's what's needed. I can live with that.

So say goodbye to the emotionally crippled boy who lost his first love and never saw it coming. He'll still be here, typing these words and having trouble getting to sleep without his thoughts drifting to her, but it's not going to be something he talks about. I've said all I need to say, and I've said it to the person who needed to hear it. So now that everything's been said, let's find something new to say to everyone else.

Mega

I really wanted to win the lottery last night.

My goal was to take the money, retire my parents, and pay myself a little more than what I'm salaried at now. Then I could lounge around all day, being a pessimistic jerk, and pretending to write. I would be independently wealthy, and an aspiring writer. And if I failed, I'd have a safety net. My parents would be set, so I could just move in with them.

I didn't match a single Mega Millions number. That's the third or fourth time in a row that's happened. I'm beginning to think quick picks are for suckers.

Yeah, I really wanted to win the lottery. The pessimist in me says I lost the lottery. But I don't think you can call it losing unless you're the guy responsible for paying the winner his $60,000,000.

I hate carrots

I do. Really. That's why I fill a Ziploc sandwich bag to the brim and eat them whenever I buy the industrial sized baby carrots from Costco. Look at me hating them.



Also, Master P was at the office this morning. I don't even know if he made anyone say "Ugh," since I was in about a half hour late.

Paralysis

You know that feeling you get when you're going through all the early stages? Some people call it butterflies. Others say there stomach is all whoo. I had that feeling for months on end. In fact it was never completely gone, no matter how comfortable I got with Annie. There were always moments where things were new and exciting and my stomach went all whoo.

Last night I was watching The Black Donnellys, which is getting less and less interesting by ten minute chunks. I was so bored that I grabbed my computer and brought it out to the living room. In between responding to work e-mails, I went on myspace and denied some porn site chicks from being my friends, then quickly got bored. So I went on facebook, and accidentally clicked on some pictures. Well, I clicked on the pictures on purpose, but I didn't know what would be in them until I was clicking through.

A few pictures in I was happy. I saw her smiling the way she used to. The way she used to smile that gave me the butterflies. As I got deeper, I saw a few more things. I didn't really know how to feel. But that feeling in my stomach came back; the fluttering. The problem was, before it was a feeling of joy. It was the feeling of new and exciting. It was the feeling of some of the happiest moments I can remember. But in this moment, it was the opposite. It was the feeling of jealousy and even abandonment.

The show ended, and I couldn't find anything to take my mind off of this feeling I couldn't shake. It was a feeling that made no sense, representing two distinct opposites, and culminating in me being utterly confused. I tried to find someone to talk to. I went online. The world was quiet. I scrolled through my phone book. No dice. I couldn't figure anything out. I moved to my bedroom, started my iTunes with (+44) and let it rip. I lay there, fidgeting back and forth, trying to get comfortable enough to not be uncomfortable. Finally, my mind spinning, I found myself on my back, staring straight up at the ceiling.

I was paralyzed. Mentally, physically, I couldn't move. I just sat there, Mark Hoppus quietly singing into my right ear, and I didn't know what to do. Eventually I fell asleep. I woke up several times in the middle of the night, unmoved, my stomach feeling the same. The only thing different was the band playing in my right ear.

Finally I woke up this morning. The last thing I remembered was a dream I had. I ran into Annie at the mall food court. She was sitting there, and I thought she waved when she saw me. I approached and was about to speak when she started talking to Lauren Deason, a girl I went to school with from Austin through Dunwoody. I haven't spoken more than six words to her since sixth grade, but somehow she was hanging out with my ex at the mall, and with eery timing. Annie gave me an odd look and started to say something about me to Lauren. Then she looked right at me while speaking to her and called me "greezy." I know, I'm probably one of few people I know who says the word greasy as greezy, but this is what happened in my dream. And I wasn't even pissed off though. I didn't call her a bitch or respond. It was in this moment that I think I became lucid, and all I wanted was to wake up. I hated the fact that she was being mean to me. That's not who we were, and it's not who we're going to be, regardless of whatever form our friendship takes going forward. I hated that she was being mean and sniping me, because it wasn't her. I wanted to wake up to a world where things skewed a little bit closer to normal.

Instead I woke up to the same world I had left a few hours earlier. I could move, and I could get out of bed, but my stomach still felt the same. The feeling subsided when I worked out, but as soon as I was done, it was back. If I can spend literally every second of every day being distracted, I know I can be fine in no time. Otherwise, I don't know how to shake this feeling.

Speaking of feelings, what's with the cyclical self-sabotaging nature of my coping mechanism? One day I'm okay (the entire weekend), and the next, I'm miserable, lying on the bed with confusion in my head and unable to move, listening to music I can't hear and thinking about things I don't understand. Why can't I get okay, keep moving forward, have the occasional I remember when... and then just plow forward? It's more frustrating when debilitating, but I don't want any more nights like last night.

The best part of all of this is that I keep finding a new thing to say, "The worst part of it is," or "The bitch of it is," about. Today it's that I missed out on that last night with her. I came home from New York, and I was jubilant. I had this really busy 5 days in New York, I was tired, missing her, and all I wanted to do was see her, then fall asleep with her in my arms. She robbed me of that. And maybe the worst part is that she broke up with me in bed. I was unpacking, and she laid down on the bed, asking me to join her. The one place I was looking forward to lying next to her, content, was the place where it all went bad. I lost that final moment of serenity. So I've been lying in this every night for 29 nights, and I'd kill to have that one lost night back, and 28 of what followed.

The worst part of all this is the question that popped into my head last night, lending to my paralytic state. When I talked to Church about the, "I want some things to change, but I don't want you to change for me," reasoning, he calmly replied that it meant that she didn't like the person I was. She wanted me to change, to be a different person. She respected me enough to understand that wasn't who I was, but it is what she wanted. So here's what I asked myself last night, over and over until I fell asleep. Did she ever really love me, or did she just love the me she thought I could become? The fact that I have to ask this question sucks. I know what this relationship felt like when we were happy. It's not a realistic question. It's unfair for me to even put it online, knowing she might read it or someone might mention it to her. But I could never explain my depression, or the way my brain works. And it kept putting this question in my head as I tried to fall asleep, butterflies in my stomach, pain in my heart. It's not that there's any truth in it. It's just the possibility that there might be that stings like a bitch.

I've still got this feeling in my stomach. It went away when I was in a meeting for a few hours today, but as I soon as I got back behind the computer monitor, it creeped on slow like a beat up car idling down the street toward some far off destination.