Valentines...and thoughts of Love.

If you've never had a regret, then you've never been in love. 

Love rarely goes perfectly. Most of us have a regret that calls back to us when we think about love, because love is usually an unscheduled demanding mess. It's two people meeting at just the right moment in their lives to open to the possibilities, and then willing to work together to make those possibilities into something akin to tangible. Love is shared highs and lows, because we have a tendency to take the sunshine for granted if we've never stood in the rain. Love is personal growth, cooperation and sacrifice in one constantly changing little corner of reality you're trying to make into a cozy home for your soul. But because it's not neat, not pre-cast, not set, and directions vary, things don't always come out just right. And it those mistakes we make, those moments where we feel our hearts hang in the balance, that we come to regret.  

Far too often we are just living our lives and end up with love unexpectedly, stumbling across it like a root in the dark.  Unsure in our actions because life comes with opinions but not instructions, and instead of working to an understanding of who we are and sometimes afraid of what we want, we do things with grand intentions that in time we come to regret.  Our actions are the multitude. Maybe it's benign neglect. Maybe we overwork it. Or we expect magic because magic fills our dreams. And then when something goes awry, comes regret. 

Awry? We've all said something we regretted, or perhaps worse, left something unsaid until too late.  Made assumptions that we never took the time to correct. Set our expectations too high or too low.  Or we regret giving up too soon. Or staying too long. Holding too tight or letting things get out of hand. Giving too much or not putting enough effort. Sometimes the moments we regret are seemingly insignificant, and sometimes that moment looms over us blocking out the world. And there we stand in our pathway of life, filled with regret. 

But regret meant that the feelings that birthed them were real.  That the love was real. We need our regret.  It has the potential to teach us, if only because we don't want to return to feeling. This is why love has the capacity to make us better.  And while we hope to be able use that regret to perhaps strengthen the love we have, mostly regret is a lesson we take with us going forward should we find love again.

Ah, Sporty.

As I'm not young anymore, I possess regrets. Words unspoken mostly. A few assumptions that may have limited what I thought was possible. Hopefully... I've learned. 

So why am I bringing this up? Why is this worthy of the time for me to write it and you to read it? An essay on regret on Valentine's? Because maybe you still have time to heel your regrets. Rein them in before they run away with you. A chance to ...to say the thing unsaid, or realize you've stayed too long. To get back on the course to being in love. Because even though my moments aren't always the brightest, because I've been there I don't want anyone else to have to.go. 

Love begets regret. But then love is the parent of many things.

Odd Quotes

Art by Paul Davey (mattahan)

"A soulmate is an ongoing connection with another individual that the soul picks up again in various times and places over lifetimes. We are attracted to another person at a soul level not because that person is our unique complement, but because by being with that individual, we are somehow provided with an impetus to become whole ourselves."
~ Edgar Cayce

Odd Quotes

Intimacy is not entirely physical. In fact, it can have no physical interaction at all. For an intimate relationship to take place, allow someone into your thoughts. Let them hold and caress your feelings. Let them be intimate with your mind. Allow for the emotional intimacy to be the reason for passion to be bred. Now that is intimacy that is long lasting.
~ Somewhere on the Internet...

Odd Quotes

“The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are things you get ashamed of, because words make them smaller. When they were in your head they were limitless; but when they come out they seem to be no bigger than normal things. But that’s not all. The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried; they are clues that could guide your enemies to a prize they would love to steal. It’s hard and painful for you to talk about these things … and then people just look at you strangely. They haven’t understood what you’ve said at all, or why you almost cried while you were saying it.”

~ Stephen King, From some book of his.

Valentines and other thoughts of little substance

Would you know love, if you saw love? And if it showed up tomorrow, would you be ready?

I usually throw together a little missive for valentines, to spark the thoughts of those who I hold dear in hopes that a little expansion of the mind might be good for the soul. I read a question the other day it got me to thinking of whether or not I, or really any of us who are single in this day and age, are really ready for love.

"If love came your way would you be prepared to receive it"?

Love is giving of ourselves. Wanting to give of ourselves.

As I've stated before, too many of us have confused love with being the object of affection, in that when we use the term "I want to be in love" what we really mean is "I want someone to love me." And that person better bring pie. We want someone to call when we we want them to call but not so often as to annoy us. We want someone who looks hot, but will love us even though we could stand to lose a few pounds. We want someone willing to treat us to those things that make us happy, but won't expect much of anything in return. We want someone great, willing to work with us

What a lot of us really want want is a just a worshiper at the our temple.

Or, we want the person whom we want to see naked to suddenly be able to fulfill all the other dreams and fantasies of personal satisfaction we've cooked up while feeling lonely. Not only will they be sexy, they'll slot right into our lives and think of us and only us because it feels so perfect.

And because we're looking for the wrong thing, with probably the wrong person, there is a high probability that we're never going to find them. I'm just saying. But none of us wants to get used, so what we're looking for is, and I know this is going to sound odd, someone we can eventually feel guilty about screwing over. That or the "beautiful instant love" love thing that happens in movies when attractive actors recite lines in carefully picked locations that create that dream of a "meet cute" that we all know is waiting for us. Either or.

"If love came your way would you be prepared to receive it"?

If someone who adored you, who made you smile and laugh, who was thoughtful and sincere came along, would you accept them if they were shorter than you hoped? Or a little larger than you expected? Or didn't make you want to get naked? Could you be able to see past the imperfections and make reality the much vaunted ideal "you can't judge a book by its cover" line we were taught by responsible parents. I wish I could say I could. Or have. I admit that I've politely declined to pursue possibilities because she didn't fit an archetype I'd devised that incidentally eliminated as much 99.95% of the female population. As though I was some great catch.

Love is giving of ourselves. Wanting to give of ourselves.

It's funny when you think about it. Someone desperately trying to give you something you've been desperately searching for and you turn them down because you want the wrapping paper to be a different color. I've done it, and I'm a hopeless romantic! I need to be slapped.

"If love came your way would you be prepared to receive it"?

Barkeep, a round on me for everybody drinking alone.

Will I be happy as a lawyer?

Ramblings Post #158
Transitions are odd. Given a choice I'm a night person, unless I have to work at night, then I'm a morning person. I don't really drink coffee, unless it was free and I was at the office. Now that I don't have an office, I'm thinking of getting a coffee maker. I need focus and self discipline, and I shouldn't have expected them to just suddenly pop into existence. Or should I have? It's only been a week. It's a transition. At least that's what I keep telling myself.



Would I be happy as a lawyer?

Sporty asked me the other day, a question I really hadn’t thought about. That question is the the title of this post - will I be happy being a lawyer?

I make no bones that applied to Law School on a whim, and then actually made the move to go only because it looked like Sporty had moved on and I needed something to occupy my time and my mind. It’s not the first time I’ve started something for less than completely pure reasons and later developed an interest. But that concept made me think about something else that I don’t usually consider about myself.

I’m a fairly intense person.

To look at me, to observe me, to know me you probably wouldn’t believe me when I say that. I’ve cultivated a strenuously casual demeanor, something I’ve been working on to mitigate my “dark side” since I realized I have a tendency to go overboard when I get involved... in pretty much anything. I liked reading as a child, so I read everything under the sun. Westerns, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, How-to, Horror, Novels, etc. I played organized football, and was that wild eyed screaming lunatic always a little too into the game that my coach would have referred to as - agile, mobile and hostile. I’ve had employers where I was willing to put in nineteen hours days if the job called for it, and with my last employer I nearly worked myself into the grave. Those things I do, I do with a passion. As I’ve said before, I think of my approach to things as being like that of a freight train, slow to start, but a force to be reckoned with once moving.

It’s been three years. So I’ve kinda gotten into this law thing.

That and there are so many things you can do with a law degree, so many types of lawyer you can be. Or even if you don’t take the bar, as I discussed with a classmate, there are things you can do with just a Juris Doctor. It is an advanced degree. The field is wide open for career opportunities. I'll have more tools.

But happy?

The things that make me happy can’t be earned. I can’t really work towards them, or build up a bank to use later. They aren't something I can hone, or develop, or anything I can buy. The things that make me happy have to be given to me.

Love. Friendship. Compassion.

It’s an odd concept. I don’t want to call myself gifted, but those things that can be mastered I have tendency to eventually get a grasp of. I have persistent quality and a great degree of patience, so it comes. Eventually. Most times. It is the intangibles that interest me, that drive me, that make me. And in those situations what I'm counting on mostly is luck of the draw. Damn shame.

So, will getting to the end of this make me happy? Oh, I'll be an effective lawyer, of that I'm certain. Like any other skill, given a little time I will start to get a handle on the nuances and shades that make a good counselor, and mature into legal hardwood.

Happy? Barkeep...how about a small whiskey, and just bruise it a touch with some Sprite. Happy?

Did I just do that?

Ramblings Post #151
I don't really have anything to put here, but I was informed once that without these little lead-ins, these trailers up to the main event, it just doesn't read the same. Thanks Schmoopy. So now I gotta type something here that loosely ties in with what follows. Although sometimes it doesn't, kinda like this. Or maybe I'm weak from hunger since I restarted my diet to today, which accounts for the decision I made that is chronicled in this installment. There, now it links up. Can stop now?


I've just had an ohnosecond.

My book reading has been reduced from novels, five part trilogies and epic historical or fantasy sagas to magazines as of late. This is because anything I can't read and be done with in 10 minutes not related to school is not really allowed. I'm getting by on furtive reads of the articles in Men's Health, Vanity Fair, National Geographic, GQ and Esquire, with the occasional Atlantic or Mother Jones thrown in. But to indulge, I also pickup copies of Renovation Style and various travel magazines - Conde Nast Traveler, Travel & Leisure, and Budget Travel. Yes, I know, its very sad to call that an indulgence.

But I really want to travel someday. When I was kid I used raid the brochures of the travel agency down the street from Dad's shop, and would study the layouts of cruise ships and resorts, area attractions and the foods I would at when I eventually made it there. Part of it was a my imagination and a fascination with exotic places, part of it a desire to be anywhere else other than the really small town in South Carolina I grew up in. Even now online I look at bike trips, scooter tours, catamarans, hiking, cooking tours, wine tours...that need to just get out and go calls at me.

And yet, I don't travel. This is sad. Very sad. I mean like no where. I live in Atlanta and I can barely get to the south side of Atlanta. I traveled more as itinerant college student.

But someone I know also loves travel. And actually does. And so I was going to get her a monthly subscription to Budget Travel, because they have some great deals in the back. Great deals. And I'd hoped to go with her to one of the many places I've storied about, once I had break. But today, I was looking around and low and behold I found Budget Travel's web site. And their expanded Great Deal section. And because I'm a great guy, knowing she'd be interested, I sent a link to my favorite little....

Ohnosecond.

The term "kid in a candy store" comes to mind. Cat out of the bag. Pandora's box. E-ticket. An unlimited gas card and an open highway.

A sudden thousand "What ifs?" popped into my head even as my finger clicked the mouse. A sudden thousand possibilities that caused a sudden feeling in my gut that made me wonder when I'd gotten on the roller coaster. It's not like I haven't contemplated the possibility before of things not working out as I would hope, it's just I hadn't actually thought about that in a long time. And I got a good imagination. Let's just say I had gotten real comfortable with hope, and maybe I just needed a reminder that hope isn't as solid as the dream its built upon. When you know you're going to get hit, you involuntarily flinch. Self preservation. I flinched.

Conflicted. I want her to go, to see the world, to chase her dreams. But then I want... to go with her? To have her wait for me? To not go until I'm ready? I do, I so do. But then why would I not want her to be all she can be, do all she can do and still say I love....

Here's hoping she sends some great postcards and takes some pretty pictures....

Barkeep...I need the cheap vodka. Cheaper than that.

On Valentines Day...

Ramblings Post #171
We are who are. That doesn't mean we shouldn't work to better ourselves, but we shouldn't deny who are either. Because in the now is where we live. Where we eat. Where we love. And on a day like today, I wish I wasn't the hopeless romantic that owns the acreage in my soul.

For quite a few years, I've fashioned myself as somewhat of a rake.

It goes along with that whole thing of thinking things into existence mental concept, the "see it and achieve it" positive thinking, bent to less than noble ends. I guess to some degree I've been successful, but since at heart I'm really just a nice guy, I don't think I ever put my all into making the facade a reality.

Why bring this up on Valentine's Day?

Well with all the single people I know, still looking for somebody, the idea that we know what we're doing seems to be less a reality and more one of those air brushed "facts" we like to inhabit to get us through the day, especially at this age. We as a group project the image of we want to be and not who we are. We're all actors, and life is the stage. And we "deserve" the best looking leading man or woman the world has to offer. And so consequently we chose those we hope to share our lives with by what we're supposed to want as opposed to what we actually enjoy. Metaphorically, we cheer for Shakespeare, and pretend we don't get Harold and Kumar . We desire the caviar because we're supposed to, when in reality we really want a chili dog. Oh to be an Oscar Meyer wiener.

In the past I've suggested that for this one day, we play dress up for the one we've chosen and make their dreams come true. That we expend a little bit of effort for someone else, be it in the form of a movie night, a dinner made, dancing, or something more naughty. I would call it Halloween for adults, but if you've seen Halloween lately, adults have already co-opted that. No, we pretend far too much, too often already.Love whom you really want, the best way you know how. That's all that even the best of us can hope for.

But don't confuse love and lust. Far too many of us confuse the momentary fun and thrill of new desire for true love. I can't lie, I love the thrill too. But sadly, that life long affection we we all want won't be a series of forever emotional explosions of joy. It will more than likely be serene, almost comfortable, and punctuated by moments of happiness shared. And the occasionally explosion of joy. Real love is a marathon, not a track meet. Too many of us are sprinters.

Hopefully many of will wise up and find that love that has been waiting for us.

And if not, there's always Harold and Kumar and chili dogs.

Barkeep. Champagne. Oh, that's for everyone else, you know what I'm drinking.

Bar Chatter

Bar Chatter #20
Sometimes it just ain't enough to make a post, but it's still needs to go out....it's just bar chatter.

Right before mailing.

This year, with much thought and deliberation, I crafted the "third book" in a series that I'm getting increasingly better at making, although maybe not exponentially better at writing. That's right. Hand crafted. Card stock for the pages, colorful cover, bound with metal rings this time instead of the twine. Not too shabby.

And I sent it to Sporty as her Valentine's day gift (I accidentally trusted it the US Mail, and I'm sweating bullets that it shows up). I must make a note that life is too important to be cheap.

Here's hoping she likes it. And me.

After she's read it.

So exactly what do you mean?

Ramblings Post #144
We all want to find the one. Okay, when you're young you want to find the two or the three depending on your personal appetites, but in the end you want to the find the one. And it will be great, everything will fall into place, your needs will be satisfied, and you can rest easy knowing they are there. So, you're looking for the one. But when you get down to it...what does that really mean?

Where we all want to be in the end.

(someplace warm, I mean. Tropical shirts and all that)

Lately I've been trying to figure out what is it women mean when they use the term "good black men". Do they mean money? Actions? Ideas? A combination? And it's different for every woman. It confounds me, primarily because despite my concerted effort to be something else, in essence I've always been the guy who ascribed to the imagined ideal of what a guy should be [ at least by standards set by the influential media of the late eighties - early nineties of my formative youth]. As a old high school friend put it even then, my problem is that "I actually gave a damn."

This comes up because of two videos I recently saw on Youtube, Black Marriage Negotiations and it's companion piece Black Dating in a Hip Hop Society. Both of which depict an "extreme" and at times hilarious perspective on our modern day relationships, and the influences it looks like we draw from to reach those conclusions. A number of people I know found it funny, a bunch of other folks I know are upset because the way they feel it degrades the black woman. It has been remarked that if the video upsets you, then it must hit a little too close to home. [ Note: I didn't say that, it was some chick on Youtube here.]

I know a lot of black women. A lot of independent black women. A lot of single independent black women.

I realized watching those oddly compelling videos is that a lot of younger women have no idea at all what a good black man looks like, or acts like, or does. And if you don't know what you're looking for, how can you expect to find it?

A confluence of events make this possible, some of which are the ascendancy of the single mother household, the rise of the "gangster mythology" in black media and the natural rebellion and the desire for excitement. I don't have the time (law school studies) or the energy for a complete analysis right now, and I don't want to lay all the blame on the women, men ARE responsible for their share of this mess. But I'm going to focus on the women's issues for the moment, these three in particular.

The ascendancy of the single mother household : Believe it or not, those of us with two parent households learned a lot simply by breathing. My parents worked hard to make sure we had what we needed, but the real key was the incidental life lessons we learned as their relationship made it though year after year. Children in this situation see a relationship - and the interdependence necessary to make it work. Somethings you can't tell a person, they have to witness. But young girls raised by single mothers see only independence. Which is great, until you realize you can't be independent in a couple..

With no constant father in their life, a lot of young women [and men] grow up not knowing how a real relationship works. The details and nuances that only come from seeing it happen, this informal life lesson, is lost to them.

The rise of the "gangster mythology" in black media: Snoop dog has been a gangsta for twenty years. Jay Z is in his forties talking about dealing that happened over a decade ago. Weezy can barely speak and resembles by his own admission, a goblin, commands media attention from jail. When I was young, we didn't idolize the criminals, not even in the black community. Now, because the music that permeates our neighborhoods and the accompanying videos dancing across our TVs glorify an unsupportable lifestyle of loose money, expensive cars and jewelry, this life of excess is now how we grade success, it's become what we aspire to, what we expect... not the houses our parents and grandparents struggled to get.

With our values skewed, the idea that we won't "settle" becomes a mockery. Determination to achieve excellence is laudable, even admirable, unless your excellence is an almost cartoon fantasy of an existence. And that's about where we are.

Natural rebellion and the desire for excitement: Everybody wants to hang out with the fun people. People who study long hours, follow instruction and obey authority are boring. And between fifteen to twenty one or so, the idea of future is a fantasy, not the constantly arriving destination it becomes with maturity. So young girls chose the exciting guys, the cute guys, the guys who superficially satisfy the fifteen year old mind. And I can't blame them one bit. This one I got no answer for. Nerds ain't sexy. Girls just don't dream of marrying an accountant or a claims adjuster. Even without the fantasy enhanced by the media, it just isn't going to happen. But...

We need to instill in our daughters the idea of marrying a doctor or lawyer, and raising a family. Going back to the rise of the single mother, too many daughters see independence as their key, but yearn for the opposite of family. Those girls need to be told: it's okay not to be independent.

[Full disclosure] Would I recognize a good black woman? In all probability, no. Not unless she looked like Melyssa Ford or some other model type. At least not in the instant tense. Attractiveness is what it is, you have to want to start the conversation, geez. I'm far, far, far from perfect, but since most of my relationships are built on trying to enhance relationships with women I already know and care about, a lot of this only mildly applies to me.

So I ask again. What is a good black man? I wrote a piece called "Who are the Serious Men" a little while ago [ I just realized I didn't post it here - so later, I promise], and I hope they qualify as good guys. But I said before and I'll say it again, if you're not sure what you're looking for, how do you know when you've found it?

Barkeep, I would like a Manhattan. I have no idea why.

At the Center of All

Ramblings Post #142
This must be what a mid-life crisis is on the cheap. No purchases of exotic cars, or pneumatic girls in the twenties, just enough neuroses to make Woody Allen say "Man, you've got problems!" Well, at least I got my health. Ooh, what was that twinge?

Shade called last weekend. She had no issues. She was very happy to report that.

Shade had developed a bad habit of only calling when something was wrong, so fresh from her vacation, she called to let me know that nothing was wrong. Nope, her interview at a dream job just happened, just bought the new Coupe, new man acting right, she was all good. It was a nice change of pace from the coaching her though whatever man/life problem she was currently "suffering" through during previous calls. I just knew once she found a guy who lived in the same...zip code? area code? Oh, wait, in the same state! ... she'd settle down. And since her new beau now is talking rings, it's sounding kinda serious.

Funny, I don't think Scoop is gonna take that one too well.

In any case, since we didn't have her issues to to talk about, we talked about mine. But since her issues are usually concrete - do this, feel this, come to a conclusion and embrace it - and my issues are a lot more esoteric, it wasn't a long conversation. She had no answers. Not one. My current issue is dealing with who I am to become.

At my last weigh in, I had lost 47 pounds. I'd slimmed down, gut was on it's last legs, sucking in my stomach actually resulted in something akin to a six pack, face looked thinner and it suddenly occurred to me I wasn't the same person. Now I just might be becoming "the Star". Let me explain.

In the story of our lives, we should each be "the Star". Although the star doesn't have to be in every shot, dominate every scene, they are the reason the story continues. This is where self confidence is bred. In my own life, I've usually considered myself more as ...comedy relief. Or at best, Daffy Duck to someone else's Bugs Bunny. It's an odd concept, where you keep putting others first, but its who I am in a large part. Although I've been like that for as long as I can remember, a great deal of that kind of thinking lately I attributed to my weight. By lately, I mean the last two decades or so. By the way, it's a great cop-out for why things aren't going your way.

Now the weight is going away. So ...who is left?

Think about it like this: My knee hurts, and the doctor said that as you lose weight, fat the formerly stabilized the tendon is diminishing, so my knee has to adjust. Well, to some degree a great deal of fat used to stabilize a number of my own social shortcomings[ex: Women like aggressive, I'm not aggressive, I was fat...I didn't have to be]. Now that the fat is going, I'll have to adjust other things. Mental things. And what if the weight wasn't the actual reason for a number of personal social inadequacies? Then what?

As I told Shade, the consideration of such a life change when I started this process was not an element of the planning. I'd lose a few pounds, get some new clothes, poof, done. I joked I would suddenly be sexy, and all that, but it all looks a little different somehow at this point. One of my great skills is adaptability, which I am good at in small doses, but this is a fundamental shift. Its one thing to talk "big shit" from the bench - where I mentally had placed myself, but now it looks like I might get in the game. And what if it turns out, I should have stayed on the bench? Considering all the other things in flux in my life, now is not the optimal time for ethereal truths to come to light.

Or what if get to where I'm going, and it's just the same as where I was? Questions like I shouldn't have sprung on someone fresh from vacay. I should call her and apologize.

Life is funny. I hope.

Barkeep. What I really want is a Vanilla shake with Caramel and Chocolate sauce, but I'll take a Crystal Light Green Tea.

Mind Games

Ramblings Post #141
First you need a main character. They need to have a flaw or two, nobody likes perfect, but a redeeming quality that makes them likable. They need to be whole people, not just cardboard cutouts to perform the fictional action, but a background needs to be devised. If the background is good enough you won't have to write the story...it will write itself. Oh, and they need a distinctive name. The kind that makes you repeat it to yourself. That's how you start.


Sometimes I wish I didn't have so good an imagination.

As I've indicated, I write a lot. It's like a valve to let all the various thoughts in my head out, because if I don't commit them to paper...um, digital file... I just keep rehashing them over and over, tweaking and honing it into infinity. But that really doesn't help much, because each old idea out is replaced by a new idea or concept. I wrote up something yesterday and today I came up with a new idea for something else I'm have to gonna put together at some point. I'm like a older black version of Barry Ween, I just can't stop thinking.!

The stuff I feel I can commit to paper is just the part of it. A great deal thought involves Sporty, in the various ways a man thinks of a woman. Use your own imagination.

And if that was it, I might consider myself normal. Well for most of the stuff. The vast majority of the stuff. We're both adults. But, before I digress too far, my mind also puts together the bad possibilities as well, playing out worst case scenarios over and over making me question what's going on with my psyche. Why would I entertain these incredibly unpleasant, painful thoughts? Is my mind preparing me for what it sees is inevitable?

In my mind I've imagined incidents that bruise the soul: angry phone calls, fights, screaming, rejection, that day that one day I may have to experience, growing old alone and running into her years later, and many other moments I never want to see in reality. In real life our disagreements are so rare, end so quickly, it's odd. My mind is playing tricks on me with this. Not that I don't imagine other good possibilities: the trips, cooking for her, and sometimes even mundane activities, but the mental horror compilation is playing on far more cerebral movie screens than the romantic comedy in which I cast us [side note: Sporty likes horror movies]. What am I doing to myself?

One of my great inhibitors with Sporty, was that I never could figure out why she liked me. I was in essence a slovenly hedonist at the time we started hanging out. Some women liked me because I was smart, some because I was funny, some because I was nicer than the guys I hung out with. But because I couldn't figure why Sporty claimed me, a lot of my actions were based around the idea that too bold a move would drive her away. I had seen it before, and she'd become too important to me. As a consequence, I imagined the most typical bad situations and how to avoid them. Still didn't work. Now for some reason I can't stop thinking about the bad things.

But where there is life, there is hope.

I live on hope. I have lived on hope pretty much all my life. Hope, bravado and quick thinking.

Vince Lombardi once said, we don't lose...we just run out of time. There are a lot of things you can cut your losses on, this ain't one of them. Play to win baby. Play to win.

Barkeep. You know the drill.

Clearing something up

Relapse Post #7
Occasionally we have misunderstandings. You said this and meant this, they heard that and assumed something else entirely. Which is how I assume Lindsay Lohan stays famous. Tangent. Forget that. But in the end, we all need to step back occasionally and ask questions then give slow, measured responses, the fully explain the how's and the why's in measured even tones. They will then of course, assume that we think they must be slow. I also think this is why bars stay in business.

After editing my last post, then admitting it, my girl Sporty is now concerned that I'm censoring myself for her benefit, and that I'm not being true to myself. Me having an outlet for myself is very important to her.

My God that is suddenly an amazing thought.

You see, there is a difference, at least to me, between censoring myself and being intellectually and emotionally honest by editing.

What I did here was editing. Let me explain.

I wanted to say, to those readers interested ( which by my estimation is probably three people ) that I'm scared of the day Sporty will, well, what I'm going to call "the beginning of her journey out of my life". I call it that because I realize two things here. One, that in a way much like when she gets into sports, she focuses. I realize now she went to great lengths to hang out with me during that long spring of 2008, but I'm an observant cuss and even when it was us chillin', it was still them. Her commitment to something like this is, just like my ole buddy Spanky, is simply a beautiful thing. One does not hinder ... *sigh*...love. He is coming. At least I figure he is. I would like to be him, but let's just say those are long odds. He's gonna get the focus. So there's that. And two, I would have to go.

I just realized I'm going to have to explain #2. That's a little later.

Now, what I wrote that eventually ended upon the cutting room floor, because I realized it was something I didn't need, was an overly dramatic retelling of something I'd already written about on this very blog. And in my humble opinion, a fresh memory is usually better than a revisionist version, the guts of which incidentally was shaping up to include phrases along the lines of "sound of the end of the world", "dreams burning into nothing" and "ache in my tortured soul"...and other ridiculous phrases specifically designed to be seen by Sporty.

Stuck for a word, I read back through it and realized I only wrote it like that because I was trying to elicit a certain response, not because it was accurate. It read like I was trying to get back at her for something that wasn't her fault, a situation long past. She knows I was hurt, so why more? What I was doing was taking my dramatic license and driving all up on the curb, trying to clip somebody. I tried to create a mental picture of feeling hurt and suddenly I had the story in the middle of a horror movie happening in a disaster film. It wasn't true, even worse I was writing for reasons that confused me. I love her, why was trying to do this?

So I edited it. I pared it down to the what it was: a very emotionally painful day, so i could talk about the next day like it this in the future. Like the opening words of "Since I lost my baby", the birds were still singing, the sun was still shining... but I was hurt in that moment, but I'm willing to stand there until the next time it happens because, ...well love doesn't always have to give logical reasons, now does it? That's what I wanted to say.

The bare essence: I had a very bad day. And one day I'm gonna have another. And it hurts already.

And then instead of just editing it and moving on...I wrote about editing it, because that's being true to this blog. In the end I think I got a better post, a more honest post, without turning on the sad music and the drama machine.

It's not like she did it on purpose then, and its not like it will be on purpose in the future. It will simply happen. Life goes on, and these things happen. And I will not love her one bit less.

But then I'll have to go. Because me hanging around, still in love with her, would be creepy. And a little stalker-ish. And delusional. Add a couple of other words that just suggest uncomfortable to round that out. And in the interest of his peace of mind, and their eventual continued happiness, it would be just be better if I wandered off into the sunset. No need for the drama when one person can just move on. And I still would not love her one bit less.

Eventually, I'll learn to cope. It won't go away, I'll just be... able to deal with it.

I was confusing then, as it is confusing now, why the words even came out.

Um...I just realized the link to Luther is kinda the sad music. Well, at least I didn't turn on a drama machine.

Right now, I just hopes she keeps reading. It just feels right. My plan for the uncut funk as it were was just my way of ensuring I was sticking to her expectation of uncensored thought. Perhaps I didn't explain that right before.

The plan - No censorship. She keeps reading. World keeps spinning. Life gets better.

Barkeep. No...I am not so giddy or so sad that I'm going to buy a round for the house, are you crazy?

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.

A long, sad Saturday

Ramblings Post #85
Life is...
There really isn't a cute phrase I'd like to attach to that, or something ironic, or anything at all. Life just is. It is what we make it. It's not delivered to us, or gift wrapped, but it's we make of it in those moments we get the opportunity to steer. And honestly those don't happen too often.

The Harrisons.

One day, you find someone who loves you back. Not just loves you, because people say they love you all the time the time and don't really mean it, but loves you like you think...no, think is the wrong word, dream, yeah....loves you like you dream of being loved. And so you and they come to together in holy matrimony, and plan you life your life together. You and this person, because that's how true love works, become not only lovers but best friends. It is the kind of love that movies are afraid to tell us about because it's hard to get people hopeful for something most of us will never see. But it's yours, every hour, every day, in your heart and soul.

And then one day, because it's...say, because it's Wednesday, you never get to speak to or hear from this person again.

My friend buried her husband today.

I don't usually go to funerals. I find most of them too long and too painful. Usually the words spoken by the preacher don't begin to soothe the depth of hurt by those who did care, and just seem to go on forever to those who don't care as much. The young widow had to leave the ceremony once and passed out at the end. She'd just lost...well, in my opinion...everything. So she could do that. She's supposed to.

I especially don't go to the interment. That's the part where they put the body in the ground. It just feels wrong to me. It's just so final, my mind doesn't like to even deal with it. I don't deal with Death very well.

My friend had been married for almost five years, and our paths would still cross every so often. She invited me over for brunch once or twice, but even before law school I was too busy or just knew there would be a time later so I shrugged it off. And my I'm certain, because to most of us, we always have tomorrow...even though it isn't promised. We don't think in those terms. We'll see them next week, or next time, or later.

And then suddenly there isn't a later. Or a next time.

One day, you find someone who actually, really and truly loves you back. Don't waste it with fights over pride and nothing. Because you don't know how long you'll have. It might just be over one day...because its Wednesday.

Barkeep. A round for the house. On me.

Closet in my Soul - A short story.

I wrap it carefully, taking care not to damage its fragile shell. It is both exquisitely delicate and surprisingly resilient at the same time, a marvel of my own construction that awes me with both the simpleness of it's existence and the complexity of existence. It is priceless, yet worth nothing to anyone but me.

It is one of the worst days I can imagine.

I'm putting away a dream.

Love has always been that elusive certain something that hard work and perseverance have no effect on. Nobody owes you love no matter your efforts. It simply is or it isn't. And although I know this to be one of the truest statements ever, I've never believed it.

Then one day, because life and daylight, or bone weariness and soul degradation, or just something ... you know you have to stop pretending to one person you should never lie to, yourself. You look around and realize you're in a place where the flowers don't bloom in your heart anymore because of three seconds that changed the quarks and neurons of the makeup of your personal universe. You take a breath and realize between heartbeats that you're not going to be who you thought you were.

All because you dreamed.

Dreams are hopes set to music, with life breathed into little scenarios that tilt the prism of life so that the light of existence shines just a little brighter, if only for a few seconds. And most dreams, with dedication and devotion, can be wrought into a rough reality, a crude approximation that can be better than the dream because it is real, and can be crafted closer and closer to a goal. But not dreams of Love. For with Love you play the vast unpredictable lottery of human capricious nature inherent in us all. For Love...we all just hope.

And if you're smart, you'll pray that there is no music.

I put my dream into a little box and covered it gently. Then tuck it away. Where deep in the closet of my soul it will rest, gathering dust, the detritus of bland and meaningless memories spent filling out the years. But in those final hours, we'll drag it out.

And hum a tune. And dream again.

It's going away to a farm....

Ramblings Post #82
All things considered, I rather be Detroit. Which considering the state of Detroit is a pretty bad thing to say. Life is as it always was, fraught with uncertainty and shaded with doubt. Sometimes I wish the world really did come with a rewind button. Or a least a pause.

I'm about to go back to all classical music. I'm currently trying music "of the world"...something upbeat but due to my lack of languages I don't quite understand the words. It has a certain soothing to it that makes me think of running away from it all.

I believe I have let my imagination run wild again.

Okay, I've spent to last two or three months perhaps deluding myself that that Sporty and I just might end up together. And if you aren't aware, I've got a very vivid imagination. Like Avatar detail vivid. Occasionally Hustler vivid. In HD with surround sound vivid. Just because we talk all the time lately and I send bits of encouragement, job listings she might have missed in Atlanta and in Texas and other "helpful" bits of help. And because I don't ask direct questions where my emotions are involved - really old bad habit - I'm going to end up the lonely old man at the end of the street whose house has a thousand books in it and an old photo in a frame of love that only existed in a dream.

I suddenly don't really see the point of going to law school.

Which is kinda fucked up when you consider how far in the hole I've put myself to get here. What did that mean you might ask? Well, I've never really worked with myself in mind for the future, I need, for lack of a better term, a muse. She was that. (Even when she moved to Texas to marry the other guy...no, this makes absolutely no sense...I know, deal with it.)

I'm a fairly simple guy. I like what I like. And I like Sporty. A lot. She is cute, funny, emotionally strong, intellectually curious in real life and in my mind I have envisioned her....well, that's what got me in the mental mess in the first place, so strike that. But the ethos is "know thyself and to thine own self be true"...and I know that as long as know her, which is looking like a long long time, I'm not really gonna be interested in anyone else.

Which is kinda even more messed up, when you consider I'm such a nice guy, I don't have it in me to just use somebody. So I'm kinda stuck.

I'm getting too old for this shit.

Barkeep. Whatever. It won't matter. Just make sure it's cold.

Sometime it rains

Ramblings Post #81
Sometimes it rains. That was the title of little story I sent my friend today when she got some bad news. Because sometimes it rains, the wind howling and the cold and damp get into your bones and all you want to do is crawl under the covers and hide. Yes, sometimes it rains, but always remember: It never rains forever.


This has been a week that started off so good, but ended up so...well, it's kinda like the karma that was 2009 hasn't washed off yet. That stink of not quite getting it is still with me.

My career in "chicken plucking" that I had planned to end sometime early this year as I transitioned into law just got the "hold up for second" signal, along with about half a million other plans. Sometimes it rains. At my current employ I enjoy a bit of seniority and other respects, but I'm ready to give all that up for something more mentally challenging and a better future...even with a modest pay cut.

Then Sporty hit me with the news she didn't get the job she had already got. Yeah, read it again because I wrote it right. Technicality. Which kinda shocked me, even though I was expecting it. I just knew something was taking too long. And if it hit me, I think it shell shocked her. She tough, but inside she's ...well, inside she isn't as tough. I wrote her encouragements a off and on all day, text - email (that sometimes it rains thing) - chat and she hasn't responded since noon. I'm about to call her because I'm a little worried.

Sometimes it hurts a little bit when I realize I can only do so much to help her. But I'm between a rock and hard place myself and taking another pay cut, when I am already taking a pay cut where Iam just to go to school, will put me a position to help her even less. Yes, that means what you think it means, but only in emergencies. If you can't do it for those you love, I mean really.

On a good note, my pushups are going well. That said, tonight I will probably hurt my wrist.

That say that just because you made the plan, that's not always how things go. I've known that for years [see my life in toto], but sometimes knowing she's in these "less than stellar" times hurts in ways... well, it just hurts. Real, real bad.

Barkeep...a tall glass of kool-aid and a little quiet.

Pieces of the Puzzle of Life

Ramblings Post #80 Life happens. Even when we don't want it too, when we'd much rather stop it to get a breather or skip ahead to find out what we want to know, life as we know it pretty much plods along. Why doesn't life come with a fast forward, a rewind and a pause. And a laugh track. But it doesn't. So life happens and we are forced to live it. There was a point to this, but I forgot.

I've been remiss in updating the words that go here. I have the common excuses - work, school, sleep, studying, football, laziness, etc..


At work after getting hammered with way too many issues I went back the looked at the data and I'm starting to believe I'm the only one plucking any damn chickens up this piece! Anyway, I think I may have uncovered an issue which only joyously means more work. At a job I'm trying to get out of. So go figure.

School is well, school. I got two new professors, one of which looks and acts like the little brother of Tim Gunn (Project Runway) and the other who looks like a mom you just know used to have a wild side right up until the kids showed up. The other prof is the same I had last semester, a man as passionate about the law as I've ever seen. I needed an elective, and figured that since I knew his teaching style, already had the book and had a rough idea of what his final would look like, I would have an edge going in. And I'm going to to need it since Gunn Jr and Mommy lawyer both teach at light speed and have already said it will be take home exams for their courses, which means everything but the kitchen sink will be on those finals. And maybe the kitchen sink too.

Oh what a fun semester this promises to be.

I've been fairly faithful the my push-up regime lately. A buddy of mine who is a trainer suggested I start with one push-up, and everyday add another until I get to one hundred. I can do fifty now, but motivation eludes me some days and I end up talking to God from the floor asking him why about a lot of esoteric things...one of which is her.

I've been praying that Sporty gets the go ahead for this jobbie job. The only thing left is the security clearance and she had to submit some more information, so all we can do at this point is wait. Which is nerve racking for me...and I know it has to be even worse for her. I'm so tempted to tell her to start applying to some other spots, to not stop running because the cheese appears to be right there, but I don't want to break the magic of possiblity. Her with hope feels so right.

Is that wrong?

I think Spanky is finally growing up, or had an epiphany or something after some fairly cryptic "people I've hurt" lines on her facebook page and a sudden trip to see family. She and I dont' talk like we used to, but then I think she's still mad at me about going back to school. That or she's still mad at me about the Christmas party.

She can be mad. Does she know how much school costs?

Schmoopy is back in town, and I need to figure out the supremely late Christmas gift after she remembered me. Apparently Crocodile Dundee lost his knife in Africa and the little one scooped it for me. That and she's gone vegetarian for the month of January which makes our drop in brunches interesting to say the least.

That's not a knife, this is a knife!

The Cowboys lost, much to the joy of the Anti-Cowboy loyalists. Those are the people who hate the Cowboys so much they know the team almost better than the fans, you know, the ones whose two favorite teams are they're local team or the squad from where they grew up...and WHOEVER is playing the Cowboys. I blame the loss on coaching frankly. Had Jason Garrett made the adjustments - ie, pulling it back to Max Protect after the second fumble until they could figure out a decent blocking scheme - they would have had a shot. Instead, a quarterback constantly waiting for the hit is a bad QB. Jeez, you could have figured this out on Madden.

The last few weeks have been draining, and every day it seems like the path I'm plodding on gets a little hazier. Getting back into the swing of things, the rhythm of class and work has been harder than I remember. But it seems like now I'm coming up on halfway there...

...maybe.

Barkeep. Did you know that orange and cranberry juice are great without the vodka? Really...

Thoughts on Things...

Relapse Post #5
It's been a long time since I've been down this road. And although I'm familiar with the trip, I get lost every time. It's scary, and searing, but just a little bit fun. Okay, a lot fun. The trip alone is worth whatever the destination.

I wish I knew where I got this...

Sporty and I have been chatting on IM a lot lately. And the frequency in which she hits me up tells me I might be on her mind as well from time to time. In what capacity I try not to speculate. She's making moves to try and get her situation straight and I keep hoping part of that plan involves me. Our conversations happen on Sunday mornings and after class and on slow afternoons at work, ranging from the philosophical to the mundane, from the silly to the almost serious and I'm like a teenager trying to pace myself and not appear to eager to hit her up every hour or so. I miss the nights we'd spend talking for hours after the dinner plates were cleared away. Her live "in concert" is so much better than digital.

Is this one of those life moments? And how would I know if it was?

She's on my mind a lot, despite my need to concentrate on law and my upcoming finals, and in quiet moments and during some of the slower periods of work I've managed to craft a second novella for her. It's in pretty much the same format as the previous work I mentioned last summer, in which I've mixed her love of travel and our relationship into what I hope is a cute little story. I include the poetry she's inspired me to write and some other things to round it out to 30-40 pages. She claims she loved the first one. We'll see with the second.

As of late I've justified the concept mentally of her NOT moving back to Atlanta with the idea that she would be a huge distraction from my career aspirations. [ Sidenote: Law school can make you see both sides of nearly anything ] I feel like I'm bracing for the hurricane of emotions that will come when she says she's heading to XYZ Faraway West.

Over the course of my life I've had good fortune, or God's blessing if you will, for the most part. My parents are still with me, and the grandparents I've lost I was too young to comprehend what I was missing. When things go badly for me, opportunity for redemption or rescue has a way of presenting itself. Even those things that end up really bad eventually reveal themselves to be object lessons that make me a better person.

But Sporty is that which didn't go well. Not as well as hoped anyway.

As you can see from earlier justification she really would be a huge distraction. Even though work and school and the life that's happened between now and then mean even her being back wouldn't be a return to the same ole same ole, but I want her in Atlanta anyway.

Barkeep. The good brown stuff.