Without You...

...I'm like tired eyes waiting to blink.

I miss that song. She sent it to me on a mix, and it's buy a local band that has since made it big (or bigger anyway) called Louis XIV. She had a crush on the drummer and used that against me a little bit, but I still miss the song. It's not on iTunes, and the EP with it is no longer available. I boxed up the mix CD and sealed it in the wall with the rest of her stuff that I didn't throw out.

Oh well.

Nightmare

The machines are coming.

It's 4:00AM and I have woken groggily and slowly from a certain shrieking Hell. This begins, not without a certain beauty. I am running from them, though it is you, I am sure, they are after. They are programs only and I doubt they will make a distinction. This is a video game, and I am trapped inside it. I am spider man, or a spider man as, in this version of things, there seem to be many. My leaps off of odd angles of wall and ledge from the height of the tower I have been inside are with power and grace. I have a plan to fool the machines, who are just as powerful as I in their movements, but you are afraid. You are slowing me down. You despair, and I can not bolster your hope, nor will I abandon you. The machines are going to kill us. This, in and of itself, is not so bad.

The real problem is, as if in some insane twist on Bill Murry's GROUNDHOG DAY, I will die from their pursuit again and again. They have turned the tables on us. They have bred us to play and die for them. Suddenly, it's no fun anymore. I want out, but it's not my fun, not human fun, for which the game was designed. It will continue, so long as it amuses them, the designers, and there's no telling what gets off the machines.

I'm in a van now, this makes sense, in that dream transition sort of way. I am surrounded by an indie rock back that picked me up on the road from their show. I am surrounded by corduroy. The game was just a bad trip. I try to explain this, but the words won't come out right. The corduroy, it seems, is malevolent (I know this, in the dream way, that you know, but can not explain). This time, I am not going to die, but suffer silently beside the soft, textured folds of the band member's pants and coat.

I do not awake with a start, but drift slowly in and out, thinking that the music from my computer which I left on repeat to lull me to sleep somehow wishes me harm. It takes a few moments, after waking fully, to realize that it does not. I leave it on while I write.

I miss her today. Intensely.

Last night, I ran into her friend at the Turf club, and we chatted. He has no idea, of course, that I dated her (did I mention that it was a big secret she kept from everyone?) and probably has no idea that we're not talking anymore, so he talked about her a lot, and her girlfriend. They've moved into my neighborhood. They're knocking down walls, re-arranging, moving in and making a life. This shouldn't surprise me-- doesn't surprise me-- but I still don't want to hear about it.

It hurts to miss her. It makes me feel sick to think about her, to want her to call but want, even more, to stop the wanting, knowing that the only way to get there to is not have her call, not see her and not talk to her day after day. This twists my stomach in knots sometimes, this caring and wanting so badly not to anymore. I was feeling so good, and now I feel so messed up. I woke in the middle of the night and vomited violently. I only had 4 drinks and, while I probably over-ate a little as well, I don't think that getting sick was entirely physical. Semi-conscious and heaving into the bowl, dream-stuff still in my head-- senseless stuff-- save that I remember that it was about a woman, and lies, and betrayal.

...and again, though this time indirectly, she spoils what was supposed to be my big day.

Bam-a-Lam-a-Lah

Jesus, I've got to get out of this neighborhood...

When The Moon Hits Your Eye...

This is good.

Dr. Called. I can walk now.

Fuck yeah.

Wind Rattling The Pain

Spelling is not a virtue.

I shouldn't be writing this right now. My hands are killing me. I was wrong about the carpal tunnel. That is on the palm side of the hand. My pain is on the back of the wrist, so it's probably some sort of tendonitis. It spread to both wrists by Sunday. Between typing for work and the crutches, I never really get to give it a rest.

When I went in to tell my bosses about this, and tell them that I may need to take a day off to recover, they sort of stared at me blankly and then told me to work from home to reduce the amount of time on walking around on the crutches. Essentially, they told me, I should keep working and move around less. Thanks for the support fellas.

So, I can't walk, I can't write (well, obviously, I'm breaking the rules a little) and it hurts to do pretty much anything. I have to say that this whole situation is beginning to wear on my patience. I'll deal with it. Acupuncture on Friday, a call to the orthopaedist today to try to get off the crutches sooner (hopefully she'll call me back) and, in the mean time, I'm going to try to impose writing radio silence and minimize my typing for work.

Signing out.

I'm A Train Wreck

rollercoaster

I finally got to the coffee shop in the AM when the cute girl works:

Me: "So, did you do anything special for the most evil of holidays?"

Her: "No. Nothing really..."

Me [thinking]: psyche!

Her: "I just bought a bottle of whiskey for my husband."

Husband?

HUSBAND?

Women behind the counters of coffee shops aren't allowed to be married. There's, like, a law against that.

The thing that made me decide, finally, to ask her was meeting someone at work from another office, crushing on her, then realizing that she was probably gay. This, combined with the seeming failure of figuring out if my NY/LA friend is single, necessitated some sort of action on the romantic movement front. Needless to say, the results were less than satisfying and I grew rather despondent. All this the morning after I read through the script that NY/LA woman sent me. She used my name for the love interest who turns out to be a creep. Not so flattering, but then, this was written a while ago, much of it before she met me. The name was definitely changed after, however. There were some scenes in there that seemed a little similar to conversations we had, but maybe I'm reaching. Either way, it was weird. Good script though.

Of course, I had to write her back and comment on this once I'd read it, thus breaking the no two e-mails in a row without hearing back from her rule (stupid rule anyway). She wrote back, mentioned that she was headed to NY this weekend and said "wish you were coming along". I like that. I like that a lot.

The tweaked back turned out to be very painful. I went to the massage therapist on Tuesday and that has allowed me to make it through the week, but barely. I'm getting carpal tunnel in my right wrist too, which is none too handy when you're on crutches. I'm pretty much a mess.

Oh, and the cute office girl isn't gay, so at least we know I don't have issues there (at least, not this time).

blah.

I can't keep holding on to what you've got,

when all you've got is hurt.

Today I did not go to the coffee shop to ask the cute girl if she had Valentine's plans

Today I did ask same of my NY/LA friend in an e-mail.

What better way to find out if a woman has a boyfriend?

Today I worked 11 hours in the office and finished the day further behind than when I started.

Today I did not get another tattoo.

Today I woke up, thought of her and her last Valentines day when I was away in NY and smiled. I realized that she would want to talk to me today and, for some reason, felt it would be via a text message, which she hasn't tried yet. I wondered if I could delete a text message without reading it.

Today she sent me a text message.

I can delete them without reading them.

Today I missed her some, and wondered a little about what she wrote, but mostly because I think I know exactly what it was, and sometimes it's re-affirming to be spot on.

Today, I had ethiopian food with friends and freaked out some poor vegetarian girl by being somewhat crass at the table. I don't believe in breaking people in slow.

Today I was mad at myself for the part that still wants her to call, that still wants the evidence of how selfish she is to pile up in my favor. Then I realized that this feeling would not go away until she stopped calling.

Today, I realized that soon I will have to move, change my phone numbers and my e-mail all at once.

Today I went to the gym and tweaked my back a little.

Today, they almost moved my friend and cubicle mate away to another desk, but then that one was full so she came back.

So that was today.

No Excuses

and, like, that kind of stuff, you know?

Hey, here's an idea. How about we give you so much work that you're up all night doing it, and you don't have time to take care of even the normal things, like getting enough sleep, eating breakfast and lunch everyday, cleaning your house washing your clothes or shaving? Then, to make it more fun, we're going to act like you're not on crutches recovering from broken legs and make sure you don't have enough time to call your doctor, or do your rehab. And then, and you're really going to like this, we're not going to pay you any extra for this or give you extra time off.
Does that sound okay?

Corporate America is so fucked up. I'm not just whining. I know everyone has to go through this, but why do we allow it as a culture. I think that we need to re-evaluate the purpose of our careers. They are supposed to provide us with a means to support ourselves, not take away our ability to do so.

Okay, enough of that.

So cute coffee shop girl was not there this morning. Too bad. I was going to try to feel her out (which is different than feeling her up-- let's not get ahead of ourselves here) and see if she's single. I'll try again tomorrow.

Still not sure about our little friend up in LA. We write. We keep it fairly casual. We'll see.

That's all, I guess.

HFS and Work

I like the expression "Come to Jesus"

I like washing my breakfast dishes in the morning. There's something about standing in the sunlight and washing a couple of dishes that makes me happy-- especially when the sink is mostly clean and free of dishes from the night before. I guess it feels very independent and very normal. It's such a simple thing to do and it doesn't leave a whole lot of room for questions or doubt. I need that right now.

I'm sitting on the steps in front of my apartment, staring out at A St. I've got the radio blaring pirate radio San Diego (96.9, check it out) from my room behind me. The doors open. Beer is in hand. Wireless baby. Oh yeah.

It occurs to me, if you read this blog post verses the last and don't consider that I wrote that in a moment of brief anger-- for release purposes, mind you (it's better than punching the walls)-- and you don't consider the time that has passed and myriad thought processes in between, you'd probably think I was some sort of split personality, manic depressive psycho on powerful mood control drugs.

It occurs to me that I don't care.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

WHAT FUCKING PART OF STAY AWAY FROM ME AND DON'T CALL DOES SHE NOT UNDERSTAND?

I can't talk to her. My therapist says I CAN'T talk to her. I told her this. She knows I'm not just being selfish or petty. She knows this. She promised. I made her promise not to call or write or come over no matter what. I told her, specifically, that things would come up that would make her want to call me and that she can't. She knows it is hurtful to me. She knows it is unhealthy. WHY THE FUCKING FUCK DOES SHE FUCKING KEEP FUCKING DOING IT?

FUCK!

What is wrong with this woman? (so fucking much). She has a someone. She has someone that she sleeps with everynight, someone she goes home to while I sleep alone. She has someone that she's been with the whole fucking time I was dating her. Someone she lied to me about, someone who she told me she had broken up with long before and was now just a friend and roommate. She is sleeping naked with this someone every night while I sleep alone. For over a year, every night with her while I was alone. WHAT FUCKING RIGHT DOES SHE HAVE TO TALK TO ME????

WHAT FUCKING RIGHT!??

How can anyone be so selfish that they don't care about someone's basic right to time, space and privacy?

My heart is pounding. My phone is unplugged.

I'm beginning to hate her.

Some days are diamonds

I saw boobies today

Work has gone from silly to ludicrous. I have way more to do than I can handle, even if I stay up all night, and it's all "highest priority", which means it's all lowest priority too. I'm at the point where I just want to give up. How is it that I always seem to get here? Am I too lazy, or do I take on too much? Do I work too hard in the beginning, and they take advantage until I burn out, or do I not work hard enough now. I hate the corporate world. I thought this place would be different.

I need sleep. Months and months of sleep...

...and maybe the occasional blowjob.

Tell All

Do you want to be happy, or do you want to be right?

In no particular order:

I'm no longer in love with Mimi. I realized that a few days ago. This isn't to say that, suddenly, she's off my mind. I still miss her, and I still want her in certain ways, but the person I was in love with doesn't really exist, or at least is so deeply buried behind walls and defenses that I'm never going to see her again. I feel a little sad about it, but mostly I feel free. I erased all the e-mails that I had saved to and from her and, when I get home, I'll finish throwing out the rest of the stuff... Pictures, notes, gifts. It's not going to be exactly easy, to throw out a chunk of your life like that, but I think it will be good.

I spoke with my sister about the woman I e-mailed. She seems to think, by the way she wrote me back right away, but then has been slower in responding, particularly to my request for her number, that she's probably with someone else; which is fine. I'm disappointed, but not hurt really. What business did I have, after making the choice to walk away from a potentially good relationship with this woman 10 months ago, in favor of an enormously unhealthy one with Mimi, to think that I might get another shot? Truth be told, as much as I have thought about how nice it would be to be with someone like her, it would also be great just to get to know her as a friend. I know, that sounds like made-up, touchy-feely crap, but what can I say-- she made me laugh

Dear Chicago

We'll you'll never guess.
I'm in Venice, at my friend's place. I took the Amtrak up, as I'm still unable to drive (and my little cluncker would never make it anyway). I love train rides. I always bring lots of entertainment: books, movies, but I just end up listening to music and staring out the window thinking. Sometimes I write. The train car was overbright, which almost ruined the whole thing. There was less to see out the window. Much of the ride was spent staring at my own reflection (which always looks better in train windows, I think) and trying to find a comfortable position on my seat. My knee was begging for attention the whole way, trying to start a conversation with me:

"Hi. I'm here. Pay attention to me!"

"Ignoring you."

"Oh yeah, we'll how about I do THIS."

"OW."

"Yeah. Thought so. Bitch."

It's good to see Anthony and it's good to be out of San Diego, though I've got so much work do get done, it's ridiculous. I'll probably spend much of the weekend dilly-dallying online, pretending like I'm just about to get started on it, until the last minute when I have to. I'm like that with work most of the time. I'll check my e-mail some 300 times a day since, as I'm beginning to admit to myself, I'm pretty much an online addict. I've got to admit, I'm feeling a little surge of disappointment every time I see that zero in the New Messages line. She did write me back, if I hadn't mentioned, and I wrote her and asked for her number. It's not just that I'm up in LA and would love to see her, though that would be great if it worked out, it's also that I'd just like to talk to her. I can't explain the past 10 months via e-mail. Maybe I'm rushing things a little. We shall see. We shall see.

Wish me luck.

McDonald's Makes Me Feel All Woozy

She wrote me back. Superpsyche!

Today was one of those, don't get up from your desk except to microwave your lunch types of days. I was tired going into it, and I'm tired coming out, but sometimes a busy day is easier to get through than a long, drawn out one when you're zonked. I've got to be prepared for day 3 of the freaked-out screaming client from Hell tomorrow morning, but that's the sort of glory I'm in this gig for. Got my thousand yard stare, going strong. All us PM's that been in the shit got it. Someday, you'll have it too.

I left the office just before 9PM and was not, by a longshot, the last one out of there. I'd go into a "Jesus, what's this work-a-day, crazy, drain-you-dry, corporate world doing to us" sort of rant, but I'm a good mood, so just you'll just have to wait for more of that later. You little misanthrope. Now scoot and go get some ice cream.

Netflicks Is A Good Thing

I'm going out my skin.

I wrote an e-mail to someone,a woman, a woman I've thought about a lot. She wrote back, which was unexpected, and only a day later at that. I was excited. I replied and, now, I'm playing that waiting game. So delicate: can't write back, can't check my e-mail too often, can't keep from going nutso.

It's funny because, from the outside, I seem like a pretty normal guy.

I had my last appointment with the shrink-lady today. I call her that, I know, because it sounds a little less touchy-feeley and I'm trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing, but let's face it, she's my therapist. At least, she was. It was a temporary set up and I have to find a new one now if I want to continue, which, by everyone's opinion, including my own, I should. I need someone to keep pushing me to keep Mimi away. Don't answer her calls, don't write to her, don't go to the places where she might be. This is harder than you think. She put a hell of a mind-bender on me to make it seem like avoiding her was immature and inappropriate behavior instead of good, old fashioned self preservation. Back to the shrink though-- therapist, that is-- my therapist. At the end of the call she said: "Look, you sound like a VERY nice man, and I wish you luck." That meant a lot. That-- after 8 sessions of chugging through emotional turmoil and pain-- THAT actually made me cry.

Weird.

Yeah, I'm one of "THOSE" guys

So deal with it.

I've been seeing a therapist. This whole thing with Mimi f'd me up more than I've been letting on. It was manipulative and unhealthy and largely based in lies on her part. Yes, I played into it, and yes I didn't see the big red flashing lights and run when I should have and blah blah blah. Yes, I agree with you, what you're thinking now. Yes, those things are true. No. Not that one. Now you've gone too far.

Lying to your therapist is like lying in your journal." a friend told me. I can't remember which one, but I thought it was ingenious. Guess what? Mimi's been lying to hers. Classic. Why, when you see that someone is not who you thought, when you realize how bad they've been to you, when you can work through the logic and come to the realization that loving them doesn't make any sense, why do you still want them? I can't figure that one out. I guess, if it was easy to get over, it wouldn't be love.
I think Nerduda put it best:
"Love is so short,
Forgetting is so long."

Forget about the legs, and forget about the job and the head cold and the pot-freak out session. Forget about all that. By and large, the next months, maybe onto a year or more, are going to include the difficult and often painful process of getting over her. Time and space, if she'll give them to me-- and she promised this time, for what that's worth (which is little)-- are what it's going to take to get past this. I've tried to go around it, avoid it, fix it, now I have to go through it. It's the only way to the other side, and I have got to get there. I have felt so miserable for so long. Enough. It won't be all bad and it's not all doom and gloom. There will be fun stuff, and new moments, times of discovery and re-learning of old habits I liked. Ultimately, I get to be me again, and seeing as I like me so much, and most people agree, I think that's a good thing.

So... You like... stuff?

and wouldn't ya know it.

Wrote some stuff. Connection died. Tired. Tomorrow, OK?