Spending the weekend home alone and sick, without even a television for company makes me realize how much I rely on the television as a surrogate for socialization.
I didn't get to hang out with my regular Sunday friends like Terry, Howie and Jimmy and Bob, Cris, Al and John, not to mention Faith. And the day has not been complete since I didn't get to cap it by spending quality time with my Brothers & Sisters.
Today, my closest companions have been a glass of orange juice, a box of cold medicine and the comforter on my bed.
Cold comfort, that.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Just a pinch between your cheek and gum for pure potential cancer
As I sit down to write this, it is a mere few minutes away from the start of Thursday, Nov. 15, the date set aside by the American Cancer Society for their 31st Great American Smokeout.
In the past, I have attempted to kick my particular tobacco habit -- chewing tobacco -- during the Smokeout with some degree of success for the day, and subsequent days, But, obviously, I haven't kicked the habit.
I chronicled some of my struggle with demon nicotine when I tried quitting starting with the Smokeout two years ago.
The best success I've had with two previous attempts to quit chewing involved using nicotine gum. Unfortunately, the quit smoking aid is quite a bit more expensive than my $6 cans of shredded cancer-causing agent.
I would like to give it another try. But I'm not sure I'm up for joining the Smokeout this year by spitting out my chaw. My budget certainly isn't. I'm not sure if my willpower is either.
In fact, this weekend, when I was on my little road trip, I actually had a cigarette craving. So I picked up a pack of cigarettes. My car still smells like smoke.
Unfortunately, I'm still craving a cigarette.
I think if I was going to join the Smokeout this year I would know it by now. I'm just not sure. But to all of you out there who do your best to avoid tobacco today, I offer you my praise and congratulations. You are doing a great thing for yourself and your family. I know how difficult it can be to do without that crutch that has been a constant companion though good and bad times.
Tobacco, she's a sadistic mistress, but she's nothing if not loyal. She's always calling. Always beckoning. Always wanting your time and attention. That doesn't mean she deserves our loyalty, no matter how loudly she demands it!
Let me know if you kick the bitch to the curb.
Oh, wow, there was just a Nicorette commercial on TV. Is that supposed to be a hint?
In the past, I have attempted to kick my particular tobacco habit -- chewing tobacco -- during the Smokeout with some degree of success for the day, and subsequent days, But, obviously, I haven't kicked the habit.
I chronicled some of my struggle with demon nicotine when I tried quitting starting with the Smokeout two years ago.
The best success I've had with two previous attempts to quit chewing involved using nicotine gum. Unfortunately, the quit smoking aid is quite a bit more expensive than my $6 cans of shredded cancer-causing agent.
I would like to give it another try. But I'm not sure I'm up for joining the Smokeout this year by spitting out my chaw. My budget certainly isn't. I'm not sure if my willpower is either.
In fact, this weekend, when I was on my little road trip, I actually had a cigarette craving. So I picked up a pack of cigarettes. My car still smells like smoke.
Unfortunately, I'm still craving a cigarette.
I think if I was going to join the Smokeout this year I would know it by now. I'm just not sure. But to all of you out there who do your best to avoid tobacco today, I offer you my praise and congratulations. You are doing a great thing for yourself and your family. I know how difficult it can be to do without that crutch that has been a constant companion though good and bad times.
Tobacco, she's a sadistic mistress, but she's nothing if not loyal. She's always calling. Always beckoning. Always wanting your time and attention. That doesn't mean she deserves our loyalty, no matter how loudly she demands it!
Let me know if you kick the bitch to the curb.
Oh, wow, there was just a Nicorette commercial on TV. Is that supposed to be a hint?
Monday, October 29, 2007
Getting hosed
I noticed the change on my way home from work. The sign on the Shell gas station reader board spelled out the bad news. Gas is over $3 a gallon.
The reason it jumped out at me is because when I drove to work this morning I made note of the price on the same sign at the same gas station. The price, on the day the price of a barrel of oil closed at a record high over $93.50, also went up about 7 cents a gallon at one local gas station.
It was a telling sign, just one of many illustrating that ordinary Americans are pretty well screwed. I don't expect a return to economic giddiness anytime soon. Wall Street may be waiting for the Federal Reserve to cut interest rates this week so they can go on pretending a recession can be avoided, but ordinary Americans won't benefit from a little rate cut from the fed. The costs of too many of the things we need to get through our daily lives are going higher, not lower. Gas prices are up. Energy prices are up. Credit card interest rates are up. And God help anyone who is the the same boat so many of my family and friends who are first-time home buyers with an adjustable rate mortgage, which has also gone through the roof. I don't think the failed mortgage/credit/housing crisis is nearing its end, I fear it is only getting warmed up.
Bend over Americans a big financial dildo is taking aim at your backsides. And if you think anyone brought the lube, you are in for a painful surprise.
The reason it jumped out at me is because when I drove to work this morning I made note of the price on the same sign at the same gas station. The price, on the day the price of a barrel of oil closed at a record high over $93.50, also went up about 7 cents a gallon at one local gas station.
It was a telling sign, just one of many illustrating that ordinary Americans are pretty well screwed. I don't expect a return to economic giddiness anytime soon. Wall Street may be waiting for the Federal Reserve to cut interest rates this week so they can go on pretending a recession can be avoided, but ordinary Americans won't benefit from a little rate cut from the fed. The costs of too many of the things we need to get through our daily lives are going higher, not lower. Gas prices are up. Energy prices are up. Credit card interest rates are up. And God help anyone who is the the same boat so many of my family and friends who are first-time home buyers with an adjustable rate mortgage, which has also gone through the roof. I don't think the failed mortgage/credit/housing crisis is nearing its end, I fear it is only getting warmed up.
Bend over Americans a big financial dildo is taking aim at your backsides. And if you think anyone brought the lube, you are in for a painful surprise.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Burning moonlight
The insomnia is back.
For several nights now I've found myself still awake well after 3 or 4 in the morning. It's been damn hard to fall asleep and even more difficult to get up when the alarm goes off in the morning.
I got comfortable on the couch this evening after work, the exhaustion taking over. Sleep came easy enough then, but it didn't last long. I got maybe a half our of rest before I was wide awake again, my mind racing like a car sitting in neutral with the engine running and the gas pedal pressed to the floor. We ain't goin' anywhere, but we are getting there in one hell of a hurry.
The insomnia is like a barometer, but instead of signalling a change in weather the sleeplessness signals the need for some sort of life change.
A few months back there were a couple of options in the works that looked like they might prompt some major life changes. But those options have new fallen through. The desire for a life changes is no less strong now, but the options to make that happen are far less clear.
How do I get our of this rut? How do a move forward? To what purpose will this next phase of my life be dedicated?
The answers are still elusive. As is sleep.
I'm going to try to see if I can get a few more hours of sleep tonight and go to bed "early." It's only a little after 1 a.m. It would be my earliest bedtime of the week if successful.
For several nights now I've found myself still awake well after 3 or 4 in the morning. It's been damn hard to fall asleep and even more difficult to get up when the alarm goes off in the morning.
I got comfortable on the couch this evening after work, the exhaustion taking over. Sleep came easy enough then, but it didn't last long. I got maybe a half our of rest before I was wide awake again, my mind racing like a car sitting in neutral with the engine running and the gas pedal pressed to the floor. We ain't goin' anywhere, but we are getting there in one hell of a hurry.
The insomnia is like a barometer, but instead of signalling a change in weather the sleeplessness signals the need for some sort of life change.
A few months back there were a couple of options in the works that looked like they might prompt some major life changes. But those options have new fallen through. The desire for a life changes is no less strong now, but the options to make that happen are far less clear.
How do I get our of this rut? How do a move forward? To what purpose will this next phase of my life be dedicated?
The answers are still elusive. As is sleep.
I'm going to try to see if I can get a few more hours of sleep tonight and go to bed "early." It's only a little after 1 a.m. It would be my earliest bedtime of the week if successful.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Warp engines are down and drifting on impulse
So, I know Einstein had a theory about how time moves slower or something if you are hauling ass at the speed of light. I can't say I really understand it. But I do know that time does some pretty freaky shit even when you are sitting on your ass on the couch.
When I was in college, young and impatient, a few weeks or months without any dating life seemed like an eternity. There were different classes every day, there was tons of stuff going on, it was hard to keep track of where I needed to be when, yet it seemed like school would never end and my real life would never get started.
Now that real life is sometimes all too real, time whizzes by in a numbing blur of sameness. Years pass far too quickly. In fact it's been more than 3 years since there has been a relationship involving any physical intimacy. Often if feels like the drought will never end.
Maybe I just have too much time to think about time. I just marked another birthday. My 42nd. For many people, the prospect of turning 40 is daunting. I didn't experience much mental trauma from reaching the Big Four-O. But 42, that's been a bit rougher to deal with. The reason is that my life just doesn't seem to have progressed in the last two-plus years. It's not just the relationship situation. It's finances. It's work. It's personal relationships with friends. It's everything.
It's nothing.
It's 42.
When I was younger I was impatient, impertinent and anxious. I had to learn to be patient. I had to learn to bite my tongue. Maybe I learned those things too well. I've been waiting for something. Waiting too long. spending too much time with my ass on a couch looking at TV and computer screens, monitoring others' lives instead of living my own. It's time to get something moving again.
It's time to shove this couch, this life, this ass, into warp speed. Time's a waisting. I need to speed up the motion and slow down the clock.
***
10 songs with time in the title from my iPod
The Longest Time -- Billy Joel
Wiser Time -- The Black Crowes
Dirty Life & Times -- Warren Zevon
Angry All the Time -- Tim McGraw
Roll Me Back In Time -- Sara Evans
Hard Times (No One Knows Better Than I) -- Ray Charles
Time Flies -- Puddle of Mudd
Time Stood Still -- Madonna
Good Times, Bad Times -- Led Zeppelin
Times Like These -- Foo Fighters
(Bonus track)
Wasted Time -- The Eagles
When I was in college, young and impatient, a few weeks or months without any dating life seemed like an eternity. There were different classes every day, there was tons of stuff going on, it was hard to keep track of where I needed to be when, yet it seemed like school would never end and my real life would never get started.
Now that real life is sometimes all too real, time whizzes by in a numbing blur of sameness. Years pass far too quickly. In fact it's been more than 3 years since there has been a relationship involving any physical intimacy. Often if feels like the drought will never end.
Maybe I just have too much time to think about time. I just marked another birthday. My 42nd. For many people, the prospect of turning 40 is daunting. I didn't experience much mental trauma from reaching the Big Four-O. But 42, that's been a bit rougher to deal with. The reason is that my life just doesn't seem to have progressed in the last two-plus years. It's not just the relationship situation. It's finances. It's work. It's personal relationships with friends. It's everything.
It's nothing.
It's 42.
When I was younger I was impatient, impertinent and anxious. I had to learn to be patient. I had to learn to bite my tongue. Maybe I learned those things too well. I've been waiting for something. Waiting too long. spending too much time with my ass on a couch looking at TV and computer screens, monitoring others' lives instead of living my own. It's time to get something moving again.
It's time to shove this couch, this life, this ass, into warp speed. Time's a waisting. I need to speed up the motion and slow down the clock.
***
10 songs with time in the title from my iPod
The Longest Time -- Billy Joel
Wiser Time -- The Black Crowes
Dirty Life & Times -- Warren Zevon
Angry All the Time -- Tim McGraw
Roll Me Back In Time -- Sara Evans
Hard Times (No One Knows Better Than I) -- Ray Charles
Time Flies -- Puddle of Mudd
Time Stood Still -- Madonna
Good Times, Bad Times -- Led Zeppelin
Times Like These -- Foo Fighters
(Bonus track)
Wasted Time -- The Eagles
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Chill of an early fall
I looked at the date on my watch today and realized that September is almost over and it is now officially fall. This month has gone so fast. I was not ready for autumn's arrival, but the signs that it was coming have been apparent for a while now. Shorter, cooler days. Some trees are already changing color. There has been some rain.
Fall can be a beautiful season in Oregon, but here in the western part of the state it also means that the gray, rainy winter season is not far behind. And the gray days seem to go on forever once they set in.
It's been an interesting month. I have probably driven 2,000 miles so far this month in parts of Oregon and Washington. On one hand, it has been nice to see some places and people I have not seen in a long time and people and places I don't see often enough. But it's made me realize that I really haven't made the place I've lived the last couple of years my home. My ties to the Northwest are based too much on long ago or people too far away.
I feel like a wondering vine, with my roots in one place, but my tendrils stretch far away from that nourishing soil that sustains me. I need some roots where I am. I need some connection here.
I have always been the type of person that is slow to make friends, and am cautious about who I commit to as a friend, but when I do those friendships are deep, meaningful and important. I want more of those type of relationship here.
But I miss friends who are miles away. I miss them especially now, on the nights when there is a chill in the air and I crave warm arms wrapped around me, making me feel safe and warm and at home in my own skin.
Fall can be a beautiful season in Oregon, but here in the western part of the state it also means that the gray, rainy winter season is not far behind. And the gray days seem to go on forever once they set in.
It's been an interesting month. I have probably driven 2,000 miles so far this month in parts of Oregon and Washington. On one hand, it has been nice to see some places and people I have not seen in a long time and people and places I don't see often enough. But it's made me realize that I really haven't made the place I've lived the last couple of years my home. My ties to the Northwest are based too much on long ago or people too far away.
I feel like a wondering vine, with my roots in one place, but my tendrils stretch far away from that nourishing soil that sustains me. I need some roots where I am. I need some connection here.
I have always been the type of person that is slow to make friends, and am cautious about who I commit to as a friend, but when I do those friendships are deep, meaningful and important. I want more of those type of relationship here.
But I miss friends who are miles away. I miss them especially now, on the nights when there is a chill in the air and I crave warm arms wrapped around me, making me feel safe and warm and at home in my own skin.
Friday, August 31, 2007
They eat their young, and not so young
Republicans are wreaking more havoc on members of their own party than Democrats could ever dream of doing. Senator Larry Craig, an Idaho Republican, is expected to resign his senate seat in the morning just ahead of the GOP's inner-party political lynch mob.
Is it because Craig plead guilty to a misdemeanor? Or are they worried that Craig violated some ethical standard because he showed his business card to a cop, and may have been trying to use the power of his office to get out of an arrest? Doubtful.
Or could it be the stigma that maybe a conservative -- gay, straight or bisexual -- may have been soliciting man-on-man action?
Personally I could care less about Craig's sexuality. I do not believe homosexuality is a lifestyle. That makes it sounds like a choice, and it's not. I also don't think it's a preference. Again that has the connotation of someone choosing something over something else. People don't choose their sexuality any more than they choose their eye color. You can hide your eye color behind tinted contacts or sunglasses, but it doesn't change what's behind the colored lenses.
It's been estimated that about 10 percent of the population is homosexual. So, theoretically out of any random group of 10 people, 1 will be gay. If the U.S. Senate reflects the societal ratio, that would mean out of 100 U.S. senators, about 10 would be gay or lesbian.
I find it distressing that in 2007 a U.S. senator could be run from office for the fear that he may be gay, essentially.
What is disgusting about this whole episode is that there is still such a stigma about gay sex that men would need to have some choreographed bathroom stall ritual in order to find someone to have human, physical contact with. My dear friend Gene describes the ritual on his Logorrhea blog. This sad episode sends the wrong message to young men and women trying to come to grips with their sexuality that may not fit societal norms. It says it's not OK to be gay, and if you are it's not OK to be open about it and whatever you do, don't get caught playing footsy or worse under a bathroom stall.
But gays are not alone. While society has gotten more politically correct and is not at overt and blatant about its bigotry, the hatred is still there. The stated reason's for the attacks on Craig or the reason he will give for resigning won't list anything about sexuality. You'll hear things like criminal charge and ethics and lying and hypocrisy. It's not that he may have sucked cocks or let other men suck his cock, it's that he lied about it.
Blacks know discrimination. American Indians know it. Women know it. Jews know it. Latinos know it.
We hear a lot of clamor in the public and political arena about border security and illegal immigration. Why? Because terrorists are flooding over our borders and bombing innocent civilians regularly? No. Because illegal immigrants are taking American jobs? No, not based on unemployment figures. Because of the high price of social services illegal immigrants are costing us hard-working taxpayers? Well, that's a common claim, never mind the fact that as baby boomers start pocketing their Social Security checks, some of the dollars they will be collecting will have been paid in by people using phony Social Security numbers who will never collect Social Security taxes they have paid into the system from their wages. And in states with sales taxes -- which I think makes a good argument for Oregon to consider a sales tax at long last -- every dollar illegal immigrants spend for most goods and services is taxed.
Most of the noise about illegal immigrants -- maybe not all, but the majority -- is about bigotry, pure and simple. It's a hatred of people with brown skin from Mexico, or Central America or wherever who don't speak English.
Straight white people, men in particular, need to be very careful about the venom and hatred they spout now. The tide in many communities in this nation has changed. The majority is rapidly becoming a minority. All those minority groups we white men have pissed off and offended will collectively outnumber us. Some day they may outnumber us at the election polls too. And white men better hope against hope that our system of government -- not a true democracy but a representative democracy -- with a balance of powers, will protect homophobic, bigoted white men from the pissed off masses who we've been kicking for generations.
Sometimes I think I should have studied political science more extensively in college. I only took one sequence of courses. My favorite poly sci professor used to have a line he used repeatedly. I may not have it work for word, but it went like this: Politics is pretty dull, dry boring stuff. Put it's pretty damn important stuff too.
He was right.
Senator Larry Craig didn't lose an election. He was cast aside like used toilet paper in a public restroom stall by conservative members of his own party and by some in the gay community too. What message are we all supposed to get from that signal?
My friend Gene, on his Take That... blog is much kinder to Craig and dares to dream of a better world where gay people can be "out and proud."
I'm not sure if I am as optimistic as Gene. But I am proud of my gay friends and family members who are out and proud. After this Craig incident, I am also learning just how brave they truly are as well.
Is it because Craig plead guilty to a misdemeanor? Or are they worried that Craig violated some ethical standard because he showed his business card to a cop, and may have been trying to use the power of his office to get out of an arrest? Doubtful.
Or could it be the stigma that maybe a conservative -- gay, straight or bisexual -- may have been soliciting man-on-man action?
Personally I could care less about Craig's sexuality. I do not believe homosexuality is a lifestyle. That makes it sounds like a choice, and it's not. I also don't think it's a preference. Again that has the connotation of someone choosing something over something else. People don't choose their sexuality any more than they choose their eye color. You can hide your eye color behind tinted contacts or sunglasses, but it doesn't change what's behind the colored lenses.
It's been estimated that about 10 percent of the population is homosexual. So, theoretically out of any random group of 10 people, 1 will be gay. If the U.S. Senate reflects the societal ratio, that would mean out of 100 U.S. senators, about 10 would be gay or lesbian.
I find it distressing that in 2007 a U.S. senator could be run from office for the fear that he may be gay, essentially.
What is disgusting about this whole episode is that there is still such a stigma about gay sex that men would need to have some choreographed bathroom stall ritual in order to find someone to have human, physical contact with. My dear friend Gene describes the ritual on his Logorrhea blog. This sad episode sends the wrong message to young men and women trying to come to grips with their sexuality that may not fit societal norms. It says it's not OK to be gay, and if you are it's not OK to be open about it and whatever you do, don't get caught playing footsy or worse under a bathroom stall.
But gays are not alone. While society has gotten more politically correct and is not at overt and blatant about its bigotry, the hatred is still there. The stated reason's for the attacks on Craig or the reason he will give for resigning won't list anything about sexuality. You'll hear things like criminal charge and ethics and lying and hypocrisy. It's not that he may have sucked cocks or let other men suck his cock, it's that he lied about it.
Blacks know discrimination. American Indians know it. Women know it. Jews know it. Latinos know it.
We hear a lot of clamor in the public and political arena about border security and illegal immigration. Why? Because terrorists are flooding over our borders and bombing innocent civilians regularly? No. Because illegal immigrants are taking American jobs? No, not based on unemployment figures. Because of the high price of social services illegal immigrants are costing us hard-working taxpayers? Well, that's a common claim, never mind the fact that as baby boomers start pocketing their Social Security checks, some of the dollars they will be collecting will have been paid in by people using phony Social Security numbers who will never collect Social Security taxes they have paid into the system from their wages. And in states with sales taxes -- which I think makes a good argument for Oregon to consider a sales tax at long last -- every dollar illegal immigrants spend for most goods and services is taxed.
Most of the noise about illegal immigrants -- maybe not all, but the majority -- is about bigotry, pure and simple. It's a hatred of people with brown skin from Mexico, or Central America or wherever who don't speak English.
Straight white people, men in particular, need to be very careful about the venom and hatred they spout now. The tide in many communities in this nation has changed. The majority is rapidly becoming a minority. All those minority groups we white men have pissed off and offended will collectively outnumber us. Some day they may outnumber us at the election polls too. And white men better hope against hope that our system of government -- not a true democracy but a representative democracy -- with a balance of powers, will protect homophobic, bigoted white men from the pissed off masses who we've been kicking for generations.
Sometimes I think I should have studied political science more extensively in college. I only took one sequence of courses. My favorite poly sci professor used to have a line he used repeatedly. I may not have it work for word, but it went like this: Politics is pretty dull, dry boring stuff. Put it's pretty damn important stuff too.
He was right.
Senator Larry Craig didn't lose an election. He was cast aside like used toilet paper in a public restroom stall by conservative members of his own party and by some in the gay community too. What message are we all supposed to get from that signal?
My friend Gene, on his Take That... blog is much kinder to Craig and dares to dream of a better world where gay people can be "out and proud."
I'm not sure if I am as optimistic as Gene. But I am proud of my gay friends and family members who are out and proud. After this Craig incident, I am also learning just how brave they truly are as well.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Epilogue to How long does it take to get over someone completely
Every day, it seems, someone comes here looking for answers as to how long their broken heart will take to mend. I guess that shouldn't surprise me, as I turned to all sort of online resources when I was in the midst of my own heartbreak and despair, searching for answers. Searching for something to cling to when my world collapsed around me.
Searching for hope and reaching out for help.
And I found it too, but not on some website or blog, and it wasn't some profound discovery like finding some new continent after sailing across a vast empty ocean. It was more like the ocean tide itself, creeping up ever closer before retreating again, over and over, until finally, one day I realized I was afloat again. No longer aground. That's not to say the hull hasn't scraped bottom a few times since, but I've never end up high and dry again like before.
To those of you still searching, I empathize. I truly do. And perhaps on some of the posts here you may find something that you relate to, something that resonates with you and helps in some small way. (This post is feeling an awful lot like a rerun. Note to self: Need new blog material.... oh and a Powerball ticket.) But I don't have the answers to your quandary, because only you (and hopefully your family and friends) can effect how long it will take to move on from a relationship that once meant so much and is now gone.
Perhaps having a teenage daughter has helped me. It's hard to hate and entire gender when the person you love and care most for in the world is of that enemy camp.
It was amusing to me recently to see her with a new "friend" as she called him, acting all flirty and affectionate (OK, that part didn't amuse me very much) when just the day before she had broken up with the boy who was then her boyfriend. No long-lamented suffering there. Just youthful exuberance that I could only hope doesn't, and didn't, get too exuberant, if you know what I mean.
I wish I had some great "happy ending" to write for all you heartbroken seekers out there, but I can't do that. Not yet. For the ending to my life and love story is not yet done.
Once upon a time, my every waking moment was consumed with pain and loss. Now, I can't say there is are no down times or irritations. But it's normal life shit -- frustrations with work and gas prices and trying to balance the checkbook, not getting to spend enough time with family and friends or just living life to the fullest. Normal, old, boring life passing the time until the next time I get to express the passion and love for life and another person again.
But I say it again, people, this is not an advice to the lovelorn column. Someone left a comment on an one on my earlier breakup posts and I was tempted to fire back and just say "get over it already, and get over your damn self. Move the fuck on!" But I realized that isn't fair. For many, the pain is new and fresh or lingering. And they aren't trying to pull me back into my previous pain. After all, I chose to write the things I wrote and post the things I did. And maybe, just maybe, it will help someone to have something to read, or a place to vent some of their emotions too.
But I am not whomever the modern equivalent of Ann Landers or Dear Abby would be. I'm just me and past heartbreak doesn't rule my days or my dreams anymore. In fact it's not much more than a fading memory, like when I realized the other day that I got 4 stitches once after getting cut playing baseball, but I couldn't quite remember just how I got cut or just how much it hurt.
It's just a line on life's resume.
There are more important problems in my life now, like broken computers and the inability to update my iPod. Now that, my friends, is the stuff of 21st century Shakespearean tragedy.
Searching for hope and reaching out for help.
And I found it too, but not on some website or blog, and it wasn't some profound discovery like finding some new continent after sailing across a vast empty ocean. It was more like the ocean tide itself, creeping up ever closer before retreating again, over and over, until finally, one day I realized I was afloat again. No longer aground. That's not to say the hull hasn't scraped bottom a few times since, but I've never end up high and dry again like before.
To those of you still searching, I empathize. I truly do. And perhaps on some of the posts here you may find something that you relate to, something that resonates with you and helps in some small way. (This post is feeling an awful lot like a rerun. Note to self: Need new blog material.... oh and a Powerball ticket.) But I don't have the answers to your quandary, because only you (and hopefully your family and friends) can effect how long it will take to move on from a relationship that once meant so much and is now gone.
Perhaps having a teenage daughter has helped me. It's hard to hate and entire gender when the person you love and care most for in the world is of that enemy camp.
It was amusing to me recently to see her with a new "friend" as she called him, acting all flirty and affectionate (OK, that part didn't amuse me very much) when just the day before she had broken up with the boy who was then her boyfriend. No long-lamented suffering there. Just youthful exuberance that I could only hope doesn't, and didn't, get too exuberant, if you know what I mean.
I wish I had some great "happy ending" to write for all you heartbroken seekers out there, but I can't do that. Not yet. For the ending to my life and love story is not yet done.
Once upon a time, my every waking moment was consumed with pain and loss. Now, I can't say there is are no down times or irritations. But it's normal life shit -- frustrations with work and gas prices and trying to balance the checkbook, not getting to spend enough time with family and friends or just living life to the fullest. Normal, old, boring life passing the time until the next time I get to express the passion and love for life and another person again.
But I say it again, people, this is not an advice to the lovelorn column. Someone left a comment on an one on my earlier breakup posts and I was tempted to fire back and just say "get over it already, and get over your damn self. Move the fuck on!" But I realized that isn't fair. For many, the pain is new and fresh or lingering. And they aren't trying to pull me back into my previous pain. After all, I chose to write the things I wrote and post the things I did. And maybe, just maybe, it will help someone to have something to read, or a place to vent some of their emotions too.
But I am not whomever the modern equivalent of Ann Landers or Dear Abby would be. I'm just me and past heartbreak doesn't rule my days or my dreams anymore. In fact it's not much more than a fading memory, like when I realized the other day that I got 4 stitches once after getting cut playing baseball, but I couldn't quite remember just how I got cut or just how much it hurt.
It's just a line on life's resume.
There are more important problems in my life now, like broken computers and the inability to update my iPod. Now that, my friends, is the stuff of 21st century Shakespearean tragedy.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Prom corsages, birthday candles and hazard lights
Something was definitely wrong. The sounds of crunching metal, squealing rubber and exploding plastic came from up ahead. The explicative uttered from the front seat was the next clue. Then there was a Dodge pickup sliding sideways into our lane of travel, complete with screeching tires and a wildly careening trailer behind it.
Oh crap, are we going to crash? Yes. No, maybe not. Oh, shit yes we are.
The distance between the sliding truck and our front bumper was closing fast. Then it was gone in a metal-bending jolt.
I immediately turned to my right to see if my daughter was injured.
"Are you OK? Are you hurt?"
"I'm OK."
All four of us in the car came out shaken and with a few muscle strains, but there was no blood or penetrating trauma. No broken bones, cuts or abrasions. Just frayed nerves.
In all there were four cars involved in the crash on a busy commercial street in southeast Portland. The car I was in was the furthest from the initial point of impact, but all four cars involved in the crash had to be towed from the scene. Remarkably, no one else suffered any obvious injuries either. But a trip home from Sunday lunch became much more of an adventure than any of us imagined it would be. We were winding down from a long week of family activities -- Mother's Day, a state golf tournament, a barbecue, a business trip, a high school prom, a surprise birthday party, time with extended family and a four-car crash that blocked three lanes of a four-lane city street.
It was quite a week and I can't quite do it justice here. The images still whirl in my mind in brief flashes. I'm having a difficult time finding the words to explain how the buzz of activity affected me. But I realized, that even after being involved in a car crash, even that difficult experience with my daughter was better than most other days spent alone without her.
I need to remind myself, when I have questions and doubts about whether I have made the right choices in my life the last few years that I am where I want to and need to be. Seeing my daughter experience milestones in life, being with her at times of celebration or stress, is worth some personal/professional disappointments. I can't be there every day, but I'm there a lot more days and spending time with her and the other people I love and who I know love me.
We aren't a traditional family. We don't fit a Norman Rockwell ideal. But we celebrate many of life's big and small moment's together. And when life comes crashing in, we are there to hold each other, hug each other and make sure we are all OK.
Oh crap, are we going to crash? Yes. No, maybe not. Oh, shit yes we are.
The distance between the sliding truck and our front bumper was closing fast. Then it was gone in a metal-bending jolt.
I immediately turned to my right to see if my daughter was injured.
"Are you OK? Are you hurt?"
"I'm OK."
All four of us in the car came out shaken and with a few muscle strains, but there was no blood or penetrating trauma. No broken bones, cuts or abrasions. Just frayed nerves.
In all there were four cars involved in the crash on a busy commercial street in southeast Portland. The car I was in was the furthest from the initial point of impact, but all four cars involved in the crash had to be towed from the scene. Remarkably, no one else suffered any obvious injuries either. But a trip home from Sunday lunch became much more of an adventure than any of us imagined it would be. We were winding down from a long week of family activities -- Mother's Day, a state golf tournament, a barbecue, a business trip, a high school prom, a surprise birthday party, time with extended family and a four-car crash that blocked three lanes of a four-lane city street.
It was quite a week and I can't quite do it justice here. The images still whirl in my mind in brief flashes. I'm having a difficult time finding the words to explain how the buzz of activity affected me. But I realized, that even after being involved in a car crash, even that difficult experience with my daughter was better than most other days spent alone without her.
I need to remind myself, when I have questions and doubts about whether I have made the right choices in my life the last few years that I am where I want to and need to be. Seeing my daughter experience milestones in life, being with her at times of celebration or stress, is worth some personal/professional disappointments. I can't be there every day, but I'm there a lot more days and spending time with her and the other people I love and who I know love me.
We aren't a traditional family. We don't fit a Norman Rockwell ideal. But we celebrate many of life's big and small moment's together. And when life comes crashing in, we are there to hold each other, hug each other and make sure we are all OK.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Not-so-good-Friday
I've been home from work for less than an hour and I'm already going stir crazy. I week ago I was running all over the place, seeing people, spending time with friends. There wasn't enough time for anything.
Today, I have more time than I know what to do with and I have nothing to do and nowhere to go.
It has been difficult to make friends here, a realization that has been heightened by spending several days with friends recently in another city. It was like I was a completely different person. I was outgoing, outspoken, vivacious and maybe even a little flirtatious. It wasn't just like going to a new place. It like was inhabiting a different person. I liked the person I was there and then. I'm not such a big fan of this person I've somehow become. It's as if somehow returning to my former home state was like returning to that shy, quiet, insecure person I was as a teen. It's not that I didn't have some timid times or bad days when I lived in California. But somehow swimming in a bigger pond made me a bigger fish too.
I'm looking forward to spending time with family this weekend. While it's possible to feel isolated and lonely in a crowd, sometimes it's being alone that forces you to realize how lonely alone really can be.
Today, I have more time than I know what to do with and I have nothing to do and nowhere to go.
It has been difficult to make friends here, a realization that has been heightened by spending several days with friends recently in another city. It was like I was a completely different person. I was outgoing, outspoken, vivacious and maybe even a little flirtatious. It wasn't just like going to a new place. It like was inhabiting a different person. I liked the person I was there and then. I'm not such a big fan of this person I've somehow become. It's as if somehow returning to my former home state was like returning to that shy, quiet, insecure person I was as a teen. It's not that I didn't have some timid times or bad days when I lived in California. But somehow swimming in a bigger pond made me a bigger fish too.
I'm looking forward to spending time with family this weekend. While it's possible to feel isolated and lonely in a crowd, sometimes it's being alone that forces you to realize how lonely alone really can be.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Something's missing
I've been reminiscing a lot lately. Obviously it was the trip to the old desert stomping grounds. That place, those people, have a profound effect on me.
I spent my 30s in the deserts of Southern California. In many ways, I came of age there. I learned and grew a lot professionally, achieve some successes and endured some setbacks. It was a bit of a mixed bag socially. I made some great friends, and strengthened some key friendships, but the dating life was disappointing, except for a couple of adventures and one romance spectacular in its emotional highs and lows.
I am not deluding myself. It was not all sunshine and roses. But there was a lot of sunshine and I love the sunshine.
Fortunately the sun was shining today and spring is in the air, at least for a few days. But I miss the friendships built over the California decade. I miss working in a big office filled with people and energy, excitement, enthusiasm and ideas. I miss nights spent dining out or talking under the stars.
I miss the me I was there. I miss the me I could see myself becoming.
Fortunately, I'll be spending Easter with my daughter and her family. I'll take unconditional love and acceptance where I can get it.
OK, maybe I made a play to buy a little of that love with my daughter's birthday present, an inscribed silver bracelet that came in a distinctive blue box. Better to be bankrupt than disappoint my one and only child on her Sweet 16!
I spent my 30s in the deserts of Southern California. In many ways, I came of age there. I learned and grew a lot professionally, achieve some successes and endured some setbacks. It was a bit of a mixed bag socially. I made some great friends, and strengthened some key friendships, but the dating life was disappointing, except for a couple of adventures and one romance spectacular in its emotional highs and lows.
I am not deluding myself. It was not all sunshine and roses. But there was a lot of sunshine and I love the sunshine.
Fortunately the sun was shining today and spring is in the air, at least for a few days. But I miss the friendships built over the California decade. I miss working in a big office filled with people and energy, excitement, enthusiasm and ideas. I miss nights spent dining out or talking under the stars.
I miss the me I was there. I miss the me I could see myself becoming.
Fortunately, I'll be spending Easter with my daughter and her family. I'll take unconditional love and acceptance where I can get it.
OK, maybe I made a play to buy a little of that love with my daughter's birthday present, an inscribed silver bracelet that came in a distinctive blue box. Better to be bankrupt than disappoint my one and only child on her Sweet 16!
Sunday, February 05, 2006
One of those days
It's one of those days. One of those bad days.
There is no logic to it. I just woke up in a funk and can't shake it. Of course buying beer to drink while watching the Super Bowl was probably not the best idea, alcohol being a depressant and all.
I'm not sure that Seattle winning the Super Bowl would have even helped.
I hate days like this. I can't blame this one on the weather. The sun was out today, signing brightly. This is cause by some sort of internal storm. Some turmoil between the head and the heart where logic can't convince emotion that everything is OK, or will be.
It's one of those days. A dark, gray day in spite of the earlier blue skies and sunshine.
Bad day
There is no logic to it. I just woke up in a funk and can't shake it. Of course buying beer to drink while watching the Super Bowl was probably not the best idea, alcohol being a depressant and all.
I'm not sure that Seattle winning the Super Bowl would have even helped.
I hate days like this. I can't blame this one on the weather. The sun was out today, signing brightly. This is cause by some sort of internal storm. Some turmoil between the head and the heart where logic can't convince emotion that everything is OK, or will be.
It's one of those days. A dark, gray day in spite of the earlier blue skies and sunshine.
Bad day
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Mirror, mirror
I don't recognize myself anymore. For the last 2-3 years I've been mostly working what most people would refer to as a swing shift. I went into work at 2 in the afternoon and worked until 11 or midnight every night.
It was not great for the social life (and may have contributed to a broken engagement). And while single, it was damn hard to meet anyone. Who keeps those kind of hours? Bartenders maybe.
So now I'm working 8 to 5, and its messing with my whole stay-up-until-4-a.m.-nocturnal life. Now, some days the alarm is going off at the time I used to drag my ass to bed after a bout of insomnia.
In my old life, I'd usually grab some lunch on my way to work. I guess I'm sort of doing the same thing now, except it's breakfast, and it's about 6 hours earlier in the day. This morning my butt was dragging and I substituted my normal orange juice for coffee.
That's so not me. I haven't been a coffee drinker much in my life. I'm just not much for hot drinks. The last time I drank much coffee was about 10-plus years ago, when I was working for a paper on the Oregon Coast and had to be at the office at the ungodly hour of 7 a.m. or earlier. My girlfriend at the time would send me out the door with a Thermos full of java each morning. But even then, I would switch to Diet Coke by 10 a.m.
I'm not sure that this morning is the start of a trend, but it is a little unsettling none the less. But I have been eating three meals a day too (and I've never been a breakfast eater, but I just can't get through the morning these days without some sustenance). Well, I didn't quite make the three-meal thing yesterday. For some reason I never got out of the office for lunch, so I made it through the day thanks to some Pop Tarts out of the vending machine. That doesn't quite count as lunch does it?
So in spite of the new schedule, the new meal routine -- even a new computing style as my new employer uses Macs after I've been working for more than 5-plus years exclusively on Windows-based PCs -- my body still rebels at going to bed before 11 p.m.
Well, except for on Friday nights, when my ass is dragging so much I can't keep my eyes open after about 10 p.m. How am I going to ever find the hot clubs in the Mid-Willamette if I'm too tired to hit the town on a Friday night?
So, tonight I'm going to try (I think) to go to bed early, so I've got some energy for the 3-day weekend. So tonight. Going to bed. Early.
Well, unless there's something good on TV. Have you seen what's on HBO and Cinemax late at night?
New life
It was not great for the social life (and may have contributed to a broken engagement). And while single, it was damn hard to meet anyone. Who keeps those kind of hours? Bartenders maybe.
So now I'm working 8 to 5, and its messing with my whole stay-up-until-4-a.m.-nocturnal life. Now, some days the alarm is going off at the time I used to drag my ass to bed after a bout of insomnia.
In my old life, I'd usually grab some lunch on my way to work. I guess I'm sort of doing the same thing now, except it's breakfast, and it's about 6 hours earlier in the day. This morning my butt was dragging and I substituted my normal orange juice for coffee.
That's so not me. I haven't been a coffee drinker much in my life. I'm just not much for hot drinks. The last time I drank much coffee was about 10-plus years ago, when I was working for a paper on the Oregon Coast and had to be at the office at the ungodly hour of 7 a.m. or earlier. My girlfriend at the time would send me out the door with a Thermos full of java each morning. But even then, I would switch to Diet Coke by 10 a.m.
I'm not sure that this morning is the start of a trend, but it is a little unsettling none the less. But I have been eating three meals a day too (and I've never been a breakfast eater, but I just can't get through the morning these days without some sustenance). Well, I didn't quite make the three-meal thing yesterday. For some reason I never got out of the office for lunch, so I made it through the day thanks to some Pop Tarts out of the vending machine. That doesn't quite count as lunch does it?
So in spite of the new schedule, the new meal routine -- even a new computing style as my new employer uses Macs after I've been working for more than 5-plus years exclusively on Windows-based PCs -- my body still rebels at going to bed before 11 p.m.
Well, except for on Friday nights, when my ass is dragging so much I can't keep my eyes open after about 10 p.m. How am I going to ever find the hot clubs in the Mid-Willamette if I'm too tired to hit the town on a Friday night?
So, tonight I'm going to try (I think) to go to bed early, so I've got some energy for the 3-day weekend. So tonight. Going to bed. Early.
Well, unless there's something good on TV. Have you seen what's on HBO and Cinemax late at night?
New life
Friday, May 13, 2005
A little birdy told me
I was naive to this whole blogging thing until I came across a site called tequila mockingbird last fall on a link from another site. The name intrigued me, so I clicked. And a whole new world opened up to me -- the world of a young woman named Julia on the other side of the continent and the world of blogging. So, I started my own blog, first on another site, and then here on Blogger.
A few months ago, posts from Julia became infrequent. And a month ago the posts stopped all together. Speculation grew as to where, and how, the tequila mockingbird was doing. Loyal fans and new readers were still going to her blog site and leaving comments on her last post. More than 200 comments in all. There was speculation about her love life, her health, and some nasty comments as well.
Well, if you are, or ever have been a fan of the tequila mockingbird, she sang for us today. And she offers us yet another bit of wisdom: "Sometimes, life trumps blog."
Welcome back Julia, and get better soon.
So, as fair warning to the 6 of you who visit this site with some regularity, if my posts become infrequent in the next few weeks or so, I may be a bit busy dealing with an out of state move. But feel free to leave touching comments of concern and admiration. I will read them. That is, unless a moving truck runs over me, or I get arrested and jailed for trying to cross the Oregon border with a California driver's license. Or I might get kidnapped by a tribe of young women who turn me into their sex slave. Or I might get a nasty paper cut that prevents me from using my mouse.
Well, I'll send word if I can. Well, maybe not if I become a sex slave, because I may not want to be found. But, well, let's just play it by ear.
Life
Blogging
Tequila Mockingbird
A few months ago, posts from Julia became infrequent. And a month ago the posts stopped all together. Speculation grew as to where, and how, the tequila mockingbird was doing. Loyal fans and new readers were still going to her blog site and leaving comments on her last post. More than 200 comments in all. There was speculation about her love life, her health, and some nasty comments as well.
Well, if you are, or ever have been a fan of the tequila mockingbird, she sang for us today. And she offers us yet another bit of wisdom: "Sometimes, life trumps blog."
Welcome back Julia, and get better soon.
So, as fair warning to the 6 of you who visit this site with some regularity, if my posts become infrequent in the next few weeks or so, I may be a bit busy dealing with an out of state move. But feel free to leave touching comments of concern and admiration. I will read them. That is, unless a moving truck runs over me, or I get arrested and jailed for trying to cross the Oregon border with a California driver's license. Or I might get kidnapped by a tribe of young women who turn me into their sex slave. Or I might get a nasty paper cut that prevents me from using my mouse.
Well, I'll send word if I can. Well, maybe not if I become a sex slave, because I may not want to be found. But, well, let's just play it by ear.
Life
Blogging
Tequila Mockingbird
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Where do I begin?
OK, so there have been a few comments from people wondering what all this big news is about. One reader guessed correctly that I am not, indeed pregnant. It would be quite a trick if I were pregnant, since I haven't had sex in at least a year, and I'm a guy (in case the G-man moniker didn't give that away).
But the big news is that I've been offered, and have accepted, a job working for a publication in my home state of Oregon. I didn't want to post that on here before I had a chance to talk to family about it and try to tell my bosses, colleagues and friends here in the area about it. There are a few people in the neighborhood who know the man behind the G-man (and at least one person at work has found this site and suspects I am me). And I didn't want them to find out about it on a blog. Why I would think an e-mail is better? I don't know, but I wanted to tell them in my own way.
For those of you who stumbled on this site from somewhere else, you probably couldn't care less about that, except perhaps for the fact that I don't know what this move will mean for the blog. A change of scenery from where the posts are made certainly, and perhaps a new logo photo (the palm tree and snow capped mountains behind it will not represent the new digs). And a few other changes to the profile and other narratives certainly will be needed as well. But the big issue will be how much time I have to post during the preparation for the move, and at least a brief pause for the move itself. What I don't know is what my time will be like after the move, or how much writing I will be doing in the actual job.
In a strange way, the blog probably helped me get the job. The main thrust of the job is managing and editing, but there will be writing as well. I found I had missed writing with some regularity, and this blog was an outlet to do that. And the interest in the job I was just hired for was fueled by that desire to do more writing. So, thank you kind readers for helping me find my passion and my voice again, even if the voice used in a printed publication will be more formal, less first person, and use less colorful language than I've been able to do here. But I think there is perhaps enough of a desire to still be able to spit, scratch, belch and swear with the written word to maintain some sort of a presence here at the DigiFish.
So, life is in flux and about to get really insane, and I'm happy and sad and nervous and proud, all at the same time. I'm sure you'll get to read all about that in the coming days and weeks.
And whatever you do, don't let me forget to tell you the story about what happened at the party after work on Friday night. It's one of those stories that I couldn't embellish on if I tried. It has all the classic elements: alcohol, drunk women and waking up someone's husband in the middle of the night.
OK, maybe I could figure out ways to embellish it, but I'll tell you the real story first, and save the embellishment for later retellings over cocktails.
Life
Moving
Career change
But the big news is that I've been offered, and have accepted, a job working for a publication in my home state of Oregon. I didn't want to post that on here before I had a chance to talk to family about it and try to tell my bosses, colleagues and friends here in the area about it. There are a few people in the neighborhood who know the man behind the G-man (and at least one person at work has found this site and suspects I am me). And I didn't want them to find out about it on a blog. Why I would think an e-mail is better? I don't know, but I wanted to tell them in my own way.
For those of you who stumbled on this site from somewhere else, you probably couldn't care less about that, except perhaps for the fact that I don't know what this move will mean for the blog. A change of scenery from where the posts are made certainly, and perhaps a new logo photo (the palm tree and snow capped mountains behind it will not represent the new digs). And a few other changes to the profile and other narratives certainly will be needed as well. But the big issue will be how much time I have to post during the preparation for the move, and at least a brief pause for the move itself. What I don't know is what my time will be like after the move, or how much writing I will be doing in the actual job.
In a strange way, the blog probably helped me get the job. The main thrust of the job is managing and editing, but there will be writing as well. I found I had missed writing with some regularity, and this blog was an outlet to do that. And the interest in the job I was just hired for was fueled by that desire to do more writing. So, thank you kind readers for helping me find my passion and my voice again, even if the voice used in a printed publication will be more formal, less first person, and use less colorful language than I've been able to do here. But I think there is perhaps enough of a desire to still be able to spit, scratch, belch and swear with the written word to maintain some sort of a presence here at the DigiFish.
So, life is in flux and about to get really insane, and I'm happy and sad and nervous and proud, all at the same time. I'm sure you'll get to read all about that in the coming days and weeks.
And whatever you do, don't let me forget to tell you the story about what happened at the party after work on Friday night. It's one of those stories that I couldn't embellish on if I tried. It has all the classic elements: alcohol, drunk women and waking up someone's husband in the middle of the night.
OK, maybe I could figure out ways to embellish it, but I'll tell you the real story first, and save the embellishment for later retellings over cocktails.
Life
Moving
Career change
Friday, March 11, 2005
For love or money?
It is amazing how quickly the last few months have passed. The time has literally, and mercifully, flown by.
I say mercifully because about nine months ago, I wasn’t sure I could make it through the summer, let alone make it to 2005. My world came unraveled in June. The previous year-plus had been probably one of the happiest and most personally satisfying periods of my life. I had started dating a woman in March 2003, moved in with her in July of that year, and by December we were engaged. It had taken me until my late 30s to find a woman I wanted to ask to marry me, and was thrilled when she said yes.
The thrill ended in June of last year, when she gave back the ring. I won’t bore you with the details, but if curious, there is more about that here and here. Somehow, the heart – the one that I thought was so thoroughly shattered I would have sworn pieces had been vaporized – began to reassemble. That heart, the emotional heart, rebuilt and started beating again. The life, also shattered, knitted itself back together. I moved out long before I moved on, but somewhere along the way I moved on as well. A new apartment, a new outlook and a new beginning.
I have no regrets about the apartment I chose to move into. At the time, it was the only place I found were I could actually start to see myself living again. But the rent was more than I had been paying as the live-in guy, or even before that as the single guy. The new place was brand new, never lived in. I wasn’t following in anyone else’s footsteps here, I was blazing my own trail.
But, now I’m finding that the cost of just living, and paying for the living I’ve done previously (those damned credit cards) is more than I take home each month. So, the time has come to sell the ring.
Sometime over the last period of months, the ring has transformed from a diamond and gold symbol of love, to just a piece of unwanted and unneeded jewelry. And hopefully, into a source of some urgently needed cash. Now I just have to figure out how to go about the logistics of selling a piece of jewelry. And I think I can do that. I figured out how to buy an engagement ring with no previous experience, I supposed I can figure out how to sell one as well.
And don’t go suggesting ebay, because I have no interest in the hassle of setting up an auction and then shipping this thing off, nor the risk of not actually getting paid. I ain’t going there. But fortunately I live in a place where jewelry stores that specialize in, or sell to some extent or another, estate jewelry. Not that one ring qualifies as an estate, but these people have to buy the jewelry from someone, why not buy a diamond ring from me?
So, that’s going on the to-do list, and ASAP. I have rent to pay again in a few weeks, and a vacation coming up, for which I am as broke as I was in college. You know that broke? The one where you can’t even go to the ATM because you don’t even have $20 left in your account to be able to make a withdrawal? I’m about there.
As I was thinking about this business transaction prompted by financial need, I found myself looking starting to put this post together and looked at the calendar. And the irony was, and I’m a big fan of irony, I realized that I was supposed to be getting married this month. This weekend as a matter of fact. Saturday, March 12, 2005 was supposed to be the big day. The date was chosen because it would have almost been the 2-year anniversary of our first date, which was March 13, 2003.
That made me pause for a moment or three. Wow.
If things had gone according to the original plan I would be in another city on the other side of the country preparing to say I do right about now. A few months ago, I was really dreading March 12, 2005. But in the here-and-now, it almost snuck up on me without even noticing.
How did that happen?
I don’t know. But I’m glad it did. I’m glad I’m not in Tennessee. I’m glad March 12 is just another day.
OK, so I’m not glad that my ass is so broke, but it is definitely better to be broke than broken. That I know for sure.
Life
Love
Money
I say mercifully because about nine months ago, I wasn’t sure I could make it through the summer, let alone make it to 2005. My world came unraveled in June. The previous year-plus had been probably one of the happiest and most personally satisfying periods of my life. I had started dating a woman in March 2003, moved in with her in July of that year, and by December we were engaged. It had taken me until my late 30s to find a woman I wanted to ask to marry me, and was thrilled when she said yes.
The thrill ended in June of last year, when she gave back the ring. I won’t bore you with the details, but if curious, there is more about that here and here. Somehow, the heart – the one that I thought was so thoroughly shattered I would have sworn pieces had been vaporized – began to reassemble. That heart, the emotional heart, rebuilt and started beating again. The life, also shattered, knitted itself back together. I moved out long before I moved on, but somewhere along the way I moved on as well. A new apartment, a new outlook and a new beginning.
I have no regrets about the apartment I chose to move into. At the time, it was the only place I found were I could actually start to see myself living again. But the rent was more than I had been paying as the live-in guy, or even before that as the single guy. The new place was brand new, never lived in. I wasn’t following in anyone else’s footsteps here, I was blazing my own trail.
But, now I’m finding that the cost of just living, and paying for the living I’ve done previously (those damned credit cards) is more than I take home each month. So, the time has come to sell the ring.
Sometime over the last period of months, the ring has transformed from a diamond and gold symbol of love, to just a piece of unwanted and unneeded jewelry. And hopefully, into a source of some urgently needed cash. Now I just have to figure out how to go about the logistics of selling a piece of jewelry. And I think I can do that. I figured out how to buy an engagement ring with no previous experience, I supposed I can figure out how to sell one as well.
And don’t go suggesting ebay, because I have no interest in the hassle of setting up an auction and then shipping this thing off, nor the risk of not actually getting paid. I ain’t going there. But fortunately I live in a place where jewelry stores that specialize in, or sell to some extent or another, estate jewelry. Not that one ring qualifies as an estate, but these people have to buy the jewelry from someone, why not buy a diamond ring from me?
So, that’s going on the to-do list, and ASAP. I have rent to pay again in a few weeks, and a vacation coming up, for which I am as broke as I was in college. You know that broke? The one where you can’t even go to the ATM because you don’t even have $20 left in your account to be able to make a withdrawal? I’m about there.
As I was thinking about this business transaction prompted by financial need, I found myself looking starting to put this post together and looked at the calendar. And the irony was, and I’m a big fan of irony, I realized that I was supposed to be getting married this month. This weekend as a matter of fact. Saturday, March 12, 2005 was supposed to be the big day. The date was chosen because it would have almost been the 2-year anniversary of our first date, which was March 13, 2003.
That made me pause for a moment or three. Wow.
If things had gone according to the original plan I would be in another city on the other side of the country preparing to say I do right about now. A few months ago, I was really dreading March 12, 2005. But in the here-and-now, it almost snuck up on me without even noticing.
How did that happen?
I don’t know. But I’m glad it did. I’m glad I’m not in Tennessee. I’m glad March 12 is just another day.
OK, so I’m not glad that my ass is so broke, but it is definitely better to be broke than broken. That I know for sure.
Life
Love
Money
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Maybe I've just got the song wrong
A change is coming.
I can feel it.
Like an arthritic knee can forecast a coming storm long before the clouds appear on the horizon. The question is, is this a benevolent storm or a the kind that gets you to tied in knots you'd swear your testicles were on backwards?
I can't tell. But I'm looking forward to it. Chasing it even. Maybe I'm like those crazy fuckers that look for tornadoes to watch them, measure them. Tempt the fury. Tempt fate.
Is there such a thing as fate? I've always sort of thought there is, but I've never found a map to mine. I just sort of stumble into things. The grand plan never seems to work. Or maybe I can't see it for the seemingly randomness of the moment. The patterns only emerge with some time and distance and perspective.
I never had a plan to become a writer or an editor. I never planned to become a father (or perhaps failed to plan in that case). I never planned to move to California, or Palm Springs for that matter. I had never even been to Palm Springs before I came here to visit a friend who was trying to convince me to apply for a job. And it was hot as fuck the first time I came here in August 1999, the streets were all torn up in downtown Palm Springs. There were no outward signs this valley would worm its way into my soul and become my home.
No plan, just seizing an opportunity. What the fuck, I had nothing better to do than take that first job as a temporary reporter. Nothing else was on the agenda when an editing job opened up and I thought "I can do that." I had no better place to be (and no condoms) that Fourth of July I ended up in the bed of the woman who would become my daughter's mother. I had no reason to stay on the cold, damp Oregon Coast when I got a call from a paper in California about I job I had forgotten I had even applied for months before. I had no compelling reason to stay in the little farming town when a friend called from Palm Springs.
And I have no regrets about any of it. It has all shaped and changed and molded my life and made me who I am and radically altered the things and people and places who have become important in my life.
But I feel another life-altering change coming on the wind. I don't know what it is or why or how it will manifest itself. But I'm drawn to stand, chin into the gale and walk toward it. Whether I am seeking it or it is seeking me, I know not. But I crave it, with a hunger known only to those who have been starved of their addiction (which reminds me, my tobacco stash is dangerously thin).
I recently applied for a job some distance from here. I may, or may not, still be in the running. But just the process of applying has changed me. It's made me less complacent. Less willing to accept the unacceptable in my daily life. It's helped me to realize I'm no longer content to watch life pass by, I want to race it to the finish. Oh sure, I know I'll probably coast for some stretches along the way, but I'm peddling now. Feeling the burn. It's time for some new challenges, whether I change jobs or addresses or toothpaste matters less than the fact that things need to be shaken up a bit.
It reminds me of an episode of the short-lived ABC series "Sports Night" by writer/producer Aaron Sorkin. The series starred Felicity Huffman (now of "Desperate Housewives" fame. One of the characters, Dan, played by Josh Charles, has this feeling that something is about to happen. In his case, unlike mine, he senses something ominous. He shares his feeling with his co-sports anchor, Casey, played by Peter Krause, now on HBO's "Six Feet Under."
The exchange goes like this:
Dan: There's a strangeness about this day.
Dan: "Eli's coming."
Casey: "Eli?"
Dan: "From the Three Dog Night song.
Case: "Yes."
Dan: "Eli's something bad. A darkness."
Casey: "'Eli's coming, hide your heart girl.' Eli's an inveterate womanizer. I think you're getting the song wrong."
Dan: "I know I'm getting the song wrong, but when I first heard it, that's what I always thought it meant. Things stick with you that way."
-- From Sports Night, Season 1, Episode 19: "Eli's Coming"
Eli's coming, ladies and gentlemen. It's either going to be major crash, or maybe someone will get laid. I'm hoping it's me.
Getting laid that is.
Not the crashing.
That would be bad.
Change
Eli's Coming
Fate
I can feel it.
Like an arthritic knee can forecast a coming storm long before the clouds appear on the horizon. The question is, is this a benevolent storm or a the kind that gets you to tied in knots you'd swear your testicles were on backwards?
I can't tell. But I'm looking forward to it. Chasing it even. Maybe I'm like those crazy fuckers that look for tornadoes to watch them, measure them. Tempt the fury. Tempt fate.
Is there such a thing as fate? I've always sort of thought there is, but I've never found a map to mine. I just sort of stumble into things. The grand plan never seems to work. Or maybe I can't see it for the seemingly randomness of the moment. The patterns only emerge with some time and distance and perspective.
I never had a plan to become a writer or an editor. I never planned to become a father (or perhaps failed to plan in that case). I never planned to move to California, or Palm Springs for that matter. I had never even been to Palm Springs before I came here to visit a friend who was trying to convince me to apply for a job. And it was hot as fuck the first time I came here in August 1999, the streets were all torn up in downtown Palm Springs. There were no outward signs this valley would worm its way into my soul and become my home.
No plan, just seizing an opportunity. What the fuck, I had nothing better to do than take that first job as a temporary reporter. Nothing else was on the agenda when an editing job opened up and I thought "I can do that." I had no better place to be (and no condoms) that Fourth of July I ended up in the bed of the woman who would become my daughter's mother. I had no reason to stay on the cold, damp Oregon Coast when I got a call from a paper in California about I job I had forgotten I had even applied for months before. I had no compelling reason to stay in the little farming town when a friend called from Palm Springs.
And I have no regrets about any of it. It has all shaped and changed and molded my life and made me who I am and radically altered the things and people and places who have become important in my life.
But I feel another life-altering change coming on the wind. I don't know what it is or why or how it will manifest itself. But I'm drawn to stand, chin into the gale and walk toward it. Whether I am seeking it or it is seeking me, I know not. But I crave it, with a hunger known only to those who have been starved of their addiction (which reminds me, my tobacco stash is dangerously thin).
I recently applied for a job some distance from here. I may, or may not, still be in the running. But just the process of applying has changed me. It's made me less complacent. Less willing to accept the unacceptable in my daily life. It's helped me to realize I'm no longer content to watch life pass by, I want to race it to the finish. Oh sure, I know I'll probably coast for some stretches along the way, but I'm peddling now. Feeling the burn. It's time for some new challenges, whether I change jobs or addresses or toothpaste matters less than the fact that things need to be shaken up a bit.
It reminds me of an episode of the short-lived ABC series "Sports Night" by writer/producer Aaron Sorkin. The series starred Felicity Huffman (now of "Desperate Housewives" fame. One of the characters, Dan, played by Josh Charles, has this feeling that something is about to happen. In his case, unlike mine, he senses something ominous. He shares his feeling with his co-sports anchor, Casey, played by Peter Krause, now on HBO's "Six Feet Under."
The exchange goes like this:
Dan: There's a strangeness about this day.
Dan: "Eli's coming."
Casey: "Eli?"
Dan: "From the Three Dog Night song.
Case: "Yes."
Dan: "Eli's something bad. A darkness."
Casey: "'Eli's coming, hide your heart girl.' Eli's an inveterate womanizer. I think you're getting the song wrong."
Dan: "I know I'm getting the song wrong, but when I first heard it, that's what I always thought it meant. Things stick with you that way."
-- From Sports Night, Season 1, Episode 19: "Eli's Coming"
Eli's coming, ladies and gentlemen. It's either going to be major crash, or maybe someone will get laid. I'm hoping it's me.
Getting laid that is.
Not the crashing.
That would be bad.
Change
Eli's Coming
Fate
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Who do I kill?
My phone rang at 3:30 a.m. this morning. Since I was in bed at the time, I did what seemed perfectly natural at the time -- I freaked out.
I have 2 phones in the house, one in the front room on my desk, and one in the bedroom. I leave the ringer off on the one in the bedroom. No one ever calls me in the morning, at least not anyone I know. So I figure I don't need to hear the phone ring when telemarketers are calling. Anyone else who might call, if it's for me, I figure they'll leave a message.
The caller ID is on the phone out in the front room too. The bedroom phone is an old fashioned corded phone. I think it's important to have at least one phone that will work if the power goes out. So, the bedroom phone is sort of the emergency phone. I don't use it. I don't even answer it when I'm in the bedroom and the phone rings. I go to the other phone, which is cordless.
Anyway, the phone rings, and I spring out of bed, stumbling toward the front room. I find a light switch and manage to see the caller ID, which says "out of area." That's no help, but it gives me pause and I don't answer the phone. I wait an agonizing few minutes before picking up the phone to see if there is a message on the voice mail, and there is.
Shit.
Maybe it's an emergency. Maybe someone is hurt. My dad is in the hospital. He just had knee replacement surgery yesterday, maybe something went wrong with him.
So, I anxiously check the voicemail, trying to remember to breath slowly before my heart races through the wall of my chest and platters against the kitchen wall.
I steady my hand and dial in the pass code. And then, after a short pause, I hear it.
Beep!
Beep!
It's a fax machine. A fucking fax machine! Calling my house. At 3:30 a.m. I can't yell at a fax machine! I can't even trace back where the fax machine is calling from, because no number shows up on the caller ID.
So I stomp back to bed (I bed my downstairs neighbor loved that). And just as I get settled into bed, the phone rings again! Just to be safe, I get up and check the caller ID again. Yep, another out of area call.
Bastards!
I go back to bed, and, realizing the damn machine must be on some automatic redial, I close my bedroom door to block out the sound of a ringing phone. And it did ring again. Two more times.
Why do people even use fax machines anymore? In 1989 it was pretty remarkable technology. Today, they are just, well, annoying. Junk mail via telephone. Even at work, where we do use faxes, we probably only use about 10-20 percent of the material that comes in. And I just love the people who send us 4 or 5 copies of things to 4 or 5 different people, all using the same fax number.
Idiots.
It's time to start a campaign to make fax machines that dial non-fax numbers illegal. A felony. Punishable by death!
Think that's too harsh?
Rant
Life
Technology
I have 2 phones in the house, one in the front room on my desk, and one in the bedroom. I leave the ringer off on the one in the bedroom. No one ever calls me in the morning, at least not anyone I know. So I figure I don't need to hear the phone ring when telemarketers are calling. Anyone else who might call, if it's for me, I figure they'll leave a message.
The caller ID is on the phone out in the front room too. The bedroom phone is an old fashioned corded phone. I think it's important to have at least one phone that will work if the power goes out. So, the bedroom phone is sort of the emergency phone. I don't use it. I don't even answer it when I'm in the bedroom and the phone rings. I go to the other phone, which is cordless.
Anyway, the phone rings, and I spring out of bed, stumbling toward the front room. I find a light switch and manage to see the caller ID, which says "out of area." That's no help, but it gives me pause and I don't answer the phone. I wait an agonizing few minutes before picking up the phone to see if there is a message on the voice mail, and there is.
Shit.
Maybe it's an emergency. Maybe someone is hurt. My dad is in the hospital. He just had knee replacement surgery yesterday, maybe something went wrong with him.
So, I anxiously check the voicemail, trying to remember to breath slowly before my heart races through the wall of my chest and platters against the kitchen wall.
I steady my hand and dial in the pass code. And then, after a short pause, I hear it.
Beep!
Beep!
It's a fax machine. A fucking fax machine! Calling my house. At 3:30 a.m. I can't yell at a fax machine! I can't even trace back where the fax machine is calling from, because no number shows up on the caller ID.
So I stomp back to bed (I bed my downstairs neighbor loved that). And just as I get settled into bed, the phone rings again! Just to be safe, I get up and check the caller ID again. Yep, another out of area call.
Bastards!
I go back to bed, and, realizing the damn machine must be on some automatic redial, I close my bedroom door to block out the sound of a ringing phone. And it did ring again. Two more times.
Why do people even use fax machines anymore? In 1989 it was pretty remarkable technology. Today, they are just, well, annoying. Junk mail via telephone. Even at work, where we do use faxes, we probably only use about 10-20 percent of the material that comes in. And I just love the people who send us 4 or 5 copies of things to 4 or 5 different people, all using the same fax number.
Idiots.
It's time to start a campaign to make fax machines that dial non-fax numbers illegal. A felony. Punishable by death!
Think that's too harsh?
Rant
Life
Technology
Friday, December 24, 2004
A call for help
One of the assistants walks up to me in the newsroom Wednesday and asks me if I can take a phone call. There’s a guy on the horn with a story idea. I can tell from the tone of her voice it’s one of “those calls.”
The caller obviously didn’t want to leave a message, but he didn’t have a normal request or suggestion. He wanted to talk to someone about his idea. I happened to be the only editor at my desk, so I drew the short straw by default.
There is a strange phenomenon where people who don’t know what else to do or who else to call, place a call to the newspaper.
The call was transferred through, and the caller started talking. He was a talker. It was one of those days where I didn’t really have time to spend on the phone. The call came through moments before I was supposed to walk into a meeting. The caller had his own timeline. I missed most of the meeting hearing the pitch.
The man on the phone, John, has a suggestion for a “human interest story.” He knew a guy who was in a nursing home after suffering a life-threatening infection. John never asked for help for himself, but the more John talked the more it became apparent that he needed help for himself as much as he wanted it for his friend.
John said he had been trying to get his friend, Gerry, some help. But John was in no position to help Gerry himself. John had been staying with Gerry and his partner, but after Gerry ended up in a nursing come, the partner tossed John out on the street. John had slept outside the night before, yet he was more concerned about Gerry. Or so he said. And I think he even believed it himself on some level. But John’s call was a call for help on his own behalf. He was either wholly selfless, or a practiced con artist. As much as I empathized with John I couldn’t quite stifle my skepticism.
John talked for about a half an hour or so, until he ran out of quarters for the pay phone at Denny’s. But John called back later in the evening. John had tried to check into a motel for the night, but they required a credit card, and he didn’t have one. His debit card number was on a piece of paper in the mobile home he’d been kicked out of by Rick, Gerry’s partner. And John’s actual bank card was in his apartment, which he had been evicted from and locked out of by a vindictive property manager. Again I empathized, but couldn’t quite get past the thought that perhaps John was looking to see if I would give him my credit card number. John said he had no family in the area and his friends had apparently turned their back on him after he suffered an injury in some sort of crime, which he didn’t go into detail about. But he said he suffered physical trauma, and some mental effects from the crime.
John was calling for help, and I offered suggestions for different organizations that may be able to help. John had plenty of reasons why those ideas wouldn’t work. But one suggestion seemed to offer some promise for John, and the hour was getting late, so John was going to try to do something about securing lodging for the night. I wished him well and he rang off.
Maybe it’s because the call came so close to Christmas. I’m not sure what it was, but John’s call touched on a personal fear. And that fear is the loss of independence. I so wanted to help John because I so don’t want to become John. One of my biggest fears is having to rely on others. OK, so the fear goes deeper than that, because we all have to rely on other people from time to time. And I am no different. I have relied heavily on family and friends the last several months to get back on my feet, physically and emotionally, following the breakup with my former fiancée. But there was a period in the early days of that breakup where I felt as lost and alone as John must feel. My home was no longer my own, and I didn’t feel comfortable there. Yet, I had nowhere else to go. It felt as if I had no one to talk to either, and yet I really didn’t feel like talking. For a while it felt like I had no one. My fear was that I never would again. I was terrified of living – and dying – alone.
The upshot is, I did ask for help. I talked to a therapist. I talked to family. I talked to friends. And each day got a little better. I hope John finds the help he needs but seems so reluctant to ask for too, if in fact his story is genuine (again the skepticism won’t quite leave me). John was asking me for help in his own way. But it was obvious he had heard about the various shelters, legal aid and other free or low-cost services available to him. He just didn’t feel he really needed them. He still thought, all things considered, that his lot in life was not yet that dire. Either that or, he was trying to scam me, which is possible. But I wasn’t quite willing to buy into his story and assign a reporter to put it into print, nor was I willing to reach into my own pocket when he wasn’t taking advantage of other options for help available to him.
Who knows how many stories of loneliness and desperation there are out there in the world this holiday season. But John, in spite of his own sad story, seemed primarily concerned with helping someone else. And he needed someone to talk to, that much was obvious. Maybe that was the only help I could truly offer him. I hope John will take advantage of the help people have been trying to point him toward. Unfortunately, we often ignore the helping hands reaching out for us out of pride, vanity or shear stubbornness. They say in so many circumstances that the first step is realizing when you need help. Another key step is being willing to accept it.
I am so thankful to family and friends who have given me a shoulder to lean on, or cry on, when I’ve needed it. John’s call reminded me of what this season is all about. Thanks for calling John. I hope you find room at the inn, or at least a warm dry place to sleep this Christmas.
Life
Relationships
The caller obviously didn’t want to leave a message, but he didn’t have a normal request or suggestion. He wanted to talk to someone about his idea. I happened to be the only editor at my desk, so I drew the short straw by default.
There is a strange phenomenon where people who don’t know what else to do or who else to call, place a call to the newspaper.
The call was transferred through, and the caller started talking. He was a talker. It was one of those days where I didn’t really have time to spend on the phone. The call came through moments before I was supposed to walk into a meeting. The caller had his own timeline. I missed most of the meeting hearing the pitch.
The man on the phone, John, has a suggestion for a “human interest story.” He knew a guy who was in a nursing home after suffering a life-threatening infection. John never asked for help for himself, but the more John talked the more it became apparent that he needed help for himself as much as he wanted it for his friend.
John said he had been trying to get his friend, Gerry, some help. But John was in no position to help Gerry himself. John had been staying with Gerry and his partner, but after Gerry ended up in a nursing come, the partner tossed John out on the street. John had slept outside the night before, yet he was more concerned about Gerry. Or so he said. And I think he even believed it himself on some level. But John’s call was a call for help on his own behalf. He was either wholly selfless, or a practiced con artist. As much as I empathized with John I couldn’t quite stifle my skepticism.
John talked for about a half an hour or so, until he ran out of quarters for the pay phone at Denny’s. But John called back later in the evening. John had tried to check into a motel for the night, but they required a credit card, and he didn’t have one. His debit card number was on a piece of paper in the mobile home he’d been kicked out of by Rick, Gerry’s partner. And John’s actual bank card was in his apartment, which he had been evicted from and locked out of by a vindictive property manager. Again I empathized, but couldn’t quite get past the thought that perhaps John was looking to see if I would give him my credit card number. John said he had no family in the area and his friends had apparently turned their back on him after he suffered an injury in some sort of crime, which he didn’t go into detail about. But he said he suffered physical trauma, and some mental effects from the crime.
John was calling for help, and I offered suggestions for different organizations that may be able to help. John had plenty of reasons why those ideas wouldn’t work. But one suggestion seemed to offer some promise for John, and the hour was getting late, so John was going to try to do something about securing lodging for the night. I wished him well and he rang off.
Maybe it’s because the call came so close to Christmas. I’m not sure what it was, but John’s call touched on a personal fear. And that fear is the loss of independence. I so wanted to help John because I so don’t want to become John. One of my biggest fears is having to rely on others. OK, so the fear goes deeper than that, because we all have to rely on other people from time to time. And I am no different. I have relied heavily on family and friends the last several months to get back on my feet, physically and emotionally, following the breakup with my former fiancée. But there was a period in the early days of that breakup where I felt as lost and alone as John must feel. My home was no longer my own, and I didn’t feel comfortable there. Yet, I had nowhere else to go. It felt as if I had no one to talk to either, and yet I really didn’t feel like talking. For a while it felt like I had no one. My fear was that I never would again. I was terrified of living – and dying – alone.
The upshot is, I did ask for help. I talked to a therapist. I talked to family. I talked to friends. And each day got a little better. I hope John finds the help he needs but seems so reluctant to ask for too, if in fact his story is genuine (again the skepticism won’t quite leave me). John was asking me for help in his own way. But it was obvious he had heard about the various shelters, legal aid and other free or low-cost services available to him. He just didn’t feel he really needed them. He still thought, all things considered, that his lot in life was not yet that dire. Either that or, he was trying to scam me, which is possible. But I wasn’t quite willing to buy into his story and assign a reporter to put it into print, nor was I willing to reach into my own pocket when he wasn’t taking advantage of other options for help available to him.
Who knows how many stories of loneliness and desperation there are out there in the world this holiday season. But John, in spite of his own sad story, seemed primarily concerned with helping someone else. And he needed someone to talk to, that much was obvious. Maybe that was the only help I could truly offer him. I hope John will take advantage of the help people have been trying to point him toward. Unfortunately, we often ignore the helping hands reaching out for us out of pride, vanity or shear stubbornness. They say in so many circumstances that the first step is realizing when you need help. Another key step is being willing to accept it.
I am so thankful to family and friends who have given me a shoulder to lean on, or cry on, when I’ve needed it. John’s call reminded me of what this season is all about. Thanks for calling John. I hope you find room at the inn, or at least a warm dry place to sleep this Christmas.
Life
Relationships
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