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The Parochial Tendencies of Society

01/12/2015 Comments off

Entry 01/11/2015 09:18:19 AM – Mentat 846

As I sit here this morning while I wait for my coffee to brew and debating whether I should enjoy an English Muffin for the mid-morning break, I was struck with an interesting thought as I reviewed a conversation with someone on one of the dating website I have a membership with… That thought being: When did we (as a people) become so parochial?

Men on the dating site seem to be completely uninterested with any sort of communication with anyone outside of a specific driving range (which seems arbitrary based on personal tolerances for driving distances); so much so that they will ignore any comments, notes, compliments or assertions made in their direction. The man I mentioned moments ago is getting ready to make a transcontinental pilgrimage to a city that I had spent some time in has made it pretty damned clear in his profile that he wants to shed not only his possessions but any emotional entanglements old and new for this trip. In fact the primary reason for his conversation with me has to do with my knowledge of the area he’s moving to. Whether it’s going to continue from there remains entirely to be seen; though I suspect it’s going to end as abruptly as it began. Watching the dance of people that I see and encounter (here in the Tundras of New England) they seemed determine to only pay attention to whatever is in their immediate vicinity and often ignore anyone that falls outside the qualities to determine validity (sight and more importantly touch).

I’m not talking about the family we’re born into. Blood is thicker than water and all that, but let’s face it — unless we’re totally alienated by that family we’re born into, we often keep in touch with them regardless of the distances. No, what I’m talking about the family of choice that we create, establish and reinforce when one reaches adulthood and ventures out into the world.

I recall from my history and literature classes in high school, stories from the Renaissance when the postal networks were establishing and how people would maintain both correspondences in love and dalliances as well as the various letters involving friend and equals, swamis (gurus and other religious teachers) and their disciples, as well as teachers and students. Many of these non-romantic letters going well beyond the lessons that brought them together to establishing friendships that lasted as long as those to people closer to home. As for romantic correspondences, there have been books written about them that rivaled the sort of love that comes from meeting someone closer to home. It had become a continued (and eventually established) form of communication for romantic, platonic and professional communication through the expansion into the world and into the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries.

I have my proof in the treatises of Alice A Bailey that correspondences and written communications had reached midway into the 20th century. Written communications that continued to be there well after the establishment of telegraph and telephone communications in the latter part of the 19th/early part of the 20th centuries. Even though radio communications were here at the time, it’s not really used (which had been more for military and transportation services than for the everyday “Joe”). And yes, even through the advent of the CB Radio fad of the 70s.

Yet something shifted toward the end of the 20th century. With the establishment of the Internet for households of the common man and heralded the dawn of the Information Age, this had a way of opening up the world to everybody and allowing them communication with people halfway around the world as equally and easily as across the street. It had given an extension on an expiring thoughtform that had been created in days gone by. That is to say, there had been a brief revival of the concept of the long-distance love affairs. Of writing e-mails (along with Instant and Real-Time Communications) with someone one found mentally and emotionally attractive across the vastness of miles. Yet somewhere near the dawn of the 21st century that novelty wore off. With the ability to obtain instantaneous information and coupled with the growing skepticism and cynicism (based both on personal experience and word of mouth) that the person you might be talking with might not be where they’re saying they’re from or even who they actually are; the mindset changed into a sort of common sense rule from looking (and perhaps even reaching out) globally to only dealing with folk locally. If there is any such global interchange it is done publicly and casually, much like those of a fan or casual follower with no more interaction than to either sing the praise of who they follow or to respond their approval in the forms of likes, re-tweets or simply watching with words unsaid.

I see that there are exceptions to these new rules. Those folk that have made relationships work in spite of the distances. And while I knew of some folk — straight and gay alike — in the last 20 years work beyond (or perhaps in spite) the distances between them, I seem to have noticed since the inception of the 21st century it’s more the acts of the young. But these of course are only the exceptions. Not the general rule…

So it raises the question… Well several questions as I sit here and review what I said versus the thoughts I still haven’t committed to writing: Is long-distance correspondences (romantic and/or platonic) an instrument for the young?† As we (humans) get older, more weather-worn, more skeptical and of course obtain more baggage along the way, do we lose the necessary naïveté and faith that make such long-distance correspondences possible? Do we become more parochial as we get older wanting our gratification, satisfaction and perhaps even our continued ability to learn something only to be done from a local perspective?

Or it is something more intrinsic? Does the everyday man simply lack the elements of (blind) faith, (long-distance) trust and of course the fortitude of character and determination to making such romantic and platonic relationships (regardless of the distance) work?

If the last supposition (posed in the form of a question) is indeed true, what does that make me? Exceptional?

For even at the half-century mark, I continue to maintain contact with those that are willing to continue correspondences regardless of the distance. Friends that I have never met, I continue to strike up conversations with them whenever possible. In Canada, in other parts of the United States (Florida and California for example), occasionally even farther than that. I continue to put out the feelers for new communications in the hopes that it will flourish into something more than just casual and more importantly — personally distant. I continue to do so, sight unseen… When mood or common interests seem apparent, I am trying to make that connection. By listening and sharing either in earnest or in humour, with insight, with sagely advice handed down to me by my grandmother and with whatever observations and opinions that I form on my own I offer it without hesitation in the hopes that it will build the bridge necessary for friendship to flourish.

If I am the exception to the rule, why does it often feel like I’m on some parapet, soap box or mosque tower projecting my thoughts out into the void and yet no one seems to hear the underlying message? Or worse… With the common sense handed down to me and my inherent ability of working in means and averages (I never went into statistics, but I admit having a modest grasp of it), are the exceptional so isolated that they are all crying out in some form or another and simply not being heard? That there’s just the right sort of distance between these voices that they cannot hear each other?

In conclusion, as I said to Mr. James Radcliffe, so I should take my own advice… I have thrown this stone into the pond with this entry. Now I just need to wait — patiently — for the ripples from this action to reach all parts of the pond.

Until the next time.

(I’ll exclude professional because money drives that and there will always be that for self-employed individuals and companies.)

You Know You’re an Influence When…

12/10/2014 Comments off

Someone chats me up on one of the local dating boards and goes off on a random rant about how so many people seem to come visit his profile but no one ever seems to hit him up. He blames it on queerfolk wanting Superman that lives a block away…

I responded with:

One of the biggest problems with profiles comes from the way people try to make their profiles all – for lack of a better word – hetero norm. Add to the fact that many of us here (and yes I admit I’m one of them) comes from the experience of personal ads in local rags and our inherent ability to try to read between the lines. Things end up getting translated from one thing to another and whatever charm one might have aimed for is translated to something completely different. Why do you think I wrote my profile the way I did? For people to translate the scary to terrifying and the good to bland. It would take someone of exception character to realize the truth of the paradox.

I then went on to say:

I can tell you the fact I didn’t respond was because your six things you can’t live without didn’t include coffee. With coffee not being on the top six (or some explanation as I had) I wasn’t sure whether you’d fully appreciate one of the few vices I live by. I also try to avoid people that live next door; instead looking farther away from the New England area. You see, I am a living example of, “writers – when they’re alone, they’re prophetic; when they’re with people, they’re pathetic. They’re just too in their heads. ” I am not in a rush to meet and have coffee. I like learning about people from their writing instead of face to face as I can learn more by what they write about than what they project.


 

The thing is that no sooner than he read my response, he updated his profile to include the hows and the whys. He even went so far as to accentuate the one thing I didn’t bring up: his height (I might get to that in a minute). He re-wrote it to being a little less (what I call) hetero-norm. He added elements that people don’t often talk about: spirituality… I mean sure I’ve seen plenty of people professing one form of Christianity or another, but not so much Buddhism or other spiritual paths. Of course the price for this wisdom and this change of approach with his profile is he stopped talking to me and then went to blocking me.

While I expected most of his response to the advice I had given him (stopping the conversation and perhaps even the block), it got me to thinking about the conversation I had with @JayTheManDater over on his blog on WordPress. While I found myself relieved that the conversation didn’t lead to embarrassing and potentially shallow admissions on my part (I am looking for someone taller than me, not shorter), at the same time I find myself modestly disappointed not even a “thank you” was given for what I said… After all this man was 12 years older than I was and was definitely raised to know what manners were…. It did also give me a giggle on how he had admitted that part of the reason why he moved away from Boston was because of the Non-Bostonian Hate that he would get for being from Boston. Why the giggle? Because Rhode Islanders call people from the state north of ours “Massholes” and it struck me ironic that he did precisely the thing that causes Rhode Islanders to call them that…

It also got me thinking about how manners in the Tundras of New England have changed so much. As a world traveler, I continue to be amazed about how people around here avoid anything and everything with strangers that require manners or politeness to be used. The older people (I’m talking Octogenarian) might nod in your direction or say “hello” as you walk by… My age and younger positively avoid it. During my daily walk I’ve watched people ignore me, look away, sometimes even so much as cross the street in order to avoid being remotely civil.

The only response I have for queerfolk here is, “and you wonder why I look outside of the area?”

Still though, it makes this old queer proud. I might not be thanked, I might even be ignored… But at least people hear what I’m saying and making use of it. And with that, I’m off. Time for some inspirational music and to read through some of my news sites before it’s time to take the Monster Child out for his afternoon walk. Until the next time.

Surprises, Bumps & Train Wrecks

10/09/2014 Comments off

Entry 10/09/2014 09:57:21 AM  – Mentat 756

Nobody, as long as he moves about among the chaotic currents of life, is without trouble.” – Carl Jung

Ah, what a train wreck yesterday turned out to be.

Things seemed to have been going remarkably well.  I started my morning with the extreme surprise of coming in contact with someone I hadn’t seen or even heard from in almost 30 years.  A bar-friend that I used to get together with that used to trawl the old bar, No Name — long since gone and replace with a state agency — and then afterwards head to the old Seaplane Diner for a late night breakfast to work the alcohol out of our systems.  While I didn’t remember him when he messaged me — getting confused with someone else from about that time — when he told me he was from North Providence, I remembered correctly and instantly.  I remember that he used to dress up like a hair-glam rocker; complete with clothes and hair.  I remember he was mostly a shy one when we were out.  I remember when we used to go out, he would order himself a plate of fries and then drench them in condiments.   I remember a couple of his friends.  Chris B who I tried to date and failed rather spectacularly.  And I think another Italian kid who I only remember his name as Dante.   And a woman name Lorna…  Heh, I couldn’t remember her name and Chris had to remind me; thought it started with an R…  But at least it has an R in it.

Interesting memories back then; some of which I’m rather surprised I can remember so clearly and so precisely being so close to the time of the car accident back when I was about 20 years old and somewhere between that time and when I had been raped 2 years later is a very messy time for me to try to remember through.  On the one side, I no longer had my journals for that time (destroyed in a flood) so it’s not like looking at 2004 – 2005 after my break up with Rick…  And reading into those journals seeing an entirely different person I don’t remotely recognize writing them…   On the other hand, sitting here — in the here and now — it’s rather surprising how clear those memories are in spite of the dire times back then.   Sure the memories seem to be darker than average — but it’s more about lighting (and the lack thereof) more than the mood.  Well that and the smells of cigarettes, bad smoke machines and spilled alcoholic drinks.  But those were the times outside of work…

Going on simultaneously was a rather surprising chat with someone — who’s name will be discretely omitted and referred to as C — on a chat/meeting site.  The fact that he admitted being able to sing gives him automatic respect (as I’ve said in the past — me singing produces the same sounds as torturing cats).  He was flirtatious, gregarious, he was keeping up with what was going on and most importantly I didn’t have to reiterate constantly what I was trying to say and perhaps even what I meant.  A definite plus and something that I find attractive.  He was even closer to my age than most of the men I’ve flirted with in the last couple of years.   It made the afternoon go well given I wasn’t at the Deskside, instead watching my mother’s Monster Child (stories to be told in a moment).

Then the train wreck.  As I was wrapping up my time at my mother’s during the last 45 minutes.  The conversation takes a turn into surprise.  C doesn’t want to chat anymore and wants to meet.  Given the intensity and the change of direction it had taken me completely be surprise.  In those moments, I didn’t know what or why, but I reacted hard.  I became brutally honest and in doing so pushed him away hard.  It fell apart after that…  C was distracted by driving…  I was flummoxed and having anxiety.

I can tell you that because of it, I had my first absence (petite mal) seizure since being back in the Tundras of New England.  It wasn’t long — longer than normally experienced.  A fact that if my mother were to hear about this would demand my going to a doctor pronto.

I can tell you that I fell immediately to sleep and slept uninterrupted through to the morning.

I can tell you I feel both embarassed and guilty because I didn’t handle the situation properly.  I apologized, but expect nothing in return.  Nor that he would return.

And this morning after meditating and beginning this journal entry, I can tell you precisely where the anxiety came from…  It started in the unconscious.  It came from seeing the similarities of C’s situation and the years of hell living with Rick a decade before.  It came from the emotional torment and blame that I had gone through at his hands.  And most importantly it came from the similarities I had been seeing.

– that C had a child
– that he was only recently out and not out to many people.
– that there was a travelable distance between where he was and where I am.  60 miles (96.5 km)  which compared from Atlanta to Dalton is close enough for government work.
– that I don’t drive and haven’t for 21 years now.

Combine this with the memories of constant incrimination and derision that I had gone through with Rick and it all came flooding back in flood and fear.

I know, I know…  they’re different people, different circumstances and on and on and on…  Consciously it makes perfect sense and is perfectly logical.  Unconsciously?  No matter what mastery one can have on conscious thought — it’s a dark place, full of emotions and deeply hidden problems that can creep up and pounce when you least expect it.  And that’s precisely what it did.

The best I can do at the moment is ride through the regrets that I had created and let them pass.  I regret bring such demons so early to the table.  I regret that I scared a good man with baggage I thought that I had gotten the best of.  And I regret how it’s ended.  But hey…  It’ll pass like it always does…  I just have to face what it was that scared me and handle it better.

As for what I mentioned earlier in this entry.  Earlier this week she was in for getting the plate removed from her ankle/foot because it was sticking too close to the surface and was interfering with the healing process.  So in the morning and through until about the time that her husband gets home, I stay over her place watching the dog and ensuring he doesn’t have any abandonment issues through that time.  Jack — her monster child — being a rescue still has it months later.

Further developments this afternoon comes from my aunt who received a voicemail from my mother telling her she’s going into surgery for it again this morning.  My aunt couldn’t hear her mostly because she’s going hard of hearing and won’t do anything about it… So I left a message on my mother’s cell with the hopes of finding out more news on this…

There’s more to this too.  My mother’s going to be going back to the hospital next week for a more detailed mammogram.  Last week when she went for her routine examinations — or as she’s fond of call them “breast squishings” — they reported finding a dark spot on her results from her other breast.  I can’t remember which one, just that it was the other one that had cancer in, in the past.

I’m not too worried about it.  It’s one of those wait and see what’s going to happen next with her.  I just wished she would stop smoking..  That would make it a bit easier.

Well that’s about it for the time being.  Until the next time.

Time passes as time always does…

07/05/2014 Comments off

Entry 07/05/2014 11:54:18 AM – Mentat 705

Summer Solstice has come and gone.

Emancipation Day has come and gone… And a lot quieter than I thought possible. More on that in a little bit.

Stonewall Day has come and gone.

Yes, Independence Day has even come and gone.

It’s not as though I’ve been completely uninspired; just mostly for the last couple of weeks. While some of it has to do with the exorcising of demons as part of my Emancipation Day tradition, most of it had to do with the outrageously annoying and extremely draining moderate heat coupled with unbearable humidity that we had been getting through the last couple of days. Now that tropical-storm-turned-weak-hurricane-turned-tropical-storm-again Arthur has come and gone… Well, let’s just say it’s marvelous, the right sort of warm, breezy and the last week’s oppressive, Southern Humidity in the North is totally gone, I’m sitting here with the windows open, fans blowing (with and without the breeziness) and Moe expectedly torn between wanting to chase the little red light and getting up on the desk for some one-on-one attention. Looks like the attention won out, as he’s currently plopped on my shoulder with his tail wagging away (between happy and aggravating). Not that this is going to make typing easy as this is just the usual prelude to, “I don’t like your shoulder, let me casually slide down into the crook of your arm and whack your face with my tail…”

Ha! That’s not going to happen for as long as my notebook’s open…

Starting with last night (and working backwards instead of all over the place), I had my first nightmare in a long while. While the dream itself was only moderately scary — dealing with some sort of infection turned zombie apocalypse — I found myself practically screaming in the night-terrors sort of way as I was waking up. Sure, lucid dreaming was easy enough… During the part in the dream where someone’s son was infected by the virus and only had minutes before turning into some sort of brain-eating monster, I woke myself rather calmly. It was during the wake up process that I had scared myself. It seems that while I was waking up, my semi-conscious mind tried to bring to the conscious one of the zombies and it was crawling up into the bed (and over the covers), to pin me down and eat my face off.

That in itself kept me up for about 2 to 2½ hours as I tried to work through the fear and the hyper-attention I had going for that scary moment. I was rather surprised that it was the semi-conscious part of the brain that suffered from the fright instead of the subconscious/unconscious; particularly when you realize just how psychotic my dream states can be. But after watching some distracting videos (as I wasn’t quite able to listen to ambient music of DI.FM’s Space Dreams), I passed out like I normally would, only to wake up much later than I expected.

I’m not quite sure why or what caused that bad dream turned nightmare. I haven’t been watching anything about zombies or strange mutant-altering viruses; hell most of my television or diversions have been either science-fiction or actions… I’m sure that if I think about it enough, I might have a little luck finding the trigger. Either-or… it’s a first in a long time.

Then earlier in the night (like around an hour before closing time for Tammany Hall), someone was firing off fireworks in Piedmont Street. Between the sounds and the lights, I remember waking up to the noise and thinking, “if that shit continues, I swear I’ll call the police for the cunt that was disturbing the peace.” No, I didn’t do it, couldn’t actually as my phone was in the office on the other side of the wall. Fortunately for me and the rest of the people in the neighborhood, it was a culmination to the various firework noises that have been going on in the neighborhood. Between the neighbor across the street firing off fireworks (and we think getting chastised by the neighbor next door), to the kids over on Knight Street firing them off later in the evening (read: past midnight, early morning), it’s been more noisy than I’m used to during this time of year than when I used to live in the Valley.

In the last couple of years, whenever there was fireworks going off for this time of year it always sounded so… distant. Like it wasn’t part of the neighborhood at all. This year? Ugh, it feels like it’s going on just outside of my house (in spite of the fact that some of it’s 2 streets over on one side, and halfway downtown on the other.

Moe on the other hand, I think has developed a nervous tic. Seems he has a hot spot on his left foreleg. I’m not sure whether it’s from the move, it’s been there for a while and I’ve only just started noticing. Or whether it’s really recent with all the noise and all the windows being opened. It’s not too bad — he hasn’t developed any sores in the process. It’s just been made bald from his cleaning (I’ve finally seen him going to town on the area). While he was good in not running off of the bed and hiding for hours when the folk were firing off firecrackers and various noisemakers…. He has through the last week. So much so, that there have been times when I’ve come home from walking my mother’s monster child, that I’ve found him in the portable closet, hiding for his life. So in the meantime, as I continue to make sure it’s the other possible cause for that bald spot (boredom), I’ve been playing with him more and giving him the treat of napping with me when I take a quick lie-down. Seems all right, but hell during the hotter days, just what I need on my crotch — a sprawled out, legs in the air, purring, fur belt.

Then at the end of last week, Stonewall Day (which sort of is a hop, skip and a jump to the weekend before), I got the usual questions about, “will you be going down to Pride?”

No…

Just no…

Of course I recounted the story to family mostly but a couple of friends that I was chatting with online, about the last pride I went to a couple of years ago (when I was living with that douchebag, drunken artist wannabe)… You know, the one where I felt like I was one of the tallest (and oldest) queerfolk in the land of the Lilliputians. Oh and the only taller person had the hair of Chewbacca… And no I don’t mean he was a walking carpet, but instead hair on his head slicked back and long like Chewbacca.

My attitude hasn’t changed about folk here in this state and with that in mind, I saw no need or want to mingle with the attitude I’ve encountered since coming back to the state. And while that entry was only a couple of weeks ago, it remains a sort of anchor/milestone to my continued approach to the folk and people in the area.

Though for a moment it did raise the question in my mind, “why is it that I truly stay in the state?” Well, other than the obvious answer of my family in all it’s bizarre and sometimes dysfunctionally warring sort of way… I have to say I think I’m finally settled.. The oats have been sown… The mad cow has finally been hit with the right tranquilizer. Mother’s Little Helper has finally helped mother…

[Last Edited: 07/05/2014 07:41:23 PM]

Before Stonewall Day was Emancipation Day… While I didn’t do anything completely dramatic or… well over-dramatic about releasing the left over demons, I can say without a shadow of a doubt declare that I can now think about the douchebag ex-landlord and not think about punching him in the throat repeatedly. That doesn’t exclude the thought of throwing rocks at his SUV if he tries being “nice” in my direction, but at least it’s not the threat of strong physical violence at the sight of the two-faced, delusional bastard. And no… I won’t stop with the names… Even 35 years later, I still refer to my first ex-boyfriend as either “the asshole” or “my first asshole”.

Hell, I can even get through the thought of the ex-roommate douchebag without wanting to give the man two black eyes in the process. Sure, I might be resigning myself to the thought that with the amount of cheap drinking and cheaper cigarettes the only way he’s going to keel over either through lung cancer (or any other cancers associated to smoking) and/or cirrhosis of the liver. It’s a slow way, yes I know. And that silly, petty stealing douche will not only leave the world penniless but also unknown, but hopefully in doing so his kids will completely hate his existence… Evil I know… but at least I’m resigned to karma paying back as karma always pays back. Instead of wanting to take a completely active role in his (and the douchey ex-landlord’s) demise. And again, no… I won’t stop with the names. They dissed me and were disrespectful, they don’t deserve any respect from me.

It took me over 4 months, several attempts at facing it and then letting it go, more times with denial than I would like to admit, and having to say it aloud enough to realize the amount of vehemence and anger that I was containing. While I might not be able to shake the scorn — something I know that I can hang on to no matter what — the anger and rage is finally spent.

And that’s pretty much it in a nutshell. I’m still not quite as creative as I should be, but at least I’m a bit more at peace with myself than usual. Now I’m off for the night… Until the next time.

The Year-end Contemplation

12/30/2013 2 comments

Entry 12/30/2013 09:04:07 AM – Mentat 688

“Learn as much by writing as by reading.” – Lord Acton

It’s coming up on the end of the year, and looking at my journal for 2013, I realize all too painfully, I haven’t written nearly as much as I wished. Or as often as I should have. I know that sitting here and thinking about it — I have had a million reasons and excuses why this had come to pass for this year. I thought about some of the reasons why I had picked up writing a diary/journal in the last 32 years… At first it was because I was an introvert and needed to learn how to be more open and extroverted. Then my journal entry changed a bit and started including bits of philosophy, metaphysics and the observations I made during these studies into books by Alice A. Bailey, Helena Blavatsky, Aristotle and Socrates… I even included bits pieces (and even whole entries) about dreams and the dreams that I’ve had over the years, delving into understanding the unconscious and the subconscious…

After that, there was much about my private life. Mostly because I had been accused by many that I had dated (and even had long-term relationships with) that I was too secretive. That I kept too much of what was going on inside me close to my chest. When I broke up with my last SO just over a decade ago, I changed it to dealing with the healing that came from living 4 years in an abusive (and extremely toxic) relationship. During the next 5 years, it was a struggle dealing with the pain and the hurt and the healing that comes from finding myself in a dark place and trying to make it back to the light. I did pretty well, in spite of the work-related drama that cropped up for a couple of years. Was even lucky to find myself head over heels in love with a man that understood everything that came out of my mouth no matter how confusing or obfuscated it sounded.

Things trucked along as they should and I was as active as I was when I first started coming out of my introverted shell, in spite of the fact that I was at home with all the baggage that it incurred. In spite of the often strange, eccentric and gruff attitudes that Yankees have here in the Tundras of New England. In fact, I had reached a point in my life a couple of years ago that mirrored the times when I finally worked out who I was and what I should-be doing with myself and my life.

Then comes two years ago. I have the illusion that regardless of the circumstances that lead me to having to move I was in that comfortable place of dealing with whatever was going to be thrown my way. I found myself dealing with a thief and a user, and another that was not only incompetent but also a user… And that’s when I only just realized I was dealing with karma not only from the last relationship I had, but also dealing with issues going all the way back to my first boyfriend (the asshole ex, as I refer to more often times than naught). Admittedly my anger and rage was through the roof with both. The thief I was just wanted to pulverize because humans like him don’t deserve to live and use others in the way that he had used me (and before any new readers think I dated him, I can assure you he is most assuredly not my type). And the incompetent one, I just want to smack the shit out of him in the hopes that sense will be beaten into his skull. The thing is that sitting here and writing this entry, I realize I let these two fuckwits imbeciles get the best of me, so much so that I had become quite a tight ball of hate, anger, rate and vitriol. The more that I attempted to confront that hate and anger in the form of writing a journal entry, the more verklempt I became. It reached a point where instead of continuing in trying to work through the issue, I avoided it — like a plague it felt it was — ran away from it diverting myself with anything I could pay attention to. Sometimes these diversion were creative (like my fractal a day work), sometimes not so much (like my MMO gaming and television show binging). In the end though, I ended up lethargic, unmoving, and almost incapable of doing anything but distractions.

Sometime last month; after I had to get family to intervene for me while I tried to epically control my anger with dealing with one of the fuckwits imbeciles in my life, something happened. With my family witnessing the insanity of one of these imbeciles and then commenting on it — I came to the slow realization, “well gee… It’s not just me (being a perfectionist)… He really is an idiot…” It was then that I started to repurpose my approach to the problems I was avoiding.

This approach has been met with some conflicting feelings from family. My mother believes that if someone/something gives you that much problem that the best (read to me as safest) solution to handling that problem is to leave… Move out… Go somewhere else… Basically let someone else handle the problem, or let the problem just break itself. The only problem with that is that I’ve gotten tired of running away whenever I have a problem. Leaving it to karma or to other people — while momentarily satisfying — took too long for the likes of me to get resolved… And let’s face it based on the two years I’ve been here in Providence, RI — these two fuckwits imbeciles have been doing this sort of crap for far too long longer than my personal experience has witnessed.

Sure, I would wait for karma to catch up and deal with them… The only problem with this is that while each of them have gotten (at least one) the wake-up call to the road they’ve been walking will not end well for — and yet both of them do just enough to stop the train wreck from happening. And I’m tired of waiting…

I might talk about them in the next couple of days… I might not… Not sure whether I can or can’t… But in either case, I’m gunning for both of them and this time I’m going to pimp slap the both of them where it counts: in the wallet. And I will do this efficiently and legally instead of taking matters in my own hands.

Let’s see what else…

For about 7 months during this year I had been dating (albeit really long distance) the man that I had mentioned way back when in April (Entry 683)… C was inspirational, energetic and most of all inquisitive. The problems that cropped up were the facts that he was way too impulsive, flighty/un-grounded, and lacked the integrity of his own word — breaking promises because such promises were inconvenient to his desires for impulsiveness. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the time after waking up from a particularly troubling nap, I encountered a private message from him on Facebook that I couldn’t tell whether it was him or one of his friends taking the piss out of the two of us by using his account. Couple this with him breaking the promise of one day a week of getting together (more than twice), I had my fill of that inconsistency. Writing a quick “Dear John” I explained precisely why I had broke all contact with him and moved on with the feeling that “it had to be done…”

Friends and family tried to excuse his actions to youth and inexperience, yet I can’t accept the excuses of “coming of age”. I’m of the firm belief that by 18 people should have a good damned concept of what integrity means. Hell, even know the value of one’s word to commitment. If by adulthood one doesn’t understand this, then one needs to learn the consequences of ill-action. This lack of commitment and integrity must come with ramifications. Because no matter how intelligent we humans think we are, we learn best when there are (negative) consequences to our actions.

While the dreams that came from being around him had stopped, there have been a couple of times since our breakup that I get the impression he’s been thinking about me and once or twice I’ve been struck with the impression that he’s thought about reaching out to me in some way… But the one thing I’ve learned about humanity is hurt is the greatest motivator to integrity and commitment and given the break up — I’m sure that his promise of never speaking to me again if I were to disappear the way that I did… Still though, I’m sure like me — there’s been more than one time we’ve thought of each other and wondered whether the direction taken was the only one left at the time.

I’m going to stop here for the time being. I have some things to think about in what I want to say for today or New Year’s which means it’s time to wander off to contemplate. Until the next time.

Ghosts of the Past

05/17/2013 Comments off

Entry 05/14/2013 08:15:36 PM – Mentat 685

All right, all right… More than a month… And nothing written from me since the bullshit that I had dealt with in Star Trek Online. I know that I had been working on a journal entry for the better part of two and a half weeks after the last entry, but the following week and a half, I’ve simply let it sit there because there really wasn’t anything that I could say on the subject. Things changed from what caused me to be inspired to write that entry and why I’m sitting down and writing this entry today. And while the parts of that draft for this journal entry which might never see the light of day, will be moved to the unfiled part of my journal for random look backs and wondering whether or not I should expand on that thought. I probably won’t though — things have changed and improved from the time I sat down and originally wrote that entry. Besides, there are other things to be written about… Some of it neutral, some of it ghosts from a distant past, and some of it are thoughts that I’ve had in the three months since things have changed direction for me.

First thing… my old and trusty back-up set of glasses that I had been using for the better part of the last 5 (or so) years finally gave up the ghost and broke. Not in a good place either… We’re talking the part of the frame near to the connection across the bridge. The part that only a good soldering gun would be able to fix. Though I wouldn’t have minded using some tape until I could get a new pair of glasses. I thought that the neighbor to my landlord’s gallery in Butcher Block Mills had a soldering gun, but after a quick trip down there realized when he admitted to working in heavy-duty metalwork that the only tools that he had for the job was a rather large and clunky acetylene torch the sort of thing that involve the construction of buildings… Well, I knew that I had to break down and go to a local optometrist and get a new pair of glasses.

Strange thing about living in the north is that they won’t take the lenses off your current pair of glasses to make you a new pair. No sir, you have to have the written prescription from the optometrist for them to make them, no ifs ands or buts about it. And to make it feel even more like a rip-off here, I have a copy of my prescription from my eye exam and according to the information it is only valid for 1 year (as opposed to the traditional 2 years between eye exams).

I found a place in North Providence that did one of those 2-for-1 offers with an eye exam like America’s Best in the southern part of the country and was able to schedule an appointment relatively quickly. Turns out that I needed a new prescription, though according to the optometrist that performed the exam, it wasn’t as bad a change as expected. Not too bad given that it’s been about a decade since I’ve gone for an eye exam. And according to the eye exam, I am now eligible for bifocals. Ugh. Not that I need them yet, I can still read rather well without wearing glasses still, so I’ll just stick to using glasses for distance viewing and take them off for reading. Of course, I skipped out on the retina examination (you know the pupil dilation test) because I didn’t have a pair of sunglasses on me and I wasn’t going to accept the nana-terminator disposables that they give for the drive out of the place.

So I got my first pair of glasses after about 4 or 5 days of waiting. The other pair I finally got last week and did the dreaded pupil dilation test for the optometrist to check my retinas as well as optic nerves in the back of my eye. Man, talk about torture. First, I’m sitting there in the storefront area waiting for my eyes to dilate, which they did much to my chagrin of it getting brighter and brighter. Then the optometrist used this method of light and magnifiers akin to a medieval torture device. While it was more than mildly torturous on my right eye, for my left it was completely unbearable. I had to tell the woman that being left-handed made my left eye more sensitive to light, and after four failed attempts at seeing the optic nerve, decided to do the old fashioned method that I remember them doing in the south involving the hand unit and finishing up with a clean bill of health (other than her telling me that my optic nerve is larger than normal and that I knew this already because of genetics).

While I was fortunate in that it was cloudy and rainy through most of the day (other than the brief part of sunny weather at noon), it took me almost 5 hours for me to get my sight back to normal. Ugh! Believe me, that was annoying.

Then of course, quite by accident, I come across a Free-to-Play game in the shopper’s section of Steam called Warframe. And on an impulse of me looking for a different Free-to-Play game and wanting something a bit more sci-fi like, decided to download and install. Much to my excitement and surprise, it has all the right elements that attract someone like me to playing the game: the ability to control whether to play solo, with friends or PUG up with complete strangers to fight through the various levels throughout the game. So far, I’ve kept to soloing, though I’m finding that one particular boss level at the beginning of the game to being somewhat gruesome enough that I might have to rethink the strategy of going it alone. If you’ve got the processor and video card power, I would strongly recommend taking advantage during the free-to-play open beta, as I’m sure there’s going to be more from this game in the future.

I might get around to reviewing it in the next couple of weeks; depending on whether I can get through the boss-fight on Mercury station without having to PUG up a bunch of players to get through it. Still though, it hasn’t stopped me from recommending it to friends or even raving about it to get them to try the game out.

Next up is a ghost from the long time past. We’re talking about the time just before I had met Darin too. To give a little background on the story there, I’ll call him R for short. R and I met at one of the local gay bars — No Name, Gerardo’s or some such that allowed the underage to come in and have a good time (provided they pay the cover and ducked out in case the police were to show up). We sort of hit it up chatting about nothing in particular, were equally fed up being the nerds and geeks and not the pretty boys that always seem to go home with someone at the end of the night, and generally got to know each other at the bars and out. What one would call Bar Friends that slowly began to form into a sort of light friendship away from the bar crawl. I honestly didn’t trust him as there was something really skeevy about him. Something I couldn’t put my finger on, and because of it I wouldn’t exactly trust him. But he was good enough people to do things when I had no one else pulling at me to do things with.

About a week after my 25th birthday, I had decided that it was high time for me to head to Provincetown. It had been years since I’ve made the almost three hour trek to the end of Cape Cod. Longer since I actually visited the gay vacation spot of the Northeast. Planning for the long weekend of Independence Day that year, I contacted all my friends to see whether they’d like to come along. All of them were committed to family barbeques, party commitments and what not. The only person that had been free was R, so I invited him along and of course he accepted. I did all the initial planning explaining the basics that I do when I head up to P-Town and offered that if it gets too late, we’ll just find a place to crash — the beach or if there’s a room at one of the local motels — and head home the next day. He was up to it and we left it at that hanging around when I had time off or R was out of work.

A week after that, I met Darin at Gerardo’s. While I planned on going to P-Town with R, I also wanted Darin to come along as well. After a couple of conversations with R, he began to get all squirrely about the thought of the three of us going there. I wanted R to come along as a chaperone; knowing full well that Darin and I were going to behave like friends rather than lovers. After all, I only would have known Darin for about a week and it was a good way of determining how Darin would act around my friends. Call it a dry run for being gentlemanly if I were to eventually introduce him to my family. R however didn’t want anything of the sort, saying that he didn’t want to be a third wheel.

I had a final try at trying to convince R to come along urging him that he wouldn’t be a third wheel and that I wanted him to come along as a chaperone because I wanted to see Darin at his best behavior as well. I was over his family’s house with him, with friends of his there. He was being an ass toward me and his friends were trying to take the piss out of me as well, mocking me whenever possible. After about an hour of this, and one final plea to have him come along (him continuing to stand by his trepidations about being a third wheel), I wished him a good night and headed out.

I remember R waited at the door watching me leave. On the windshield of my car was a note on it from R that he must’ve put there one of the couple of times he had left the living room for something to drink or a bathroom break. The note was simple enough, stating that it was either Darin or him going to P-Town and that if I didn’t take him that he didn’t want to talk to me anymore. Yeah — the ultimatum of “it’s either him or me”.

I remember crumpling the note and tossing it to the passenger’s seat, looking at R in the door way, shook my head and said to him, “I don’t appreciate threats or ultimatums like that,” and wished him well. While I regretted that he had forced a juvenile decision like that, I decided that I didn’t need friends like that and moved on.

Flash forward about 2 months. I ran into the friends that R had over the house, the three of them apologizing profusely for their attitudes and explaining the situation. R had been mocking me behind my back to them, and had told them that I had been a selfish boyfriend and R made up all sorts of stories to them that I had been using him and didn’t have the decency to dump him. They continued to tell me stories of how R and I had been boyfriends for months and that I had bought R a ring, how much he had loved me and that nothing he could do would convince me to stay with him.

I accepted their apology and explained to them that R and I had never been intimate. He wasn’t my type, and that whatever he was telling them had been lies, as Darin and I had only just started dating, and the man that I had dated before (almost a year prior) was a man that was a social worker living in Pawtucket. One of the three knew that man, and apologized again for taking the piss out of me that day. The other two had been catching the lies that R had been telling about them and were glad to be rid of him.

Flash forward another 7 months. Stories were reaching me at one of the local bars (Mirabar when it used to be on Allens Avenue). The stories were clearly coming from R and apparently was telling slanderous lies about how R and I had been dating, how he had given me a diamond ring that I never returned and how much of a house-wrecker Darin was for breaking R and I up. Having had my fill of these stories that were circulating for what seemed to have been several months, with Darin in tow I decided it was high time to confront R about this and knowing where he worked, went to see him.

He denied each and every accusation that I had been told. There was never any mention of R and I being together. There was never a diamond ring involved. We had never talked about getting married. He said that it was all made up from other people and that he was innocent of the accusations I confront him about. In fact, he turned around and said that all of these accusations I fabricated against him. News to me, given that the only thing that I ever said in public a couple of times was the note and the ultimatum that it was either R or Darin for that Independence Day Trip to Cape Cod.

Nodding, I told him that if there were any more stories like the ones I heard over the previous months, he would pay for those lies dearly. Consequently, I never heard another peep of those stories or from him since.

(More than) twenty years later, and a whole lot of adventures, I’m home here in the Tundras of New England. And try as I might, I haven’t had all that much luck dating the locals as I would in Atlanta. The reasons are explained ad nausea in prior journal entries, but I keep to the hope that I should make a try anyway. Someone about 35 with a picture and a fairly well worded profile hits me up on one of the local gay boards, and after chatting a little bit admits to being R. I went through the roof because there’s no way in hell that he could be 35. If anything, the youngest he can be is 43 (and I suspect he’s older), and called him out on the lie of his age. I went further to burn him that I remembered the games that he had played and there was no way in hell I wanted to ever deal with him ever again.

He makes up some story that “a friend” had changed his profile, and… Well, let’s just say I stopped reading at the first lie, there was nothing else that I wanted to remember of that long and drawn out note other than the bloated sense of self-ego that he was impressed that he could leave such an impression on me after all these years (it’s not that, I just have a photographic memory), and deleted the message without a follow-up.

Seven months later and two days ago, it starts up again. While I suspected that it was him (given the man doesn’t seem to understand the value of the CAPSLOCK key and types like he’s working on a Wyse terminal from the 80s), I let it play out anyway. Sure enough it was R again. This time without the picture, and a profile in all caps and one extremely painful run on sentence. I burned him again this evening, giving him both barrels in the hope that my being brutally honest and coupled with his dishonest actions that he’ll disappear again.

I got another response in a long run on sentence typed entirely in caps lock that was entirely too painful to read from beginning to end and skimmed it before deleting it. I recall it basically saying that he was sorry that I was dwelling in the past and that he had made mistakes and had learned from them.

I snorted, checked the profile he had responded from and realized the lies continue: he’s still saying he was 35. Quite the work given that if this were true, then he was 12 when I met him in 1989. Nope, this was one leopard that hasn’t changed his spots at all.

Seriously it makes me glad that I don’t go out to the pubs/clubs in the area. Given how creepy he’s been on this local board, I suspect that he’d be like Wayne in that I would seriously need to be filing for a restraining order to keep his ass out of my life. No thanks, don’t need that drama in my life. Better to stay out of it than find myself neck deep in the drama.

Anyway, there’s more to write, but I’m tired at the moment. I’ll be back tomorrow with the remainder of the goings on.

[Last Edited: 05/17/2013 07:29:15 AM]

So it would seem that more than a couple of days have passed since I’ve said that I would sit down again and continue writing. Part of the reason has been because I’ve been off in my own world. Part of it’s been because I’ve lost track of time. However most of it’s been because I’ve been just plain lazy and not wanting to put to word half of the feelings and thoughts that I’ve had going on. C has been wonderfully supportive of me saying that I can say whatever it is that I want to about what’s been going on between the two of us, but at the same time I know intimately the true power of words. It’s one thing to hear the words “I love you” spoken to you — the flutter in the stomach, the giddy feeling that comes with the realization you’re not alone… But putting those words to print — be it in pixels or on paper — to the human mind that basically seals the deal. So I continue to practice just a little bit more discretion as to what else has been going on until such time as I’m sure what’s going on is truly going on.

Up until this morning, I was feeling pretty damned good. Invulnerable even. This morning however, I’m feeling pretty damned vulnerable. While it doesn’t feel as though the rug’s been pulled out from under me, there’s some niggling feeling going on that’s telling me, “something’s not quite right”. I’m not at all sure what it is, but I can tell it’s something akin to paranoia. I’m fairly sure it’s just the changes that are going on with the weather and withdrawal of C’s presence given that it’s warming up there and being outside is certainly more entertaining than being inside. I’m sure that everything will be right as rain the next time I chat with him. Until then, all I can do is shrug the insecurity off, go about my life and believe in faith and hope.

Well, that’s it for the time being. Hopefully the next time I’ll be brave enough to write what I’m hesitant to talk about now. Until the next time.

Something incredible happened on the way through Life

04/01/2013 Comments off

Entry 04/01/2013 07:13:01 AM – Mentat 683

It’s the friends you can call up at four a.m. that matter.” – Marlene Dietrich

It’s funny in one of those sadly ironic sort of ways… Every time I try to sit down and write a journal entry, I will start with putting my earbuds in, starting iTunes and trying to play something quiet, melodic, or even something I would listen to if I wanted to meditate. Then the next thing I know, I’m shutting my journal, loading up a game of some sort (MMO mostly), and then off I go to save the city, world, galaxy… What have you. When I pull myself out of the game saying to myself in one of those harshly critical ways that I should be working on my journal entry… I stop what game I’m playing put on iTunes once again, put something classical on and the next thing I know I’m leaving my journal program open (and my desk) to do chores about the house. Cleaning up, doing dishes, making something to eat… If I’m trying to write this in the morning, I end up making breakfast, coffee, getting ready for what’s ahead in the day, and then start writing something that couldn’t possibly be finished in the 40 or so minutes before I’m off to work paying off my rent. Sure I can come back to writing this after a full day’s worth of work, but then I’m too tired, too beat, too sore to want to sit here and write. With my brain being in all the wrong places for me to pay attention to what I should be writing and what I should be talking about. So I end up in the evening looking at what I wrote in the morning, not liking it at all and end up deleting it and starting all over again.

Wash… Rinse… Repeat…

Heh, I’m reminded too keenly of this video that I seem to have stumbled across a year (or so) ago and thinking even now, “yep, this is totally appropriate for what I’m feeling the last two weeks.” Longer the more that I think about the amount of trouble that I’ve been going through since the beginning of the year and most of last year.

So it is the fact that I’m tired of the work of these journal entries? Yeah, a little bit. Sometimes I find myself overwhelmed with the feeling that I need to be entertaining to those that have decided to tune into my journal entries both on WordPress, Blogger and on Deviant Art (with Facebook, Twitter being included thanks to WordPress’ app section). Yes, I know I shouldn’t be too worried about what other people think when it comes to my entries — this was done back in 2005 (earlier actually, but those sites have been phased out or cancelled and WordPress has them dating back to then thanks to MSN Spaces going the way of the dinosaur) because I had been accused of being “secretive” by a certain ex (who will remain unnamed)… And well, I shouldn’t feel the responsibility of actually being entertaining. After all, I can be that without even trying.

And then there’s the new element that I realize is coming into play since just before the last journal entry that I had been hinting at about writing… With two weeks later finding myself having just as difficult a time talking about it now as I did when I finished that entry. Yes, there’s a special someone that I would like to talk about, and even getting into the details of it… While I have no problem maintaining a sense of anonymity for that individual — referring to him as nothing more than C — there’s still the self-conscious of doing so for fear of the repercussions that my writing about him publicly can cause quite a controversy. Heh, sure I know he has the confidence, and after talking with him, he reassuring me that I have nothing to fear, the problem is that peer pressure has a strange way of affecting even the most confident. That it’s one thing for me to tell him what I’m writing about one-on-one, it’s quite the other when those words can be read and seen in the world at large. Though I might be able to get to this in a few, as I’m feeling rather inspired at the moment in spite of this all. We’ll see how long this lasts before this work of pixels ends up in the Recycle Bin…

Like many things that have significant (and sometimes even life-altering) impact in my life, it doesn’t start slowly. Never does, really. Instead it starts like the headlong rush of riding a roller coaster. Except that instead of the climb up the first hill and then the downward plunge, it’s like you leave the gate at the top of the hill and then you go down… Fast… Unlike other times however, I wasn’t fully aware of what was going on for a while, mostly because I had been fighting through the rage that I was feeling dealing with the ex-roommate and his continued (immediate) presence in my immediate life. When I did realize what was going on, I was dealing not with the rage (or the feelings that I often shut down in order to feel anger and rage), I found myself ending up in the middle of a dilemma that I didn’t know how to respond to. More like hesitant to the consequences of what happens when encountering this question..

The question is, “what happens when you find a Soulmate that is of a different sexual proclivity?

I know, I know… This is getting to be a reoccurring theme in my life the last six months (and the last couple of years). I’ve brought the subject once before much to the catastrophe that left me frazzled and ungrounded… Not to mention I was an emotional mess the last time because the person that I had encountered — the Soulmate then — was unbalanced and ungrounded and a mess in more ways than I care to recount and remember at the present. Personal Karma (Life Lessons) have a way of interfering with the resonance Souls can have when reuniting in one life or the next, and I often forget to take that into consideration and sometimes because of that, it can make it difficult (to impossible to reunite on a lifetime (or several).

After all, normal people are one in a million lucky to meeting their soulmates in their lifetimes, and yet here I am in my middle-ages and I’ve met several. The thing is though I’m at the point in my spiritual evolution that I can draw those of like energies. Souls that walk the same path that I do and those that have walked with me several times through a Soul’s path to Enlightenment and Purification. To feel as equal toward, and to experience a resonance right down to the soul, and experience a mental, emotional and even spiritual affinity that goes beyond word, feeling and sometimes even understanding (and even in that lack of understanding to feel as though they were always part of one’s life even before meeting them).

The thing is though I’m at a stage in my spiritual evolution where encountering one’s Soulmates through the long path of living on the physical plane will be (and is) more common. From what I understand based on my philosophy is that the reason why I am encountering more of them is because I am in the slow process of shedding all my ties with the physical realm. It’s not so much that this will be completed in this lifetime; it’s not and it would be foolishly egocentric to think that it would complete in this life. I know that it’s going to take a hell of a lot longer than this lifetime for this to be completed. In a way, it’s like saying farewell to all those that have touched me through the walk through spiritual evolution. But I digress…

I found myself very hesitant when faced with that question (above). Most of the reason was because I was jumping ahead of where I needed to be. After all, I needed to work through all this anger and rage for dealing with someone that had committed the three deadliest sins in my book (thievery, pathologically lying and using people — me — for their creature comforts). Add to the fact that I would literally be volunteering to enter a cage of my own making – one involved with unrequited love — and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. A cage that would leave me frazzled, hurt, annoyed, frustrated and eventually dealing with more anger and impatience (for different reasons).

But then again, I know that in my long life — things are never easy or organized. After all, things often get thrown at me in complete disarray, why should it stop now?

Instead of wrestling with the problem I did what my family is famous for; going into denial mode and simply not want to think about it. Well at first. The thing is, my instincts told me, I wasn’t the only person feeling this. And at first when I had posed the question to C in a way that he would understand it (what would happen if one were to meet their Soulmate and they were of the same gender?), his reaction was rather…. Extreme. Well at least at first. Off on a tangent he went saying that it would be wise for him to explore this with a woman even if that woman ends up being a hooker…

I left it alone for a bit, explaining how it can sometimes work with finding other Soulmates and that he didn’t quite have the right grounding/centering for finding another. And explored with him why he had such an extreme reaction to it (knowing full well most of the reasons why).

The second time through though, I approached it more calmly, with more reasoning and explaining the myriad labels of sexuality and sexual identity. C thought about it a little bit and then slept on it. It was in the morning when I saw him next that a transformation had occurred. One that involves taking that leap of faith.

He stated simply and matter-of-factly, “then I would adapt.”

Something changed though.. Both subtle and obvious. C’s confidence was soaring. He was happy and had the attitude that he would take on the world and win. He was infatuated and in love. And it happened as naturally as the sun rising in the east.

Seeing that changed scared me. I thought that I was reading too far into things… I thought I was misinterpreting the signals that he was giving off. So far off the mark in fact, that I found myself allowing hope to things that I shouldn’t be feeling hope about.

He assured me I wasn’t. That what I was seeing, and what I was reading was accurate.

I calmed down, was happy…. Felt all right in fact. Then a couple of days later something subtle happened to me. I found myself speaking the ex-roommates name. Even did it with a smile on my face when I was speaking about the black-eye he earned. Not so much for the savage glee that he’s getting what I think he deserves, but the fact that I wasn’t bothered at all with his continued presence. It was in that moment, I realized that my feelings were mutual for him. I was infatuated and in love with him. That I was even on the road toward healing.

Yesterday, as I began working on the bare bones of this journal entry, I realized that I was trying to rush things. That I was trying to rush things in spite of the fact that C said that he wanted to take his time and make this relationship work, I was ending up wanting to follow the path that I often feel strongly to someone… In fact I ended up being so confused by what I was feeling that I had to stop writing what I was writing and talk a little bit with someone I trust a lot in order to work through why I was doing what I was doing. And after a couple of hours of talking about it, metaphysics and philosophy and everything else in between, I realized that I was simply being foolish and a bit desperate and was able to find myself grounded enough to remember that I often take my time as well… The tradition of getting to know someone within a year and a day. That I was just trying to rush through to getting to the intimacy in spite of the fact that in the last month we’re more intimate (emotionally and intellectually) now than we were when we chatted four weeks ago.

So yeah… Take our time… get to know each other more… help each other understand the nature of the universe, and let things follow the path they’re meant to.

So how am I feeling right now? Well, in spite of the fact that this is before coffee — I’m feeling pretty damned good. Happy… A bit of pride… And looking forward to the next installment of chatting with C. Anyway, I’m off for the time being. I need to get ready for work, have my morning coffee and pray to god that my landlord doesn’t try pulling me in sixteen different directions before lunch. That is never pretty. Until the next time.