Just to be
fair clear and in the spirit of rigorous honesty full disclosure, I am still one hott mess. Yep, though I exist in the presence of the spirit of God, sit in circles with seekers, walk the walk and all that, here I sit. Alone, but not and lonely, at the keyboard of my PC feeling disconnected (paradox!) and sad and full of shit self pity. As this wave of woe began to wash over me earlier today, I realized instantly I could turn and face the “reasons” I was feeling down fearful, but I instead couldn’t wouldn’t do it. Nope, I simple gave in to the wave and sank to the bottom of the sorry sea. Lost in a tidal pool of tears (zing!).
First, I saw my guy tonight. Now, he is not, in any way, shape or form, “mine”… he is a friend. A pretty good friend, but just a friend. And I have, over the last few months, created a giant
fantasy lie in my head that there is some cosmically destined reason why we are meant to be together. When I become aware that he is present (and it’s instantaneous, ’cause, you know, we’re meant to be!) I go weak in the knees. I mean, just hearing his laugh splits the sky, (like explosions)…truly. I kid you not. Nay, I say! I. Do. Not. Kid. You. It is all I can do not to jump out of my skin seat and dramatically skulk out of the room (that’ll show him….right?) when this happens. Thankfully, I have learned some adult-type behaviour over these past days, weeks, years months and do not. I may be fucked up, but I am at least too mature embarrassed to act on these feelings and realize: NO ONE WOULD CARE. And they shouldn’t. It’s all some drama queen bullshit I once have convinced myself is OK to act upon.
I had a conversation about behaving like this recently with a buddy and I said I used to leave a party without saying anything when I was
in love obsessed with a guy, hoping he would notice I was suddenly gone and wonder if I was alright; perhaps he’d come check on me. Though he never did. “Well how would you know if he even knew you were gone?” my friend asked as he suggested his old method of getting his point across: sulking in plain view AT the party. Why had I never thought of that? Anyway, so today I stay in the moment in my seat , holding it all in, tearing up on the inside and nodding in approval at the wise words being bandied about around me. “Oh yes, so true to life” my head bob says. “And the nominations are….”
Second, I find myself doing exactly the opposite of what I have been professing all day: that acceptance is the answer and I have to trust and keep moving forward in the knowledge that God’s plans for me are bigger than my plans for myself. That “worry is the most useless emotion” and that I no longer have time for it. And that worry about money is the absolute worst worry of all, because, you see, everything always works out just as it should. Uh huh. A work (or lack there of) related phone call is not returned, a similar text goes unanswered and I am already homeless and living on the streets. Me, my three cats, a Droid Bionic phone and a Kindle with no place to recharge them. And no way to do my hair. I love my scooter but I feel a lil’ envious when I hear about the times when people had to live out of their cars. That’s a step up, I think….I can’t even do that! FYI: I am really
tragic pathetic in “my play.” I always end up dead before the intermission. Hmmmm…wonder how it all ends? So begins the companion tape that plays out with the first paragraph’s lead character, because, why, would my any guy ever want to be with a piece of shit like me? Well he DOESN’T…aha! I knew it, I am unlovable. That jump wasn’t too far for you emotionally healthy people was it? If so, I’d be happy to live go there again, you know, for the sake of clarity. Uh huh.
Sooooo, like a normal sane person would do in this situation, on the way home from the theater of my play? I buy an expensive book I don’t need, full of pretty people I’ll never be like, posing in tragic situations they’ll never have to face because, they are beyond the shitty realism of my life. Or famous. I can’t decide which. Let’s just go with both, ya know, for clarity’s sake. And ice cream, I also buy ice cream, Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk. Just like I used to eat IN New York City, when walking home from a night out, usually in the early morning, as sexy bankers and graphic artists and magazine receptionists walkied to catch their morning trains. You know, happy
real people with no problems and a savings account. And, I put on the music playlist I made just for such occasions, as rare frequent as they are. It used to be called “Tears on my pillow again” but I changed it to “Better to have loved” because a lot of people were messaging me and inquiring if I was “OK.” That’s a little too much rigorousness and noticing I was down a mess for this me. The playlist is chock full of misty eyed gems by Emmylou Harris, Chris Garneau, HEM, Young Man, Dawes, Fleetwood Mac, Everything but the Girl (You’re still waiting for your knight in shining armor to steal you against your will” zing!), Aimee Mann and the king queen of sad songs (on my soundtrack) Elton John. Let the bad good times begin!
And you know what is really cra-cra and unexpected and infuriating? As I type this
letter to myself post about how it really is in my life head, I feel better. Damn it! I haven’t cried once nor is my keyboard sticky from (keep it clean peoples, like my motives) spills of NYSFC. Because, I thought about it on the way home from the store(s) and came to the decision that for this blog to be worth the paper it is not printed on, it has to be about me, all of me. Not just the recovered, spiritually fit, forward thinking, one-day-at-a-time, seeker, grown-up adult man. No, it has to be all of me. Childish, full of self-pity, unsure, scared, jealous and fucked up. Those parts of me have to get their due as well. Like it or not, I am all of these things…and more. And some-days less, much less. And messy. Like ice cream, and fame, and recovery and Elton John. In that order. Somedays. Hopefully just one day at a time. Hopefully. But for now, I’ve got reading to do and that ice cream isn’t going to eat itself.