I guess you’ve had your little joke
But I have lost my sense of humor
My medication’s wearing off, or it’s just not strong enough
to cover this.
Then you kissed me like before
I found myself wanting more
And you tell that little lie that kept me hypnotized:
And a long-forgotten fairytale is in your eyes again
And I’m caught inside a dream world where the colors are too intense
…and nothing is making sense.
--"Long-Forgotten Fairytale", The Magnetic Fields.
As some of you know, I work evaluating web results. The search query "pics of cute bears" was one of mine last night. I doubt that first image result was intended by the searcher. I checked, and he comes up on the first page of image results on at least two search engines.
Let's see, it's been a month...
*Read up about a skin condition that has a name that sounds like a mythological beast.
*Thought about my self-image Felt lonely and frustrated a lot.
*Worked some days, didn't other days.
*Wished I could save those for when they could have interesting things happen in them.
*Went to a fantastic concert. Almost went to another concert that may very well have been fantastic.
*Bought some new shirts. Returned them. Bought other shirts that fit better. Thought more about my self-image.
*Took some pictures with a questionable new camera. Took questionable pictures with the camera I already had.
*Wondered if my life is too trivial to publicly advertise. Posted this anyway.
Q: "What is your alternate universe John doing right now?"
A: Wow. There's so many directions this could go. If often thought about how things could be different in my life. I imagine this other me is fundamentally the same: a chunky, nearsighted 28 year old that loves eating cheese and listening to music, isn't a fan of snakes or heights, etc. I can see a lot of things that could be different as well. Maybe he wasn't guilted out of being in orchestra by his parents. Maybe he never broke his foot playing tag. Maybe he still smokes. Maybe he's more confident. Maybe he's done psychedelics. Undoubtably, he still makes mistakes, just makes different ones, or uses the experience differently.
An alternate me could have drowned that summer day.
Or he could be in love.
Hopefully, he's been able to find a stable gig, and a place to live. Has friends nearby that he's comfortable with, and hangs out with them on a pretty regular basis. Is free to be creative and and feels fulfilled in it. Though, obviously, that isn't the only way things could go.
I wish him well- Unless he's a totally vile asshole, I guess.
Keep those questions coming!
As mentioned previously, it's been just about a year since Andrew and I split up. I've come across the photos I have of our time together, and after debate, have added them to flickr, No reason our good memories be denied posterity.
Was it still the right decision? Absolutely.
Do I still think about it? Obviously.
Sometimes I have to re-convince myself that I'm still better for the experience of what we had, and that the uprooting of my life -while his remained stable- doesn't mean I'm somehow serving out some cosmic punishment.
But convince I will, because I know those things to be true.
Big hugs, Andrew. Happy Anti-versary.
It almost seems like a figment of my imagination that I even made my journey. Hell, the carrier I flew on doesn't even exist anymore.
fidgetcub's recent report that he had made his yearly Canada adventure reminded me of this anniversary: I was was still out there in California when he departed for it last year. I finally got my shots from this trip up on my flickr- tragically few. I somehow never got shots of Jason and Dave. I'm going to attribute the lapse in photography to the strange coldlike thing that assaulted me during my stay - which I called being "allergic to California". There must have been something in the air there I wasn't used to. My expounding upon my stay was overshadowed by the fact that the evening I got home, I had to deal with a breakup scenario- making another anniversary, I guess. I just wanted to express again my gratitude to my hosts (Dave and Jason, Bob and Paul, Matt) and all the California folks that have enriched my life.
As many people know. I'm a night owl. This has been my natural pattern ever since I can remember, and might have even been exacerbated by my time with Andrew. I would end up staying awake until he left in the morning for work. It was nice, both because I could see him before he left, and because I could actually sleep then. The two of us on that air mattress was beyond ridiculous. Anyway, every once in a while, I get the notion that if I say up longer than usual, I can "reset" myself to slightly more "normal" sleep schedule. I still find it difficult to condone the tyranny of morning, but it's nice to absorb some sunlight. Also, I was able to enjoy breakfast in it's appropriate chronological context.
I ended up staying up until right around noon, and then awoke around nine PM. I always attempt to count how many hours I should try and keep myself awake, but by the time I do this, I'm usually tired, and my mathematic abilities- who aren't my best friends even when I'm lucid- completely fail me, and I end up just going to bed.
After being up a bit, hunger inevitably takes control, and I head to the kitchen to find precious little that appetizes. Budget and bitter cold stayed me from venturing out of the house for more options, so I ended up excavating a pack of ramen noodles from the pantry. I figured I could doctor it up with something. I cooked up the the brick as directed, but added some minced garlic, some parmesan, and a lil' can of mushrooms instead of the packet included. It turned out alright, I guess. I should have done more operating. It left me still feeling a bit peckish, and wondering what I should imbue with the taste of the orient- and 1780mg of sodium.
Bastards Of Young has been occupying my head a lot lately. Tonight, this speaker -on an old radio/flashlight I own- somehow brought it back in with a vengeance.
I've found the words kinda fitting in my life as of late.
I had been wanting to take some photographs of my parents' forty-plus year-old nativity figurines since they first resurfaced, and finally made the endeavor last night. There's quite a bit of character to these wise men. I like the way this one turned out: in this shot I think he looks like King Friday from Mister Roger's Neighborhood -if he lost his nose in a coup attempt, and was forced into a career as an encyclopedia salesman.
While I was contemplating this, My dad came out and groused at me for still being awake A) because we were to depart for my sister Lisa's christmas party in the morning, and B) my current cold or equivalent wouldn't get any better without proper rest. Even if I would concede his points, It's pretty irksome to be a few days from twenty-eight and still having bedtimes made for me. Taking that to another level was some excellent bathroom timing from my ninety-two year-old grandmother, who needs to be walked to the bathroom. "Do you wanna help her?" he asks. This question immediately floods my mind with snark:
"Point-blank proximity to nonagenarian flatus? Where do I sign? And, I thought you said I should be in bed."
It fortunately didn't pass from brain to lips, though, and I tried not to think about the emissions. As I passed back though the living room after getting a glass of water, I noticed my cassingle of Janet Jackson's "Again" was inexplicably grouped in my parents row of christmas cassettes. Great. Now, I am of the opinion that it's an excellent song, but now instead of sleeping, my internal jukebox is stuck:
"Don't you STAND there and then TELL me you love
Needless to say, because of aforementioned factors, I didn't get much sleep. Thankfully,other than the frustration of an unfortunate person-to-bathroom ratio in this household, preparing and setting off on the road ended pretty smoothly. I ended up riding with my sister Sue's family, with whom I've had quite a disconnect over the years, even with our paths converging back home as of late. During this round trip, the conversation seem to make a solid step toward comfortable and out of contrived. More than I thought it could, honestly.
A one-dollar gift exchange was part of the festivities, one where you open a wrapped gift or "steal" one someone else had opened. Other than some minor, mostly tongue-in-cheek dramatics over a booklight and some body lotion, all was well. Lisa really held a nice get together, and while the mingling our family between her husband's was sort of minimal based on, well, familiarity, tidings were pleasant all around. And, even after about a week of worrying weather or not grandma would behave herself about coming with us, she seemed to be glad she did.
Feeling cheer directly tied to the holiday season was a nice present. And a steal for a dollar.