Good Days

I don't know what I have to be optimistic about. Don't know why I'm the one trying to be all cheery.

I'm the cynic. The borderline pessimist. The asshole.

So why is it that sitting out on the back stoop tonight I was the one to point out that we've had two relatively fun nights in a row, and that that's a pretty good thing.

Two good nights in a row. Not great nights, not earth shattering nights, not f'ing brilliant nights. But good nights.

Didn't have to do anything I didn't want to do, wasn't disappointed with the way anything turned out. Hung out with some friends. Had a few drinks. Played some cards. Stayed up till the sun came up, and moved on with little or no lingering consequences. Good nights.

Not great nights.

I sometimes wonder if people expect too much of things they shouldn't expect very much from.

The chances of something amazing happening on while we sat around playing poker in the second floor apartment tonight were pretty slim. But we had some good talk, some good laughs, and a decent game of cards.

That's enough for me.

I wish I had more nights like that.

So for other people to walk away disappointed, it's a bit of a downer.

One good night at a time doesn't work for everyone, I know that. But one good night turns into two and two into three and so on and so on until something goes wrong and you have to start over again...well that's not so bad, because you just start over again.

I'm rambling. I know. But...

I'm very glad to see so very often my good friends doing so well. And it pains me a great deal when something bad happens to them. But I know them, and I know that things will get better. And maybe they'll get worse again someday, but then they'll just get better again. It's how things go around here.

It's not optimism, or naivety. It just is. It's how it has always been.

But when little things like a good night stop being good enough...

Well that scares me just a little bit.

And with that we start the count again.

Narrative

The phone's ringing, at least I think it is. I can never be sure when I'm in the john at the office. See the fan runs too loud for me to actually hear the phone ringing, but sometimes I can feel it. Sometimes I just know. So I hit the switch and the lights go dark and the fan goes quiet. I listen. But I don't hear anything.

It's my imagination again. My brain playing tricks one, interrupting the first few seconds of peace and quiet I've had all day. Can't even take a shit in this place without something interrupting.

I watch myself in the mirror as I hitch up my suspenders and marvel at how soft I've gotten so quick. I was always fat, but I used to have muscles. Now I'm one big runny mess of lard and scars. It's not that it embarrasses me, it just makes me think. I'm still strong as an ox, but it's all not as easy as it used to be. I try, I really do, but I'm still soft on the outside and hard on the inside.

The phone's ringing as I step out of the john, I'm certain this time. So I don't even bother putting my shirt back on, same shirt I wore out whoring last night. I've managed to shake the smell, but my shirt still reaks of a 19 year old Russian girl who swears she's studying business management back home in Moscow but seems all too eager to do things even I have no interest in doing. I pick up the phone, but there's no one on the other end of the line. I'm not surprised.

There's a message on my cell phone. It's ma calling to tell me there's another package at the house. This one's from Michigan, or Minnesota, she always gets those two confused. I can't even think of what it is. So much shit coming through here these days, far too much to keep track of.

I'm back at my desk and numbers are swirling through my head, trying to figure out some way to make something out of nothing and turn something into nothing before it becomes something worse. My head hurts.

There's a car I don't know outside. They're watching me, and for a second I wonder if they've finally come for me. Wonder if this is going to be the big bang at the end of the story. I grab my shirt, pausing as the lingering smell hits my nostrils and I wonder why I didn't take the time to change before I limped into the office this morning. I put my shirt on, but don't button it up, as I head for the door. I hit the yard hard and head towards the gate with ugly things on my mind, except when I get there, the car's gone. And for a second I wonder if it was ever really there in the first place.

I'm thinking of a girl I saw on the street the other day, and how it took me far too long to look away, and far too long to realize that I'd seen her around before. And she saw me seeing her, and she saw me look away too shy to match her gaze. But before I did the look of disgust I saw on her face was burned into my memory. I've been looked at like that before. I didn't like it then, and I don't like it now.

I'm sitting at my desk in my office. Typing this. Thinking. Wondering.

Silver Bells

I could tell you something. I could tell you something right now that would change everything. How you look at the world, how you look at yourself, how you look at me. I could tell you my secret. But then it wouldn't be a secret anymore. Wouldn't belong to me. I wouldn't be able to use it as my shining light in the ever growing darkness. I could tell you something and you'd understand and you'd love me for it. And you'd hate me for it. And you'd be afraid. I know.

I was.

Weren't We Supposed To Be The Good Guys?

Wasn't there a time where we were on the right side of things? Wasn't there a time where we were the ones that were supposed to be able to tell the difference between right and wrong? Wasn't there a time where we were the good guys?

Proper Fucked

Things shouldn't really get crazy until next week. I swear to God I was ready for it. As ready as one could be for his life being tossed hard on it's ass for a good month or two no matter what he does. But things already haven't gone exactly as planned.

First off I am finally officially broke.

And by broke I mean I have plenty of money but am actually at the point where I have to start thinking hard about what I'm doing with it. I have spent a prodigious amount of money in the past eight months and while I've enjoyed every penny of it the simple fact is if I want to keep doing the things I'm doing I need to slow down a bit. Just a bit.

Second, work has gone totally in the toilet.

Some good people are going to lose their jobs over what's happened here in the past few days. I'm not going to be able to take care of some people who have come to count on me. The whole thing is rotten. I couldn't have done anything to stop it, no one here did anything wrong, it's not our fault, but like everything here it's my responsibility. And it's my job to fix it. I don't have problems. I have solutions. Just haven't figured out which one will fit right here.

Third, I have to decide what the hell I'm doing with Antioch.

Sometime in the next month I need to get my head square and take a good long look at what I've been doing there for the past 12 or 13 years. I need to decide if I can take watching another group come and go, losing touch with people I care a lot about. That never seems to get easier. The dynamic has changed for me (yet again), and as much as I want to go back I'm stuck in the same place I've been many times before, wondering if I should.

Finally, I'm enjoying my life entirely too much right now.

I don't want to grow complacent. My life seems to cycle. Although every year is new and interesting in some way it seems that I'll have a good year or two followed by a dark year or two. Maybe God's decided that I'm the type that needs to be tossed in the shit every so often to make certain that I appreciate life's finer moments. I never grow tired of the dark days, but I've certainly become less and less ready to face them. They seem less like a challenge and more like a chore lately. I don't know if I'm ready for another long winter. Don't know if I can handle the days getting shorter and the nights getting tougher again. But then again...what choice do I have?

So tomorrow I'll try and regain some ground at work. Get my Draco statue fixed. Straighten out some cash matters. Continue to wait for Ol' Scratch to get delivered. Try and learn to draw. Maybe start studying Russian again. Take a nap for sure. Stop in at the last open youth room. Rethink Sean's bachelor party. Perhaps pay a visit to an "old friend". Likely try and get a hold of a few people I haven't talked to in far too long just to see how they're doing. Watch a movie. And spend a good long time thinking about some things, and trying not to think of others.

Night All...wish us luck.

Restless Nights And Oh So Long Days

I don't want to talk about today. I don't want to talk about how fucked up things are at work, or how fucked up my finances are, or how fucked up my family is. I don't want to talk about strippers and go-go dancers. I don't want to talk about how far apart I feel I've grown from so many people I care so much about. I don't want to talk about how tired, and old, and alone I feel. I don't want to talk about the end of the world.

I do want to talk about today. I want to talk about how great my job is, how I don't have to worry about anything because I know I'm good enough to handle it no matter how fucked up it gets. I want to talk about money, and how I've enjoyed every penny I've spent and earned every dollar I've made. I want to talk about how happy I am I get to spend so much time with my mother, even though she's crazy, my father, even though he's a jerk, and Tim, even though he's Tim. I still don't really want to talk about strippers and go-go dancers but that's because I think I'm just going to write a book, it would be easier. I do want to talk about how far apart I feel I've grown from so many people I care so much about because no matter how far apart we grow they're still my friends, and I will always care very much about them. I do want to talk about how tired, and old, and alone I feel...because at the very least that means I can still feel, and sometimes that's all I need.

I will talk about the end of the world, because it doesn't scare me...not anymore.

Sometimes

Sometimes I think, "The whole world's gone mad."

Then I realize, "Maybe it's just me."

And suddenly I'm too afraid to ask.

The Return of The Afflictions?

For years I've fought several afflictions and it would seem in the last few years I've managed to, at least in some degree, control them more often than they control me. However just in the past few days I've felt it all slipping. I'm beginning to get...and forgive the cliche...twitchy.

I know it sounds like a cop out, or just plain simple anxiety, but people who don't get like this may have a real hard time understanding. It's not stress (not purely anyway) or anxiety (though that plays a part). Truth is I don't really know what it is. And I don't always know what causes it.

This time it's a little different.

I know what's causing this.

I'm tired. It's been too long since I've had a break. I'm starting to become frustrated. The old man keeps promising to step back and yet he keeps on getting in the way, either not knowing or not caring that what he's doing is often inefficient at best and harmful at worst. The kid keeps getting handed stuff that he doesn't deserve. I'm busting my ass and he's reaping the benefits of being a fuck up. I'm playing too loose with my money. I've spent entirely too much this year, and am in danger of not getting everything I was supposed to get. And with what I've been doing I really should be getting so much more than I get. The "diet" is both going well and failing miserably at the same time. Everything is changing and nothing is changing. There are quite a few people I used to see and talk to on a regular basis that I don't see and talk to nearly as much as I'd like and I miss them something awful. There's an "old friend" I haven't seen in a few weeks and probably won't (or at the very least shouldn't) see for awhile coming up. There are strangers who have me all tied in knots. Ghost who won't stop haunting me. Corrupted souls whose guilt lays heavy on my shoulders. And a certain unfortunately fortunate little situation that has my head spinning. I feel the beginning of an obsession coming on and I'm afraid I no longer know how to deal with it. And I'm tired. Did I mention how tired I am? The next few months have the potential to be very very dangerous for me. Years ago I knew I was strong enough to get through. Strong enough to survive. Now? I'm not so sure.

Not so sure at all.

*twitch*

Of Bruises And Bachelor Parties

"And what's your name?"

"My name is Hob, and tonight I am the corrupter of souls."

Once again where to start?

Friday night was James's surprise going away party. The kid is going to USC in a few days and though I know he'll do just fine on the complete other side of the country that doesn't seem to stop everyone from worrying about him.

Also I got my Jets season tickets last night. First time I've ever had actual season tickets to anything. And I'm not even a Jets fan. Though now that they have Favre I might actually go to a few games.

Yesterday afternoon the cousins were up and I visited with them and little brother and sister. For some reason unknown to anyone they devised a slip and slide going down the hill in the backyard out of a 40 by 40 blue tarp. Now that hill is rocky and bumpy and just not nice. But there was the rookie, long after everyone else gave up, sliding down that damn hill all by himself. I just couldn't let that be. So there I am, all 350 pounds of me, wearing $100 dry clean only pants and suspenders sliding down that damn hill like I was ten years old again. I'll tell you, that slip and slide is a young man's game because I am sore as hell this morning.

Last night was Vilaboy's bachelor party. It was, as always, a blast. I saw some old "friends" I hadn't seen in awhile and made a few new ones. I spent entirely too much money. Some kid vomited on my bus. We need to have bachelor parties more often. Like, every day...or every week at least. Come to think of it, that't not all that different from what we've been doing anyway.


"Did you just pull up to a strip club in a school bus?"

"Yeah. You know how we roll."

Get That Fucking 2 Outta Here: Of Addiction, Acquiesence, and the Abominable Snowman (Just Because I ran out of A's)

Things
Yesterday morning I went back into the doctor. That makes something like four times this year alone. That's more than the past 10 years combined. I really just wanted to talk with him a little about my "diet" and "exercise" and ask a few questions I probably should have asked months ago about my "problem".

I got there early and he took me right away so I avoided my normal waiting room antics and awkwardness. It took him a few minutes to realize that there was nothing wrong with me. I just wanted discuss a few things. Of course the things I wanted to discuss happened months ago and he has no recollection about what I am discussing. He's a real nice guy, little slow sometimes which is a bit frightening for a doctor, but real nice and knows his shit. But what he's telling me is that I just have to do more. Which I know. But I want to know what I have to do. And what he's telling me isn't jiving with either common sense or what we briefly discussed last time. I can tell he doesn't recall what we discussed last time and it was awhile ago so I don't hold it against him, but at the same time it's making this conversation a little more difficult. I know what I'm doing is good, and I know it's not good enough. But I need some help. Need some advice. And I just wasn't getting it. This doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would. Odd.

But now I want to discuss the "problem". Full disclosure: the "problem" isn't really a problem. And it's certainly not like the other "problems". It's just when you' weigh a sight over 350 lbs. and your cholesterol, blood pressure, sugars, and everything else are pointing towards you being perfectly healthy you really need to find something to help with the motivation. I want to lost weight for two reasons, the first being that I've been lucky so far and don't want to push it. The second being that there's this pair of pants I really like that I don't fit in anymore. But seriously...I'm not sick of being fat. I'm scared of being sick. So when the doctor says you have a problem that isn't really a problem but could become a big problem, if you're smart you do something about it. Problem is that since it's not a problem yet what can you do about it specifically? I have no idea if it's something I should get checked every 6 months of every 6 years. Or even at all. And when I ask I don't get an answer, instead I get the "Well we can check it now." Great. I know we can check it now. But do we need to? Doctors aren't very good at answering questions like that so off I go for more blood work.

Now the very nice woman who came to take my blood couldn't find the vein in my right arm on the first (or second or third) try and now my arm is a blood bruised mess. But while she's poking around the cute girl who works reception comes in. So I'm getting stabbed and it's getting mildly painful and the woman is going on about how she thought she had the vein, but now she doesn't and she can't find the vein, and all this time she's jabbing me with a needle. So what do I do? I say, "I've never really understood this. No matter where you poke someone with a sharp object...shouldn't they bleed?" She laughs, and I learn a lesson. When someone is having difficulty drawing blood from you using a sharp needle, don't make them laugh, it just makes things worse...for you. On the plus side I'm pretty sure that at least got a smile out of the cute receptionist and the woman drawing the blood gave up and switched arms.

UNO

Last night I headed down to St.Paul's for the open youth room night. They do it every Wednesday and I don't really need to be there (nor do I often have the time to be there) but I make sure I'm at every single one because it is the only way I can stay in touch with these kids. Most of the time there's only three of us there. Mrs.K, who runs the program, Kevin, an underclassmen, and me, who is so far removed from youth it's almost comical. Lots of nights Adriana shows up, The Boyles come by sometimes. Kevin brings his friend Al on occasion. They are all good kids, and people I'm constantly glad that I know. I often say that I don't know what I would do without these people in my life, but the truth is I do. I'd move on. I'd find other people, maybe people I didn't like as much or need as much, but I know me, I would. But I don't want to. And that's why I've stayed there for so long. That's why when I look around I realized that I've been through the program with these kids older brothers and sisters. Hell I'd been there 7 or 8 years already when some of their older siblings came through. I've watched so many people come and go that when I think about it my heart breaks a little. And I know it will happen again, and again, and again. And I know I can take it...I just don't want to.

Alter-World Vs. The Abominable Snowman

So last night I had a very uneasy sleep. I had grating dreams bordering on nightmares that segued quite effortlessly into long meandering narrative dreams that slipped quietly into dreams of the Alter-World. The Alter-World is a familiar dream world I find myself in quite often. Dreams that take place there tend to be longer and more detailed, very often more mundane but pointed. It is the foreign yet familiar place I talk of so often. There is a house that I spend a great deal of time at, another house I'm reasonably certain I live in. I have no job there that I can tell, no solid connections I have discovered. But there are people, people I know who I encounter, versions of places that exist here as well. Last night's dream started with me at the house I spend a lot of time at but don't live in. I was digging a hole in the front yard. When I arrived in the dream I was already digging, but I didn't leave the house until the hole was done. I don't know what the hole was for but I'm reasonably certain it will be there next time I stop by. I took a bus into the city (I neither got on or off the bus as I can recall, I simply wasn't on it then I was and then I wasn't again.) When I blipped off the bus I found myself standing on a ladder in a manhole looking up at a high curb out front of the shop that was my destination. Transportation in the Alter-World is apparently very unreliable. I recognized right away that I'd visited the building the shop was in before. A few floors up was the apartment I met Jimmy Stewart in, and just across the street was the restaurant where I had dinner with, among others, my deceased sixth grade science teacher and Dominic Monaghan from Lost. I was standing in the shop talking about comic books when we heard a rumble from outside and with a sudden dark shadow crossing over us I disappeared and blipped straight into the mansion near the river where they hold the greatest parties but for some reason there was no one around. It was still raining (same storm I knew although I have no idea the spatial relation between the mansion and the city in the Alter-World, a side affect of the unreliable transportation situation. Blipping and Phantom Busses are notoriously blasé when it comes to the laws of physics.) and it was hot as hell. I was sweating (and coincidentally I was wearing the ill fitting tux that I always wear when I dream I'm at the mansion) and couldn't figure out where everyone was. The wind picked up and patio tables and lawn chairs began to fly through the air. A great roar rose up from the back of the house and a gigantic monster broke through the french doors onto the patio. It took me a moment to realize it was the abominable snowman. Before I could give anymore thought to the meaning behind that I woke up. Things are getting odd in the Alter-World.

Money and Problems
I have two rules about money. The first is never spend more than you have. The second is that you should always carry enough money to get yourself into trouble...and twice that much to get yourself out. I haven't been breaking my rules necessarily, but I've been damn close. In the past eight months I've spent more than you make in a year. I'm pretty comfortable saying that because if you make more in a year than what I've spent in the last eight months you probably have something better to do than be reading this blog. There are two reasons this hasn't hurt me yet. The first being that I saved up a lot of money before this year, and the second being that I make a lot of money.

I have two very expensive hobbies. The first is my Collection. I won't bore you with details of what I've spent but I can tell you that what I have ordered and on commission will add $10,000 to that amount in the next six months. After that I'm sort of out of space and will have just about everything that's already out that I want. I'm not looking to branch the collection out in any other directions. This should cut my spending on that down by about 90%. So I'm not too worried about that.

The second expensive hobby involves go-go dancers. I joke about this one a lot. In fact I spend more time joking about go-go bars than I do in actual go-go bars. But it's still a significant expense. I blow through money when I'm having a good time, and it seems like everyone is around a lot less lately, which just leaves me with a lot more time to get in trouble on my own.

Add to that the exercises equipment I've bought, the work done on my backyard, the work I'm having done in the house and you end up with a pretty tidy sum. I could always make more money if I wanted, but something tells me this isn't a problem I'm going to have to worry about anytime soon. There are things going on. Hands which need to be played out.

Conclusion
And finally, a quick note to the reader who has been so kind as to post comments on two of my recent entries. I appreciate your comments very much, and since seeing your first comment I've been following the entries on your blog and find them to be both interesting and meaningful. Please don't take my lack of comment on your blog as a slight in anyway, it's just that yours is a current that runs far deeper than mine, and I hesitate to comment until I feel I have something really worth saying. But I sincerely appreciate you reading mine, and I will continue to read yours.

Today Was a Good?/Bad? Day: My Old Friend Roy and Grendel Prime

So this morning I had a meeting with someone about refinishing the floors in the apartment. It should come out looking real good particularly if I can get a painter in there some time soon. This afternoon I headed down south to meet up with a guy I buy some statues off of to pick up my long sought after Grendel Prime. It made for an interesting afternoon.

This guy has got a cool little store that he didn't have when I first met him, and we hung out there and bullshit for awhile. It was cool to talk to someone about this stuff I'm collecting. Someone who shares a common interest in the hobby. We headed over to his parent's house to check out the Grendel Prime and a few other things. This guy easily has $100,000 worth of stuff in his parent's basement...bare minimum I would say. And here we are tripping over things trying to track down one single specific box in a barely organized pile of several thousand. Now obviously he wants me to buy as much as I can so that he makes a few bucks and obviously I want to buy as much as I can because, well, because I'm me. But instead I find myself being almost selective and really only buying what I came to look at. So several times I said thanks, but no thanks, I don't want to spend that much...and then I quickly had to look around to make sure I was actually the one who said that.

I got what I wanted and started to head home. But it was several hours later than I had planned on heading out and I hadn't eaten at all today. I was starving. And there, lo and behold, was a Roy Rogers.

Now let me give you a little background on my old friend Roy. There used to be a Roy Rogers less than ten minutes from my mom's house. My dad used to take us there when we were kids. It was the first place I tasted fried chicken, first place I had a bacon cheeseburger, first place I ate so damn much I nearly hurled. Yeah, me and Roy go way back. It was also a place that held a lot of fond memories for me because it was one of those places I associated with spending time with my father back when spending time with my father didn't consist of several hours of him yelling at me and me trying not to get yelled at. (Come to think of it, even then that's how it was with my father. It just bothered me less. It wouldn't get out of hand as often because back then he could just pop us one and we'd shut up or he could just drop us off with our mom and be gone. I'd like to see him try either of those things now.) But Roy Rogers was a place I was sad to see go when they started closing up in North Jersey.

So here I am, having a great day crusing down the highway when I see my first full fledged Roy Rogers restaurant in nearly ten years. This wasn't one of those truck stop Roy Rogers, no no. This was classic Roy Rogers. My kind of Roy Rogers. And I missed it. But here I was on a diet specifically designed to stop me from eating at places like...you guessed it, Roy Rogers. It's been three months. Three months and I've followed everyone of my damn rules. (They are pretty simple truth be told.) 1. No red meat. (No pork either really). 2. No fried foods. 3. No regular soda (the odd diet soda is allowed, but no regular soda and nothing really sugary either. No candy or junk food at all). Three months and I've stuck to everyone of those rules...and it's not making much of a difference. I mean I am losing weight little by little, and I reckon I'm healthier. But...

I wish I could say that today I stuck to my guns. Wish I could say I drove right past that Roy Rogers. But the truth is I didn't. Truth is I ordered two pieces of fried chicken and a diet coke, and enjoyed it immensely. I kept trying to justify it to myself. (It's a reward for doing good. It's only two pieces. It's all you've had to eat today. Just once isn't going to kill you.) But the truth is I simply failed. I knew I was going to. Didn't even really argue with myself. I know I won't be breaking again anytime soon. I certainly don't feel guilty, that's not the sort of thing I do. But I know I failed. And I know I'll fail again. And the truth is it doesn't bother me all that much. You fall down, you get up again. And this isn't even a spill, just a stumble. Right back to no fat cottage cheese and steamed asparagus. Less of course they open a Roy Rogers in my neighborhood. Then all bets are off.

We Won't Stop Until Somebody Calls The Cops And Even Then We'll Start Again And Just Pretend That Nothing Ever Happened

"so if you wanna burn yourself remember that I LOVE YOU
and if you wanna cut yourself remember that I LOVE YOU
and if you wanna kill yourself remember that I LOVE YOU
call me up before your dead, we can make some plans instead
send me an IM, i'll be your friend" - Kimya Dawson, Loose Lips

Uh...yeah. Where do I start? The melancholy caught me just a few minutes ago when I realized how tired I actually am. I've stayed out all night entirely too many times in the past few weeks, this of course made worse by the fact that I stayed out totally by myself.

Real me is going to interject in this entry for a moment to point out that it's 11:00 on a Saturday night and one of the guys who worked for me just called to ask a question about next week. It doesn't bother me that he called, I'd always rather someone asks a question than be uncertain, what bothers me is that he waited till 11:00 on a Saturday night to call the office to ask a question. He just assumed I would be here. I'm beginning to think these fuckers take me for granted. Now back to your regularly scheduled entry.

I've also burned through a fortune in the past few weeks. Not even a small fortune, just a regular sized one. Apparently go-go dancers and comic book statues were hobbies meant for far wealthier people than I. Add to that the fact that I just paid off the balance on the bronze statue I have coming and just hired an artist in California to do a commission for me and I've pretty much run through my hobby budget for the next five years. The tenants moved out this week and I began ripping up the carpet upstairs today. I figure I'll refinish the hardwood floors to make them all nice, paint up the living room and two bedrooms, and tear up the kitchen to turn it into a lounge. The last thing I'll do is refinish the bathroom. I'm not going to pull the stove out I'm just going to cover it up somehow that way I can turn it back into an apartment at some point. That should all cost a shitload of money I don't currently have.

I was thinking of all this and watching my plans for this evening fall apart when I realized I haven't really seen my friends much in the last month or so. Everything seems to be whipping by real fast.

Real me interjecting again. Sitting at my desk just now I heard gun shots that didn't sound that far away. This isn't particularly unusual around here, but still rare enough that you notice, and these sounded a whole lot closer than usual.

So things were whipping by real fast. This year is going to be one of the more difficult since I've been here, and I'm not looking forward to it. If I'm broke all year it's going to suck even worse. Vilaboy is getting married in a few weeks, and Sean in a few months. That will pretty much make me the only single guy left. Eating right is proving to be pretty easy, although I haven't been to the grocery store this week so right now I'm sort of fucked (and hungry). Excercising is proving to be a little more difficult. At first I was doing too much for me. Now I'm not doing enough. It seems like every few days my legs hurt too much to get on the treadmill and then I seem to lose what little progress I've made. I cracked my left hand on the punching bag, so that part of the workout pretty much consists of me throwing right crosses and attempting to bob and weave. I'm also bleeding more for some reason. I would have thought it would go the other way. But it hasnt't. I'm not nervous yet, but soon...

Anyway...I'm packing up here in the office in just a few minutes. Going to go find something to eat (something unhealthy at this point since where can you get no fat cottage cheese at midnight on a Saturday? No seriously, I'm asking. Anybody?) then go home and clean the house a little bit, maybe even try to get some exercise in. Then...hopefully, a peaceful sleep.

Tomorrow I'll try and actually do something.

"After all the talk of love, and loneliness, and the whatnot this is the corniest emotion I've felt in a long time. I feel like I accomplished something, and although I know I haven't the comfort I feel is in just that. Even though I haven't done a thing...I feel like I have. Welcome to the rest of my life..." - Palomba, from Hail To The King Baby, Monday July 6th, 2004

An Oldie...But A Goodie

This post is from April of 2006. I was thinking this morning about a few people that have gone and disappeared on me and it made me remember this post. I've done some lite editing. Cut a few parts out (including the refrain which at the time I loved but now seem to despise just a little), reworded a few parts as well. But it's essentially just a re-post from way back when.

I ran into someone the other day. Guy I used to know in high school. We were friendly, if not really friends, and we talked quite a bit our first year out of school. But then we sort of lost touch in that way you tend to do. So six years went by, and next thing you know here we are passing each other by on the way out of the 7-11 not more than five minutes walk from where we both went to school. And what do you have to talk about after six years? Not what you've done, but what you're doing. We both remember what we intended to do when last we spoke, and here we are in a parking lot near Paterson reminding each other about how we haven't done it. But still when you walk away...

Ran into another guy I know going into the 7-11 last night. Known the kid most of my life, wouldn't think twice about calling him a good friend. But I can count on both hands the number of times I've seen him in the last seven years. Can count on one hand the number of times I've even thought about him in the past year. It's like the stories we used to share have been shrewdly edited to let us all forget that he ever existed. Just makes telling them easier. Not that he ever did anything wrong, just that he's not there to defend his part in our stories anymore and that makes it easier to write him out of them completely. And it's funny when you run into a guy like that now, funny what you talk about. Not what you're doing, or even what you've done, but who you still know, who you've seen. "What about old so-and-so?" You almost assume that since you haven't seen them, that they must have, since you don't really see each other anymore. And if neither one of you see them then, hell, they must not exist anymore. And when being specific gets too depressing you say, "Have you seen anyone?" Just begging for them to tell you something about someone you both used to know, and when they answer no, that they haven't seen anyone it almost breaks your heart. Because you know they must have seen someone. Just not possible for seven years to pass and you not see anyone. But then they ask you the same thing...and you lie right back to them. Nope, I ain't seen anyone either. And then you figure it's time to go, so you promise to get together soon and invite all the people that neither one of you have seen out for a drink, and for about four seconds you actually believe it's going to happen and then you remember...you've got other things to do. And that's that. You're both gone and wondering if either one of you ever really knew the other.

Ran into another guy today, in 7-11, and it took me a minute to make sure I knew it was him. Nothing worse then thinking you know someone only to find out it ain't them. And I said, "Hey Dave. Been awhile." And he looked at me for a minute, like maybe he'd done too many drugs, or maybe I'd gained too much weight, and he wasn't really sure if I was who he thought I was, and he didn't want to get it wrong because there ain't nothing worse then knowing someone but not realizing who it is you think you know. And he said, "Chris, right?" And I said, "Hell yes." Like it ain't been seven years and it wouldn't have been the most natural thing in the world for him not to remember me. And I said, "So what have you been up to?" And he goes, "Just working." And I said, "Yeah. Same here." Even though there were seven years worth of things I could have told him that would have all been completely new to him, but instead I said "How's your brother? You tell him I said hello." And he said, "Same to yours." And I said, "It was good seeing you." Even though I'm not entirely sure it really was, and he said the same and we shook hands and headed out. And if it were seven years till I saw him again, I don't know if I'd notice, and neither would he.

And I wonder if I'm done meeting new people, and if I was have I met enough to have my fill? And the thought frightens the living shit out of me. I ain't been but 45 minutes away from where ever I start in damn near a year, and though there's plenty of adventure to be had 45 minutes from anywhere in North Jersey I'm beginning to wonder if there's enough.

In my life I've met the greatest people I could ever want to meet, and I've watched them come, and I've watched them go and I've lost far too many of them before I was ready. And some days I wake up wondering if today's the day someone that's gone will come back, or someone that only just got here will move on, and I never seem to know which it will be. But I do know one thing...if I die today or if I live forever, my life just wouldn't have been worth living without those people that come and go.