Harder than anticipated

Relapse Post #6
Still here. Still believing in the same dream that didn't work out last time. Trying to breathe life into something that may have never actually existed anywhere but in my mind. Knowing the effort is futile and still trying. Did you not understand the word "hopeless" in hopeless romantic? That's love. That's me.

Don't worry about me, I'm worried about you.

Well, that was quick.

I've been trying to reconcile the concept of Sporty reading this. It will not be as easy as I first thought.

At one point I'm trying to express who am, and with that those associated feelings I have towards her, without ... well, you know. But then a lot of what I write has a natural dramatic tension, so it's again, a balancing act of sorts. This little internal drama stems from me trying to write a blog post and re-reading it I found myself with an "odd turn of phrase". I had to question if I wrote it just to elicit a certain response from her.

For clarification, the bit of writing that troubled me was about that day I know is coming. The day when she says something along the lines of... "I've met this guy".

It doesn't promise to be my best day ever.

She and I don't normally talk about other guys. Or, now that I think about it, girls in regards to me. Not normally. It didn't really feel organic in the past, and now I think I'm scared. And we talked a lot. So I know when she brings it up, whoever she'll be talking about, whenever this is, will be, well, someone er, of note.

You see, in trying to describe that day I know is coming in the future, I started to write about how she first told me about the guy she eventually agreed to marry from before. I went all sound and fury, signifying nothing. Reading it, I couldn't decide if I was being overly honest or desperately dramatic. It felt manipulative. It read like the post I made the day after it happened, but like I'd run the memory through a pity filter trying to highlight particularly painful colors of the moment. It was either poetry or pure shit. I couldn't decide which.

By the way, I can clearly say that day she told me, also wasn't the best ever. So I got one down, and one coming.

But as far as this here blog goes, I got to figure something out. I don't want to compromise my voice, end up whispering into the darkness instead of screaming, and she doesn't want me to. But how do make sure I'm just saying what's on my mind, and not subconsciously directing something at her.

Tricky. No subliminals.

So I got a plan. Might work, might not.

Before there was a blog, I had a little thing I wrote that I updated from time to time with my feelings about me and her. She says I do a lot of words, but for a while, words were all I had. Over the course of, I guess three years, I would update it when the mood struck with what was going on, frustrations, hopes, thoughts, how I felt about things. There is actually less writing there than I remember, since months went by between updates, but it is : unfiltered, uncut, pure. Not really intended for publication, ever. It includes times when I felt good and bad about hanging out with Sporty. And conveniently, at least for these purposes, it stops on Monday, November 19th, 2007.

*Cough*

I'm going to cut it up in small chunks and see how that goes. Between now and when that runs out, I'll either have balanced how to say some things without ulterior motives, or I won't. And we'll see from there.

Barkeep...you know.

My Playlist

Ramblings Post #123
I love music. There are songs that I haven't heard in 15 years that if the music started I could sing like I'd heard it yesterday. Every so often, at a personal crossroad, I would hear a song that perfectly captured the moment. Like God was sending me a message. Sporty once sent me a song that...well, set my dreams on fire. Music is a powerful thing.

My Playlist. While plucking chickens, I need music that soothes and keeps me from, well, things not suggested by the local constabulary. Plucking chickens is stressful.

As I've indicated before, I love music. Well, it's in here somewhere (oh, yeah, see the intro). At one point I even was deluded enough to believe I could sing, then I turned nine. My tastes are eclectic, from rap to soul, to country and electronic, jazz and classical. I'm flexible.

This playlist isn't new songs, I like familiar sounds, at least when I'm working. Let's me concentrate.

And it's got a theme, which is guess is um...appreciation. In some form.

Promise - Ciara
Ooh Ooh - Cheri Dennis
Brotha - Angie Stone
Stay for a While - Angie Stone
Baby - Ashanti
Slowly - Syleena Johnson
Always Will - Tweet
Cater to You - Destiny's Child
Truth Is - Fantasia
Opera - Floetry
Always be my baby - Mariah Carey
Wanna be with You - Mary J. Blige

Well, I am a romantic at heart. Think about it. A few songs bring certain people to mind, which is always soothing.


Barkeep, turn on some music I can drink too!

A voice in the darkness....yells back.

Ramblings Post #122
Ever taste something so good, that you just don't want to stop tasting it. Because you're old enough to realize that great tastes don't come along everyday, that the next bite won't taste as good as this bite, the next meal won't be as good as this meal, right here, right now? And once you've had that taste, that perfect taste, you'll eat as long as you're able trying for that moment again. Man, ice cream sandwiches are scary.

It's real complicated.

I'm still putting my words to print, so I guess I'm still doing this.

Well, it seems not only does Sporty like my blog, she actually indicated she would be mad at me if I stopped. So, I guess we continue on. And yes, that does read exactly like it should.

This will be my third attempt to write this. My two previous attempts have ended with segues into what I guess are potentially whole other topics involving self examination and personal insights I may or may have not covered earlier in this blog. They may have made, or will eventually, make fairly good posts. But they are really too divergent for this situation.

You see I made a rather startling realization, well, startling to me. In re-reading this blog, I'm finding out things about how I felt during several things during the thick of it , in a honest "screaming into the electronic darkness moments" kinda way. There are quite a few of those in there. And I guess Sporty is seeing some of them too. Not a magic moment, but at least something that catches the eye. Let's just say I knew those pictures looked familiar.

I guess part of what I'm doing here now is seeing if I can still give the unfettered, uncensored, unexpurgated commentary about my life, dreams ... my love...that I used to give, but knowing someone specific is watching. I mean, if it was that easy to do this, these would have been conversations we had and not posts on a blog. But we've never been orthodox as an "us", so maybe this will just be a new way we communicate.

And communication is good.

Barkeep. One for me, one for my girl.

Editor note: Man, you know looking back, I am really really grateful I never really went into some of my more...er, graphic .. um, thoughts.. Whew. That would have been embarrassing.

Frying Pan. Fire.

Out of the Blue Post
Did ever wish you could turn back the hands of time? Realize that sometimes the good deed ain't the best deed? Realize that maybe you really were better off being an ass? Think that every once and a while, you could just see the accident and keep driving? If you answered yes to just one of these questions...then I'm not alone. Read on.

Next time, I'll just not answer the phone.

Apparently neither Scoop nor Shade understand that people sleep at night. This morning at 1am or so, my phone starts buzzing and my mind immediately goes to the worst. Family? Sporty? Spam in my inbox?

But it's Scoop. And she's apparently taken the time to write me a little letter explaining her side of the current conflict with her former friend Shade. It's a rather long writing, at least on a BBerry it is, and at 1am, with the attached writings takes some scrolling. What it said I'm not sure, because I didnt' read it. I might, but at 1am with nobody dead or pregnant, I just didn't take the issue as as especially pressing.

You see, the only real issue now is extrication. Of me. From this disagreement.

I've talked to one about it, and now I'm gonna talk to the other one. With any luck, I will convince both of them I am wholly uninterested in the details, or even the consequences any longer. I mean, I hate to see people once so close now at odds, but in reality, if they never speak to one another again, it wouldn't be the end of my world. They're both good people at heart, who mean well towards one another, but I'm guessing the words are coming out wrong.

I hope.

I'm promising myself I'm not going to try to fix this. I'm promising myself that I'm not picking sides. I'm hoping that I can get out of this still able to talk to both of them.

Barkeep. Man, if I pull this off...

Are you happy?

Ramblings Post #121
Sometimes life doesn't work out the way you figured. You get exactly what you asked for, only to find out it doesn't work quite the way you thought it did. That candy bar you wanted has Brazilian nuts. Your dream car doesn't have manual transmission option. That tall fine sister in the short skirt is an idiot. So you gotta make the call. Is that piece I'm giving up really that important? And for the record, she wasn't all that fine.



Spanky hit me up.

Okay, I hadn't hollered at Spanky in a month. She's in "relationship mode" which for her usually involves an all consuming faithfulness to the object of her affection. She cooks, cleans, calls, cuddles and will hop on one leg and bark like a dog - a big dog - if you ask. Her level of commitment is complete. It's actually a beautiful thing to watch.

Provided the guy deserves it. Usually they don't, in my opinion, but then I'm not doing the choosing. Eventually she figures that out too, but it takes a while.

So, Spanky hit me up. Which means something is wrong. As I've related earlier, she can complete the rotation from strong career woman striding the earth with purpose to needy self conscious little girl and back again faster than you can run the hundred. And on more than one occasion I've been her cheerleader, life coach, cat wrangler, confidant, spiritual adviser, psychiatrist, and drinking buddy, so it's understandable. She called this time to tell me she almost broke it off last night with her current beau.

So I asked why. Touch my bass? She just noticed he has a artificial leg? She discovered he's a Young Republican?

Turns out he something to the effect of : I'm too old for a girlfriend, what I really need is a best friend. And I know you're not going anywhere, so just f-ing deal with it.

So I started telling her about my diet.

Like I was getting into the middle of that mess? Okay, I did ask her the only question I ever really ask anyone at at moment like this: are you happy with that? Not can you get by, or does that work for you, there are a lot of things you can work with that make you miserable. Are you happy? There are so many other aspects to life which can throw you, so a relationship should be your bastion, it needs to make you feel better, even if only in little increments. The Pros have to outweigh the Cons or you're just wasting time.

You can do bad by yourself.

But then she said she's not going anywhere. That's what she said. I checked her on it a few times. So it must be better. Or she's whipped.

Meh.

We'll see.

Barkeep...let me get a Screaming Viking. Only lightly bruise the cucumber, please...

F-301

Ramblings Post #120
We all have something. That something that is the "certain something" that without it we are less of a person. For me, other than say, a certain somebody, my certain something, my addiction if you will, is a thing of which I'm not ashamed. Okay, I am a little ashamed of it, but I won't bring it up if you won't.

I have a thing for pens.

I mention this because as I was doing some training and pulled a new pen out of my bag to make notes for the trainee. The pen looked the way it was supposed to, but wrote funny. I tried three times, then apologized to the trainee and pulled seven or eight pens out of my computer bag. Seven or eight IDENTICAL pens. It was to ensure I got the correct kind. The trainee claimed I had a tinge of OCD concerning pens. It is a distinct possibility.

My preferred pen is a Zebra F-301.

Nice, isn't it?

I have used this pen, pretty much exclusively, for the past 10 or 12 years. Okay, preferred is probably a bad term. I'm very serious about this pen.

When I started at the "chicken plucking plant" years ago, one day I needed a pen. I indicated to my co-workers and my boss that I needed my pen. They offered the standard fare - bic, el cheapo pen, inkpushers, etc, and instead I got up, took the elevator down the ground floor (it's a big chicken plant), got in my car, drove to Walmart and bought pens. Two packs of F-301s. Really. I try to keep one on me at all times.

It is a smooth writing, fine point instrument for writing.

I don't like the F-402, or the G-301, only this particular pen. And I'm not too fond of the red ones, which you get in the pack of four. I'm thinking somebody snuck that G-301 - the offending wrong pen - into the four pack I'd just bought, which means the four pack is now off my list. And since the two pack counts out at roughly $2.50 a pen, it's a fairly expensive addiction.

But considering the alternative addictions - drugs, alcohol, 19th century french party dresses - I think I'll stick with my pens.

They are kinda neat.