Confession #93

…OR, Guano Loco

I confess, you’ll know I don’t like you when I ignore you.

Sorry for my prolonged absence, dear blogosphere. Things went bat-shit crazy for a few weeks and my privacy/sanity was threatened. So, as a precautionary measure my blog went DEFCON – 1.

Other than that… not too many things have changed, save for the few things I’m about to mention.

– Harley and I are no longer dating. She moved out of town and we decided that we went as far as we could. We parted on great terms, as friends. I am currently mulling over the idea of intentionally remaining single for at least a year.

– I am actively ignoring CrazyHouseMate and PokerPlayingHouseMate. There has been serious pot calling the kettle black going on from them, so I have decided to just stay out of their way. I haven’t spoke more than a few sentences to PPHM in several weeks now. The Fantastic Mr. Fox and I get along famously. He finds the whole situation funny. I have thus turned my room into a mini apartment. Desk, drafting table, shag rug, matching wingback chairs, ottoman, curtains for my bedding area. It’s actually pretty comfy!

– I got two new jobs. I work at the mall in [a mainstream store that sells body care products.] The other is as a DJ in a specific type of entertainment venue.

Damn, this last security threat to my life has got me paranoid, so forgive my ambiguity. I’m at least DEFCON – 3 currently.

I’m going out tonight. Regularly scheduled confessions will now continue.

 

Confession #92

…OR, I Love the Taste of Shoe Leather in the Morning

I confess, I LOVE the feeling of vertigo.

You know when you stand up to fast, or looking down from a great height, and everything tilts and spins? I love that feeling. when I stand up to fast and my head swims around all funny, I get giddy.

But emotional vertigo? Makes me sick. Literally. I have a nervous stomach. If I’m experiencing lots of emotion, especially negative emotions, I will be unable to eat for quite a while.

I wonder if this is why I have such a hard time with empathy. I can be understanding, compassionate, comforting, etc. But I always have a hard time understanding why people don’t just get over certain things.

And as I write this, I have to laugh, because even now I realize there are people… certain people… who still irritate the utter snot out of me without saying a single word in my direction.

The world spun for me just recently as I realized I didn’t know exactly what was going on with someone I love very much. And I heard it from one of those decongestant annoyances.

And in an effort to keep the peace from my limited understanding of empathy… I just made things worse.

… please stop the room, I’d like to get off.

 

 

…And I just wanna say something else… I firmly believe, with all of my heart, that we are ALL broken, damaged, chipped, smudged, cracked, and tainted in some form or fashion. To enter into a relationship with someone, and to expect them to be perfect and unspoiled is lunacy. We’ve all got scars. They’re a part of us. Asking someone to get rid of their scars is like demanding they change their eye color. That scar, that damage, is something that is going to define, redefine, and redefine over again their life and who they are. Sometimes is tragic ways… and sometimes in beautiful ways. If you fail to realize that loving someone also means seeing those wounds, and them seeing YOUR wounds as well, you’re either too young to be in a relationship, or you’re an idiot.

The moment I heard the following words, I took them into heart and I’ve never forgotten:

We are humans in the pupa stage.

This sums up how I feel about love, tragedy, travels, experiences, relationships, the past, present and future.

Confession #91

…OR, Looking the Part

I confess, I like looking the part.

I just was given a bottle of Chianti.

Vintage 1977.

I want to drink it just for the hell of it.

I want to pull out my Mikasa wine decanter and glasses, and drink the whole 35 year old bottle myself.

It’s older than I AM!

I like to wear nice clothes, smoke fine cigars and drink excellent wine. I cannot really afford these.

But I can fake it.

I’m so weird. I’m sitting here at my desk, sandwiched between my art desk and my window, staring at my empty humidor, my Savinelli pipe, and a bottle of 35 year old wine. I’m betting if I get buzzed enough, I can draw some really interesting stuff.

This was quite the random confession.

 

EDIT:
The wine had gone sour. But along with the wine, someone gave me soviet era “hunter’s” Vodka. That stuff is still good. ;-)

Confession #90

…OR, You’ve got Something in Your Eye

I confess, I used to (hypocritically) try to be “perfect,” and was secretly repulsed by my friends/acquaintances when they failed.

When I was a douche bag for Jesus, I tried to make myself perfect by clinging to theology, legalism and abrasive faith.

I still believe in God, and Jesus, etc. and I love Him very much.

But over the past few years I have learned a lot of what to do and what NOT to do.

I remember privately doing what I condemned in word. When my friends failed or “sinned” and got busted or were suffering the consequences I would be there for them and help them and counsel them if they asked for it….. but there was something on the inside of me that screaming at me for my hypocrisy…. and I would slowly distance myself from them. A part of me was repulsed by them.

Blah.

I’ve since repented of such douche baggery and am learning to be the person God has made me to be – not what some theological point of view dictates I should be.

Confession #89

…OR, As Said to the Mirror: “…But enough about me, let’s talk about you.”

I confess, I love the sound of my own voice.

My astrological sign is Leo. I have a Sanguine personality type (I’m not sure which of the alphabet ENFJLMNOP etc. etc. etc. ones I am.) For those of you familiar with that world of things… it means I am outgoing, extroverted, a bit of an attention whore, life of the party, ad nauseum.

For kicks, Harley and I were looking at bits of information as they pertain to our astrological signs. Someone quipped that Leos would marry their own reflections if they could. I never really thought I was a stud. I DON’T look in the mirror and say “enough about me, let’s talk about you,” but I realize I do love the sound of my own voice. I love to talk. I love to be listened to. I love the light in people’s eyes when I joke, or the comprehension when I inspire. It startles me when I see people hurt by anything I’ve said. Words are powerful… and I realize that I know how to use them. I love words.

It’s also said that people of my personality type/astrological sign are very competitive. I found this hard to believe (at first.) I’m not a huge fan of sports, but when I do participate in some kind of competitive recreational activity I am always a good sport. When it comes to something more serious, I am not very cut throat and I would rather see win-win situations than to dominate and stand atop the bloody hill of my groaning, defeated foes.

…And then I remembered Bridget.

When I was in High School, I was a member of our Speech and Debate team. My specialty was Dramatic Interpretation, aka, monologue. You earned points for your interpretation, style, speech, etc. and for some reason I find stupid, you were allowed to portray more than one character. Saying that this is a monologue because it’s just one person reciting is still a bit of stretch for me, even today.

We would travel from host school to host school competing against many different students from different schools. It was very common to run into the same students many times and compete against them.

There was one young lady, a curly headed brunette named Bridget. She did this piece from a play about the I.R.A. Not only did she use multiple characters, but she affected different accents as well. She was good. She was a great actress, she knew her piece inside and out.

She was my Moriarty.

Every single competition that I faced her in, I always came in second place, or third! Whenever she wasn’t there, I reigned. At least, that’s how I remember it. And I hated her… in a strictly competitive sense. But I was out for blood.

She was attractive. But I never spoke to her. She wore this gray skirt on several occasions that made her look very professional. I constantly trashed her to my teammates and even other competitors that I had become friends with.

I knew nothing about her except her name and what school she was with.

During competitions we sometimes moved to different classrooms throughout the day and had to wait for our judge to meet us there.

We were all settled in this gothic looking school as is common to the area I grew up in. The creeky room had high ceilings and was stuffy. My teammates and opponents were sitting in unfamiliar desks, chatting, waiting for the judge. We noticed Bridget was not present either and all sighed collectively. We all hated getting thrashed by her.

Hey Tim! Look! I bumped an opponent from a different school I had become friends with. What? I pointed to the sign above the door. In bright green letters, it was a cardboard decal crying “GO IRISH!”

Apparently the teacher who used this class as homeroom was a Fighting Irish fan. Indeed there was sports symbols all around the room showing his allegiance.

To us, it was a slap in the face. Saying we couldn’t win even if Bridget wasn’t there.

Without hesitating (and without prompting, I might add,) Tim jumped up, and in his nice suit, tore down the sign and stuffed into a random desk.

I remember thinking that I’d hate to be the kid who normally sits at that desk come Monday morning.

I was a punk. I know. Bridget was probably an absolutely wonderful girl. She was amazing and talented. She didn’t deserve an ounce of the unfounded ridicule I silently stared into the back of her head. She was pretty, she had poise and was probably going through the same kind of high school, teenaged drama we all did every day.

And she probably knew what I was saying. She knew she was despised without reason.

I’ve tried Googling her… Didn’t find much.

I sincerely hope none of my snarkiness hurt her or damaged her. I hope she is successful and living her dreams. I wish her all the best that life has to offer.

Confession #88

…OR, I’ve Killed Better Men for Less.

I confess, “owning my shadow” has become a strain. Like I’m trying too hard.

Saturday at Master Cuthbert’s didn’t quite the way I expected. For sometime now, I’ve been thinking I need to slow way down with the BDSM exploration. I’ve been seeing hints of emotional aggressiveness in Cuthbert, which is dangerous in a BDSM session, and it’s begun to feel kind of numbing rather than sensational; another red flag.

I feel I’ve plateaued, and this isn’t an area that I feel is wise to push the envelope with.

But the events of this past Saturday have really sealed it for me.

The normal weekly party at Master Cuthbert’s took place as routine dictated. Most of the usual guests showed up. Music was played. Songs were sung. Drinks were drunk. As the normal crowd dwindled and the usual after-party guests remained, Cuthbert, rather unceremoniously, announced that the beatings would commence.

I assumed the position and allowed myself be to flogged. Now, again, please keep in mind that this is NOT a sexual thing. There wasn’t an erotic tone to it, but more of a power exchange. I heard him say he would bring me to my knees. Challenge accepted. I lasted a long time before I just needed to stop.

Harley was next.

Before I continue, there is a psychological aspect to BDSM that you should know. There are some people who use different types of BDSM as a form of emotional and mental cleansing. Even biblical scripture that says “the blueness of a wound cleanses away evil.” There are many who can testify that being flogged, canned, spanked or whipped in a BDSM Scene will alleviate emotional stress, mental pressure and even guilt.

Not just a physical beating does this. A proper spinal adjustment or accupressure can release emotions you never knew were there. There is even a pressure point near your clavicle that aids in your body’s processing of emotion.

There is so much going on in your head and body: adrenaline, endorphins, testosterone, estrogen, apprehension, excitement, arousal, anxiety, guilt, euphoria, giddiness, anger, your pulse increases, your blood flow changes, different senses react to various stimuli in radical ways.

Sometimes this emotional release is sought after. Sometimes it happens unexpectedly.

Harley was under the lash a handful of times before she collapsed in tears. Tears of emotional distress. All BDSM activity ceased and I went to her. Affection and affirmation is actually a vital aspect to a Scene.

I tried my best to comfort her, but something was happening inside her mind that no one was able to relate to. After a while of privately consoling her and just allowing her to weep, it was obvious there was some kind of mental/emotional break through. The party was over and she wanted to go home.

Everybody reassured her that no one was embarrassed or holding anything against her. Emotional reactions as such were perfectly normal and acceptable and nobody thought less of her.

We talked briefly on the phone today. She is still having difficulty processing just what happened. I’d like to think I’m being patient and understanding – thought it’s always difficult for me to empathize with people. I am looking forward to seeing her tomorrow. Even if it’s just for casual hang out time.

***************************************

Today, I’ve realized more and more how much I want to be living on my own. I have also realized how irritating being acutely observational can be.

I get super distracted in conversations. My eyes see so much, my ears hear so much that it can become very hard to focus sometimes.

I was reading at Barnes and Noble today. I sat in the cafe and allowed myself to absorbed in some science fiction tome. Every once in a while, the writing would hit a slow spot that failed to engage me as a reader, so my attention would wander. That when I realized what the man sitting across from me was doing.

This very, very quiet “tinking” sound kept buzzing into my head. It would yank my eyes around the room and make me grit my teeth. It wasn’t loud. I doubt anyone else noticed. But to me, it cut through the chatter, coffee machine buzz and general roar of the busy book store.

Clenching my jaw, with my forehead in my hand, I sighed and scanned the room. There. about 6 feet away, a man with a trimmed, white beard and bald head was reading a magazine and stirring the drink in his mug. The spoon clinking against the sides of the glass.

Stirring, stirring, stirring… like he was stirring a frakking can of paint. All the while it made this infernal clinking sound:

tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink
He took a tiny sip.
tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink

I almost had an aneurysm.

A lady came and sat next to him, and he stopped the torture to talk to her. I went back to reading… only to be distracted by the mustachioed mouth breather to my right.

 I slammed my book shut, shoved myself up from my seat, sending the chair clattering to the floor. In a stamp, a climbed on top of my table, pulled my handgun from my messenger bag and waved it at the ceiling.

EVERYBODY SHUT FUCK UP! JUST SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU! GIVE ME THAT CUP! YEAH, YOU!

Pitching the mug to the ground, where it exploded in a caffeinated crash, I continued my tirade.

THERE! IT’S STIRRED ENOUGH! AND YOU… WHAT’S YOUR MALFUNCTION? DO YOU NEED SOME EXTRA HOLES TO BREATHE THROUGH?

SHUT! UP!

And then I shook my head. I closed my book, gathered my belongings and quietly slid out from my seat. I walked quickly to the newly vacated spot near the window where no one else was seated and continued to read in peace.

Confession #87

…OR, Starting 2012 Off with a Blah

I confess, I want to do everything to spite CrazyHouseMate’s bitterness and PokerPlayingHouseMate’s passive aggressiveness.

CrazyHouseMate has become a general curmudgeon. He grates on my nerves. His bitterness has given me cause to never use certain, normal words in everyday conversation, lest I be subject to a tirade or lecture. Early in 2011 he would grill me when I was out late or hanging out with people he did not know. I never told him. Ever since we’ve had separate rooms he’s questioned me less, but when he does he questions EVERYTHING.

I was cooking in the kitchen (where one normally cooks), and he was watching something on television. I began frying up some eggs in the pan after shuffling around the kitchen for a moment. At the very first sizzle, a gravelly loud shout came from the living room, What are you doing in there?!

I shook my head and thought to myself, Mixing paint! What the frak do you think I’m doing in the kitchen!

As I was cooking my eggs, I was attempting to keep the yolk from breaking. As is my habit, I was muttering to myself.

WHO YOU TALKING TO? Came another shouted demand.

As condescendingly as I could, I gently replied, Just the voices in my head, CHM.

He gets angry when I use big words. I mean angry. He gets angry when I refuse to sit down and watch the endless UFO, BigFoot and conspiracy documentaries he watches.

The following I know he can’t help… It’s like a nervous tick, but it still bugs the ever-loving frak out of me, he clears his throat incessantly. [AAHHHH!!! I LITERALLY JUST HEARD HIM DO IT FROM THE OTHER ROOM!!!!!!]

PokerPlayingHousemate, PHM, is a nerd. No problem. So am I at times. We share a love of sci-fi and science and useless trivia. We generally get along. However, he is upset because I don’t hang out in the common areas just because anymore. Ever since I moved my computer into my own room and have my own art table I spend the majority of my time in here.

2011 has made me a very private person. I don’t share all my hopes and dreams with everyone as much as I used to. I don’t let everyone into my life as I used. I’ve been stepped on too much. I’m too trusting, so now I avoid pouring everything I have into my social circles and restrict my main social times to Wednesdays at the bar around the corner, Saturdays at Master Cuthberts, random times with small groups occasionally and time with Harley.

PPHM tries to be the voice of wisdom – however he does so from a very limited perspective and doesn’t take that into consideration. He is prude. He is passive aggressive. He will let little things bother him until they turn into one big angry mess.

He will watch absolutely inane comedies. Shows that I hate. He is primarily been working through the Star Trek: Deep Space 9 series on NetFlix. I don’t mind that at all really, but the other insipid American sitcoms I hate and I just stay in my room.

At my leisure and convenience I have been working through the seasons of Law and Order: SVU. Today has been his first day back from several weeks out of town for the holidays. While watching SVU, he informed me that he doesn’t like SVU.

*shrug* OK.

They just talk about sex by saying how bad these sexual things are.

*shrug* OK.

Yeah, I really don’t like this show.

That’s his passive aggressive way of saying, “Turn it off.” I turned it off without a word and went back to my room where I could work on sketches I had drawn out while watching the show. HE WAS LEAVING THE HOUSE IN AN HOUR ANYWAY!

***EDIT*** PPH hates it when I watch Law and Order: SVU. He, however, likes to watch Breaking Bad, a show about a man who is getting away with selling Meth. DOUBLE STANDARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ok, edit rant over.

He insists that the hours I keep are not good. I maintain that this is just because he has no idea what I do during these hours he can’t see me.

Don’t get me wrong; we all generally get along. There’s rarely any kind of major conflict or meltdown. We are polite, kind and generous to one another. We do care about one another.

I just want out. I want to be on my own. Where I don’t have to take the bathroom habits of someone else into consideration. Where I can watch whatever I want, do the dishes whenever I want, have whoever I want over and have sex with them if we so desire! Where I don’t have to put up with bitterness and passive aggressiveness 24/7.

2012 is going to be about becoming financially secure. Landing that second job (a wine cellar is considering me), and getting into a PLACE. OF. MY. OWN.

No roommates. No housemates.

[Ugh. The TV volume was really loud, so I just told CHM, “Hey could you turn it up, the neighbors can’t hear.”

Is it loud?

Yeah, actually. I smiled. Could you turn it down?

I have to listen to your stuff all the time.

I almost snapped.

And when you ask me to turn it down, I always turn it down. I politely responded. Turned. And went back to my hole.]

Confession #86

…OR, Merry Fucking Christmas

I confess, I want to spend this holiday weekend smashed out of my mind.

So… This post is not only going to be honest, but brutally so. Probably because the booze is catching up with me.

I spent most of the day watching The Big Bang Theory and Law & Order: SVU trying to convince myself to clean my room and do my dishes while fighting off loneliness and morbid thoughts.

I finally decided to put on some nice clothes and hang out at the local bar. I thought that maybe my loneliness would be drowned out with some booze and in the midst of all the other lonely Christmas revelers.

(Damn, I’m so proud of my writing skills – even with half a dozen double Crown and cokes and a shot of 1800 under my belt)

I had a scotch (from my own flask) and soda and found some shelter on the bar’s patio to enjoy a cigar. A few gentleman asked me to join them.

I stood around a gas fire pit and just listened to them share their life stories.

We soon went inside and the big, friendly guy of the group bought a round… then another… and another…

My Ferris Bueller mode was in rare form and I paid for none of my drinks, even when I offered.

All these guys wanted was someone to listen to their stories. I was more than happy to. All the while fighting my own demons and doubts in the back of my head. They weren’t interested in my story. I barely shared five sentences about my own life. But I didn’t mind. I’m a good listener.

The last time I drank because I was sad was back in March after my divorce was finalized. Ever since then I drank at parties and in celebration – I always figured it to be unwise to continue to drink whenever you felt a negative emotion. That it would just lead to a mess.

I admit, I went to the bar, dressed in my nicest clothes, knowing, KNOWING that my drinks would be bought for me. And that I could possibly cut the edge of the loneliness.

It did. For a little while.

I confess, I’ve entertained a suicidal thought or two this evening

But I concluded that I enjoy life too much. That I’m too prideful to kill myself. Sick, huh?

Maybe not. After my divorce, I was surrounded by people who encouraged me and my self confidence grew and grew and grew. If it wasn’t for that… My brains might be splattered all over my bathroom at this moment.

Instead, I decided to splatter these servers with my ones and zeroes.

God, what a sick thing to write about on Christmas Eve.

I had no tree this year. I burned an ‘evergreen’ scented candle.

My daughters are now all snuggled up in their beds… about a thousand miles away.

Harley is warm and surrounded by her family about 100 miles away tonight.

And here I am. Kind of soused. Writing on WordPress the sordid sum of my choices.

And I won’t kill myself because I’m kind of attached to this breathing thing…….

… and I like living. I like sex. I like acting. I like writing. I like art. I like sunrises. I like love. I like wine and cigars. I like my family. I like coffee. I like cooking. I like philosophy. I like being alive too much to die.

 

But right now… I feel miserably numb.

Thank you, readers, for your kind thoughts and wishes this holiday. I pray your time with your loved ones is memorable. I’ll be here, don’t worry. Writing, growing, confessing, changing.

Tomorrow the sun will rise and who knows what the tide will bring.

Mildy Disturbing, but Hilarious, Kid Moment

Lani informed me today about something she overheard our 4 year old daughter saying as she played with her dolls.

Doll 1: Have you seen my mommy?

Doll 2: Yes.

Doll 1: Where is she?

Doll 2: In a place of darkness…

Doll 1: Where is that?

Doll 2: You know… the jungle. With small monsters who don’t wash their feet.

O_o

I could not stop laughing. Even now, I’m still chuckling about it.

While it was fresh in my mind, I drew this:

You know... the jungle. With the monsters who don't wash their feet.