NOSTALGIA IS A WEAPON

-The world is a bit of a haze now, seen through the eyes of several beers, a mildly drunken filter placed in front of the world.

I stand in front of the mirror, shirtless. My eyes, pupils shrunken against the light. I see that I have form but not build. There is very little substance to me. My pants, size 28 waist, hang loosely just below my hips. Even the smallest waist-size pants fit me improperly. I am not frail, whispers of muscle definition, borne only by my exertion at work, peering around the edges of my frame. Yet it would take only a strong wind to sweep me away.

And there is a revelation: my mental self dwelling parallel to my physical body. Here is this structure which moves about and speaks, and yet exists as very little other than such. My true self, my personality, only visible at the corners, hides in the shadows. Incomplete perhaps, as the muscles are. In need of discipline, exercise, practical use in order to build into something tangible. -

Nothing but stream-of-consciousness ramblings written minutes ago, long after I should be asleep. God knows why I’m posting this, but who cares, really?

Good god, the passing of time is astounding these days. Already it’s been nearly a month since Enji’s visit. Where has that time gone? What have I done since then?

Time spent with E was wonderful, of course. There’s one picture up on flickr from our gay bar karaoke night (sadly, none of the show pics came out well, or I’d have more to share). Video footage of our duet to Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn”, sans- interpretive dance (I totally chickened out) does in fact exist, but for the sake of humanity I’ll spare you my atonal vocal stylings. Enji totally rocked out Christina Aguilera’s “Ain’t No Other Man”, though. As if you didn’t know, girl can sing. I’ve said it already, but thanks again for coming, E. Miss ya already. There’s always a bed and a hot mug of tea here for ya.

Since then a dozen more partial entries have been composed, but I’ve still nothing solid to put here yet. I should make finishing something a priority, if for no other reason than proving to myself I can still write a damn coherent essay. But that won’t be happening tonight, I’m afraid. Life is still interesting. Maybe one day I can tell ya’ll about it.

To those that still happen upon this page, or who haven’t given up hope that I’ll ever post again: I hope life is treating you well.

Um, wow. ‘Course, this was inevitable at some point, but seriously: ouch.

That’s a very nonchalant way of describing what is possibly going to become a roiling mess of pain in my stomach, but I guess we’ll just wait and see how I feel in the light of tomorrow.

G’night, all (or few).

It’s weird how quickly time gets away from me. It’s been another month-plus since the last time I posted, and now there’s so much to say that I have no idea where to begin.

I’ve tried writing a lot lately, which has resulted in a new folder on my desktop that contains more than a dozen partially-composed entries. I’ve begun to think of these attempts as mid-term miscarriages. I start out with something promising, begin to develop something on the page, and then suddenly and without warning it aborts itself, unwilling to progress any further or develop into something whole. It’s endlessly frustrating.

Life is interesting these days. I’m going through cycles of highs and lows like I haven’t experienced in years. Yet it’s not the dangerous, uncontrollable kind; this is a result of experiencing, feeling. I’m realizing what it’s like to be alive again. I’d forgotten how much being alive could fucking hurt. But boy, those moments when you’ve bared your soul in the depth of conversation and had it accepted with a smile and a hug… those moments make all the suffering worthwhile. It’s what Enji said once when she was my age: “Everything is part of the journey. Frustration, peace, depression, ecstasy, loneliness, everything. Note that true happiness is impossible without suffering — there is no light without dark. Contrast, my dear, contrast.” This time tomorrow I might be singing a different tune. But I’ll take any moment of enlightenment, no matter how small or brief.

Sorry for the absence. I’ll try and return soon, hopefully with something a little more substantial and expository.

To my right, sitting on the bed with me, a rotating cast of items: Czerny and Chopin music folios, Chris Adrian’s book The Children’s Hospital, a burned mix cd. Among these are the usual suspects, the ever-present: my external hard drive, headphones, and laptop. These things are only displaced from their home every other week to change the sheets, and on the rare occasion when I have guests.  I get strange looks when people hear that I sleep with all this stuff on my bed. “But they take up so much room!” No, not really. I don’t need that much space, and I’ve got more than half my bed all to myself. “It’s convenient,” I tell them, “to be able to reach over and check my email or jot down a note when I first wake up, or to listen to music when I can’t sleep.” This is true, but I suspect it’s not the whole truth. It seems like it’s easier to feel lonely when you’ve got a big bed to yourself. Lying there in the dark, you extend your arm under the sheets and find only cold, empty space along your entire reach. The feeling of isolation that comes along with that is not generally conducive to helping me fall asleep with a clear mind.

These objects are a poor substitute for a warm body to snuggle up to. But for now they are a collective placeholder for what I’ve not yet found. So it goes.

Besides, the hug pillow just creeps me out for some reason.

I’ve been experiencing some strange physical issues lately. Complete exhaustion despite a full night’s rest, a substantially reduced appetite (and therefore loss of weight- nearly ten pounds in two weeks), an occasional “buzzing” feeling in my head, increased heart rate during periods of no physical exertion, etc. It’s been going on steadily for a few weeks now, so in a moment of caution I dropped by the walk-in clinic the other day and had them do a quick blood test. No mono, thank god. Physically I checked out okay. “Probably just a bug,” they said. “Drink lots of fluid and get some sleep.” Both of which I was doing in excess anyway.

But then I was talking to my mother this evening, and she brought up a very interesting point:
“You know better than most that emotional stress can display itself physically. Even if you don’t think there’s something going on, there might be something going on.”

Um, well, yeah. There *has* been something going on (though she’s fairly unaware of it, at my discretion), so this makes a lot of sense. Since it’s been situationally-based turmoil rather than a meaningless depression I haven’t thought of doing anything about it. She suggested I pay my therapist, who I haven’t talked to since September, a visit. The woman worked pretty closely with me for well over a year, after all.

Yeah, I think I’ll do that.

Of course, today is Saturday. Office isn’t open till Monday. Drat.

(Completely unrelated: I’m more than mildly embarrassed by the last entry. It worked in my head, but the way it came out is not at all how I intended. I’ll end up doing a massive rewrite on it at some point. It’s a good thing I’m not a professional writer; that entry, like many others, was published before it was finished. I’ve become so infrequent with my updates that I’ve now put self-enforced time constraints on the writing process. The result is entries that I know aren’t ready to be released, and ones that I’m extremely unsatisfied with/mortified by the next day. Sorry for subjecting you guys to crap.)

I’ve gone another month without posting. How the hell did that happen? More importantly, where the hell did my thirty days go?

Lots of actual “stuff” has happened/is happening, so I’m working on a real entry now. Hopefully it’ll be up within the next 24 hours. It’ll most assuredly be private, so apologies to those who read from RSS feeds. I think you’ve all got actual accounts here, but if you’re reading and don’t (and want to know what’s been up), you know where to find me.

Also a quick apology for the theme change (again). I discovered the last one had some imbedded porn-related crap in it. Google my online pseudonym and go about five pages in- I can promise I had nothing to do with an older lesbian sex party, nor the preteen sex (ew). I actually like this theme better anyway. Anyone know how to rid myself of those search results?

A year ago today I vowed to give up smoking, another attempt to add to the dozens over the past few years. Well, this one actually stuck. Besides the handful (maybe five) of cigarettes I’ve bummed from people (usually while heavily inebriated), I haven’t touched them since.

It’s actually weird to look back and think of myself as a smoker. It seems so foreign now- “Really? A cigarette? Why on earth would you want to do that?”.

My world smells a little cleaner these days, and I’m in better health and spirits than I’ve been in years. Not sure how much of that is related, but what it boils down to is: I don’t miss it one bit.

Had my first piano lesson this afternoon. It was quickly noticed that I have a horrible tendency to use the pads of my fingers to depress keys rather than the tips. As a result I’ve spent a good chunk of this evening running the C major scale back and forth on both hands in an effort to rid myself of a nasty fifteen-plus year habit. It’s nice to have someone point out what I’ve been doing wrong all this time, and to deliver such information so nicely and politely. Between working on that and counting my rhythm I’ve got a healthy dose of homework for the next week. Lesson number two is next Monday. Time to put in some good hard work so I can impress.

I’m suddenly overcome with excitement at being a student again. *grin*

It is obviously unwise to make assumptions about the character of someone who you only met a few weeks ago, and with whom you have only spent a marginal amount of time. Yet his words and actions during our most recent encounter trouble me, the sudden change in his behavior inexplicable.

Suddenly I find myself wary of new creative input. Books, music, films: these have a tendency to attach themselves emotionally to a given time and place. It would be a shame to discover something new and wonderful only to have it permanently stained should this situation turn sour. The tarnish of disappointment has proven in the past to be rather difficult to remove.

While I’ve become fairly adept at projecting a mask of cynicism (enough, at least, to sometimes convince myself that I am a cynic), times like this make it painfully obvious that I am, in fact, an eternal optimist. I see the tiniest ray of sunshine peek through an overcast sky and reach for it with all my might, as though by will alone the clouds will disperse, despite all forecasts to the contrary.

Yes, I’m being deliberately vague regarding the precise details of the situation, perhaps as an exercise in displaying more restraint than my usual entries (which, given the ever-increasing number of people who have been/are becoming aware of my online pseudonym, might be prudent), but also as a method of preventing myself from passing judgment prematurely. Recent events should be taken into account when participating in or reviewing future meetings, but nothing is definitive yet.

For now I’m treading water. Better go find my *Caution!* cap before I head back out into the unknown…