they call me father, brother friend and some they call me son.
They call me sinner, ghost be gone, he who haunts your dreams.
And though I have so many names it very often seems,
the ones I love whose names I call have but one for me...
they call me Not-At-All."
- T.O. Hob, Called By Name
Last night was the first time in three weeks that I haven't spent my Saturday night sitting alone in a movie theater watching The Phantom of The Opera. I wish I could call that progress, but truth be told I'll probably end up at the theater tonight. It's the risk you run when you force a minor obsession on something to fend off the growing reliance on something else. It's like shaking crack by collecting coins only to find that when you close your eyes all you can think of is funny colored nickels.
I really am something else...just what I'm not sure of.
I think I need to clean myself up a little, clean my place up a little too. Get some shit straightened out. Get my head on right. I'm going to be much busier very soon, but somehow I can already tell I'll be much more relaxed. I'm waiting for that challenge to come, waiting for my next fight.
I have seen hell. I can tell when things are going south and when the shit is about to hit the fan. I see all these things with the detached eye of a casual observer. I don't watch this as if it was my life, I watch it as if it was a story. A story from which many lessons can be learned. This is one of my gifts. One of my horrible, horrible gifts. The idea that I must be who I am right now, for now, until I can make everyone understand that I've earned my chance. That I've earned the opportunity to stand amongst men. That I understand the things we're not meant to understand. That I am nearly there.
It doesn't seem like the sort of thing that can be done. But...
"But you forget, we're Palombas. That means we can do pretty much anything that doesn't involve talent, grace, skill, or intelligence." - Palomba
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