A swift current

In my dreams, you are so close, yet so far. I try desperately to reach you, to pull you close, and to comfort you, but I lack the strength to do any of it. Instead, I am forced to watch you drift away, into the arms of a more able protector. It never changes, and it breaks me, a little more everyday.

Silence is rarely golden

I feel to the point of physical pain, but lack the ability to express those emotions in a vocal way. Looking back on my life, I see the littered remains of those that never knew how I felt for them; how much their existence made my life worth living. And it is not because I did not want them to know, because the truth is, I had “that conversation”, the one where I told them that my world revolved around their presence, approval and love; how I cried for them when they were in pain; celebrated when they achieved; and made excuses when they did not. The problem is, ever one of those conversations occurred with only one of the two essential party's.

On more than one occasion, usually centered around the death, or the permanent departure of a non-expendable, I promised that I would change, that the next time, things would be different. But, as is always the case, I was lying to myself. I am, unfortunately, a throwback to the male culture that vilified any sign of weakness; and somehow I convinced myself, at a young age, that any sign of emotion made me less of a man. The sad truth is, that my inability to express myself is my greatest failing. My fear is that when I die, the only way people will truly know how I felt about them will be to read the words I have written here, for complete strangers to read.

9-5

I have been down this road before, the path that seems to lead to isolation, loneliness, and burnout; and it was not pleasant. Nonetheless, I am here, a living, breathing human being with friends, loved ones, and a future that will not end with me spending endless hours behind a fake mahogany desk. Now I value my career, and care deeply about performing my functions to the best of my ability, but I learned, the hard way, that the best of me will never surface if I am so deeply unhappy that the very act of rising from my nightly slumber is a moment of pure depression. The truth is, no matter how important, I, you, or anyone of us feels we are, short of a very select group of individuals, we are fungible. The second I accepted that reality, my life changed exponentially for the better. . . because, at the end of the day, work is nothing more than that, life is something completely different.

Sunday Scribblings (Courage Part II)

Courage for him would be keeping his mouth shut long enough to allow her to move on with her life. Instead, in an act of cowardice, words that he knows will keep her close roll out of his mouth. He should fear destroying the careful balance she has created, but selfishness, a touch of desire, and greed, stops him. In a different place and time, the world he could provide, and he would, with reckless abandon, but that was never an option. From the start, pain was the reality . . . for him, for her, and for countless others. But because of her beauty, stunning intelligence, and the chemistry between them, his words are boundless, his charm unending, and his wit biting. The right thing would be walk . . . far . . . and long . . . out of her life. But courage has never been his strength, so he is here, longing, waiting, and counting down the hours until he whispers sweet nothings into her ear.

Sunday Scribblings (Courage)

This week's word is Courage:

He never once backed down, cowered from a challenge, or tired from the futile nature of his task. He faced the worlds foes, stared at death on a near daily basis, and did so without once asking for fame, wealth or recognition. Instead, he kept his identity secret, worked a thankless nine to five, and toiled with the likes of the normal. At any time he could have demanded riches, pimping himself out to the highest bidder, but he did not. Not once was he provided with monetary riches, even thought they would have been provided. In him, the world saw its greatest, humblest, and most honest warrior. He did what was right, what he could do, for no other reason than that was his talent. He cared, and would stop at nothing to allow good to prevail. In him, there is a lesson to be learned. We ask, all too often, what is in this for me. He was a prince on his planet, but here, he was a man, a man who understood his strength, grasped the same, and made the planet a better place for us to live. Superman may be a joke, a story to be told to a child, a movie to watch on a quiet Friday night; but more than that, he is the epitome of courage, and someone who should be admired.

Pour me another.

A spectacular darkness has taken hold, with no immediate signs of loosening its grips. This storm, like all others, will inevitably pass. My only hope is that it does so sooner rather than later, because I cannot handle this for too long.

In the meantime, the hope remains that a scotch and a cigarette will allow me to push it into the background long enough to sleep.

Cheers.

Women in my life part I

This is inspired by an article in this months Esquire.

Freshman year.

Lori offered me every part of herself, in a way no woman before her had, but all I wanted was a friend; when I repeatedly refused to take her in a physical way, she cut me out of her life. Alicia, for one drunken hour, I was your attempt to make him jealous, it did not work . . . oh how I paid for that. Sarah was an amazing enabler, and looked like a grown version of a cupie doll; for reasons to be explained in a later post/year, we no longer talk. Joelynn was a holdover who willingly provided an outlet for many of my sexual desires; I made a complete mess of her; she was married with a child within a year. Melinda was five years my senior, and I did not love her, my only regret is that she found out at the least opportune moment. There was the nameless woman who boldly asked me to accompany her to her sorority dance; I left with another; the last time I saw her, she stared at the side of my head with an intensity that chills me to this day. Jenny took advantage of a drunken me, it required my first AIDS test, I will never forgive her for that. I never worked harder for any woman as I did for Rochanne; I loved, and pursued her in an unhealthy way . . . we destroyed each other for years.