Sunday, December 30, 2012

Never ignore coincidence... unless you're busy

I'd had plans to go out, but they fell through. As I mulled over whether or not to go and see other friends at the usual haunt, I had a melancholy Massive Attack song in my head. Eventually, the decision came to go ahead and pop out for a bit. When I arrived, C & M were there, whom I never get to see after they had a baby. Bonus points for the evening, achieved. A few minutes later, either deja or precia vu set in, as the very same Massive Attack song played over the stereo system. When a coincidence like that happens, I figure that I'm where I need to be, when I need to be there, and something important will come of it. All that figuring led me to mulling, and the mulling led me to considering someone I've been giving much consideration of late. She's a certain special someone whom I hope holds me in the same regard, but she's also been going through a bit of a rough patch. Obviously (if you are in my braincase) this made good ole Rainer Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet stroll through my synapses.

"Learning time is always a long, secluded time, and therefore loving, for a long time ahead and far into life, is solitude - a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person - for what would a union of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent? It is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become the world in themselves for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim, perhaps that for which human lives are barely yet large enough."
 That pretty much sums it up. I have a platinum card carrying crush,
but as much as I'd like to move to the next level of metaphor, we're both still ripening, and there's little else worse than an unripe peanut.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Remember These 27 Names, and Forget the One

Charlotte Bacon (2/22/06), 6 years old, female
Daniel Barden (9/25/05), 7 years old, male
Rachel Davino (7/17/83), Staff member, 29 years old, female
Olivia Engel (7/18/06), 6 years old, female
Josephine Gay (12/11/05), 7 years old, female
Ana M. Marquez-Greene (4/4/06), 6 years old, female
Dylan Hockley (3/8/06), 6 years old, male
Dawn Hochsprung (6/28/65), Principal, 47 years old, female
Madeleine F. Hsu (7/10/06), 6 years old, female
Catherine V. Hubbard (6/8/06), 6 years old, female
Chase Kowalski (10/31/05), 7 years old, male
Nancy Lanza, 52 years old, female (mother of shooter Adam Lanza)
Jesse Lewis (6/30/06), 6 years old, male
James Mattioli (03/22/06), 6 years old, male
Grace McDonnell (11/4/05), 7 years old, female
Anne Marie Murphy (7/25/60), Staff member, 52 years old, female
Emilie Parker (05/12/06), 6 years old, female
Jack Pinto (05/05/06), 6 years old, male
Noah Pozner (11/20/06), 6 years old, male
Caroline Previdi (9/07/06), 6 years old, female
Jessica Rekos (5/10/06), 6 years old, female
Avielle Richman (11/17/06) 6 years old, female
Lauren Rousseau (June 1982), Staff member, 30 years old, female
Mary Sherlach (2/11/56), Staff member, 56 years old, female
Victoria Soto (11/04/85), Staff member, 27 years old, female
Benjamin Wheeler (09/12/06), 6 years old, male
Allison N. Wyatt (07/03/06), 6 years old, female

Monday, July 9, 2012

The Spanish Word For Aunt, Epilogue

Some stupid life threatening illness made good on its threat last Tuesday. My head has been spinning since I found out. We hadn't seen each other since I found out about The Comedian four months ago (which wrecked me at the time, though with distance and perspective, I can't see things happening any other way), but the memories of a sweet, funny, endearing, and happy-despite-hardship young woman came flooding back immediately. I miss her now, more than I did when we broke up. She made a name (literally) for herself and built a career out of being a sexy badass clown (I know, one of these things is not like the other- she made it work), but I never knew that side of her, that other person she called Hollie. I just knew Tia, from Kansas City. 


Robert Palmer was sort of right about being addicted to love. If he was actually addicted to it, that's one thing- people can be addicted to all sorts of things, and that's not in question, so he was completely right. What I'm very ineloquently getting at, is that love should be a functional addiction. If you're with someone, and can go cold turkey for a week, guess what? You're not actually with someone. My Favorite Nancy once told me that I needed a woman who pines for me. I understood what she meant at the time, but now I feel what she meant. There has to be a certain level of addiction, the urge to get a fix at regular intervals. If you can't be together, you need to hear each other's voices. If you can't talk, then a text, or an IM, or a chat, or even a poke on Facebook (well... maybe not a poke). 

Thursday, March 8, 2012

The Spanish Word For Aunt, pt. III

Wow. Mind blown. Crap. I don't know... speechless. I've been going on like this for the two hours. If 007 has a license to kill, I have a license to stupid. Better yet, I have a violation on record for an MUI (Messaging Under the Influence). The last few days, I've been wondering what happened- living in the ignorance of sobriety, thinking that sometimes crazy things just happen, and people change their minds out of the blue. Then on a fluke, I go through my history, and see something that brought back a hazy memory, something I thought that even in a stupor, I wasn't dumb enough to send.

But, I did.

Now what? I apologized (duh) but the damage is done. I screwed up. There's nothing else to say. Even if there was, it would make me seem like a stalker, so I'm keeping my damn mouth shut.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

The Spanish Word For Aunt, part II

I guess I should've been a doctor, or a therapist, or a bartender, because I seem to want to fix people, or take away their pain in some way. There was the manic depressive sociopath, who did quite a bit to help me at the time, and introduced me to the Egyptian Mafia, to whom I am still tied today. We seemed perfect together, until she really, really went certifiable, and is the only of my exes that I don't care to ever see again, and would probably kick or at least say very unkind things if we did happen to see one another. After that, there was the perfect on paper MILF, who just happened to have a muscular disorder and a latent STD. She was followed by the clinically depressed recovering anorexic woman who essentially broke up with me when I asked her if we were "officially" dating. If that isn't an established pattern, the current situation seals the deal. I'm not complaining about any of this. Other than the Psychotic, I love them all dearly. It's just that I wonder how these things keep happening. There's no way to know a person's true mental or physical health upon first meeting, though I'm tempted to whip out a questionnaire from now on, if there happens to be "now on" after the current thing...

I keep talking about the current thing like I know there is a current thing. Half the time I think we're just friends who hold hands and make out a lot. We obviously dig each other, but she says, "I could very well die at any moment, I don't want to bring someone else into that." It's very true, staying alive takes precedence over everything else for her at this point. That said, it's not up to her. Einstein explained the theory of relativity like this - Spend a minute under a dentists drill, and it feels like an hour, spend an hour with a lover, and it feels like a minute. That entitles us to savor every moment together that is possible and go for it - consequences be damned (which should go for everything in life). I'm a picky, stubborn sunumabish, that tends not to like a whole lot of people, so I won't give up on her just because she has some stupid life threatening illness. Sure, I have to be accommodating with her time, but there is no other choice. Yes, it feels awkward googling her when I can't see her in person. But I could listen to her singing cheesy classic rock songs all night. And I adore how she gets "anime face" when she smiles. And I love that when we met, it was with a clean slate, nothing else mattered, and it still doesn't.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

The Spanish word for "Aunt"

"This is an unusual song, dedicated to an unusual person, who makes me feel... unusual." (Pump Up the Volume)

I have a secret. It isn't a secret that I can't tell, but a secret that I can't write. In the age of over-sharing, we've become accustomed to facebooking, tweeting, or blogging our lives for friends and/or strangers alike. "If it isn't on Facebook, it didn't happen." If that's the case, then I'm in a situation that isn't happening. Apparently, the anonymity factor is more or less vital to my mental well being, i.e., if the internet knew, I would become a target of envy for some, and derision for others. It sounds more like I'm in borderline witness protection status, than having become rather close to someone with a sizable (and potentially unstable) cult following. There are ironies on top of complications within Russian dolls, but none of it really matters, and there are really only two out of seven billion people that need to know.
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San Francrisco, CA, United States