How's It Gonna Be

...when you don't know me? Anymore...

How's it gonna be... I'm only pretty sure that I can' t take anymore...

I listened to that on the way home tonight, from my final hurrah with Spencer and Sammy. Brian was there, and my little bro, and various other folks that mean a lot to me.

It was fun.

And of course, a little Purple Rain and Third Eye Blind, and some chick named Lauren pops into my head.

It wasn't Tejas Lauren this, time, though. Crazy Lauren was there, with memories of morning coffee and shower sex. It was she that got me hooked on Peet's, because I was too good for Starbucks in her eyes.

If only she were sane. Heh.

As I listened to Third Eye tonight, I wondered about the future even as tried to remember the past. Wondered vaguely how all of the various Ls were doing, mostly wishing them well, sometimes fearing for them, usually hoping they were remembering me as well as I remembered them.

I even wondered about Slutbag. I don't miss her, nor anything she ever did (or didn't) for me. I did wonder how she was doing.

I wondered if she missed me, and if every time she did she felt a little guilty. I guess I hope she does.

And then I wondered about crazy Lauren, about if Purple Rain made her think of me, too, and about how I hope she's found her way and stopped using sex as a way to feel affection. I hated that part of our relationship, even when I loved her.

I wondered about Texas Lauren, about how she taught me so much by just her being her, because I was open and ready, because she caught me off guard, and because it was just time for me to find something new. I wondered if she ever thought of me at all, if I had had the privilege of teaching her just a fraction of what she taught me.

Now, as I write this, I wonder about Amanda, and if she's doing as well as she always says, if she's happy and healthy, if she feels loved at least as much as I loved her. I wonder if she gets adored the way I adored her, spoiled like when she was my princess. I wonder if she mutters, "I'm the queen," on a random Thursday night after Scrubs as someone she loves rubs her shoulders.

And I even wonder about Des, if she's really happy becoming her mother and marrying an accountant. I wonder if she set out to be her mom when she was 5, or if she always wanted something more. Maybe I was a representation of her "something more". Then again, maybe I was just hot and there. Who knows...

I wonder, as I sit alone in my now-empty house, about all of those girls, and a dozen more not worth mentioning, if I changed them half as much as they changed me. I wonder if I left them better people, like I hope I did, as Texas Lauren left me (embracing of my youth, save the depression, I suppose) and as Amanda left me (confident and well-dressed). I wonder, because I hope I did.

I hope I leave all of you better people than before, better, more educated, more thoughtful, more introspective, more appreciative.

I hope that, even in my depression, my tearful outpouring of emotion that makes you scroll and yawn, worry and wonder, call and check, I hope that if nothing else, you look at your own lives and appreciate what you have, from where you came, and that there really is an answer to the question regarding your presence on this planet.

I hope you know that I love you. I hope you know that it meant a lot to me, that going away present, that last goodbye, that third phone call to check on our last supper, that last text message, that final hug. I hope you know that it meant the world to me that you were there, that you are there, and that if I call you to crash at your place someday it will be okay. I hope that you know, that now, even as I cry, writing this, alone again, late again, afraid as always of what misery tomorrow might hold, that you are the reason I'm still here.

I'm not scared, not afraid, not in the slightest. Not worried about the future, about being too old, about not fitting in.

Nothing could be worse, in truth, than the last 8 months. There could be no lower a place than my basement in Castro Valley.

Someday, I trust, I'll look back on this, and instead of reliving the tears that seem to be unconsciously streaming down my cheeks right now, I'll remember this fondly, like I remember all hardship fondly, because it is the past that once was and is no more. Because it is a hardship I endured, a hurdle I conquered, a rock I climbed. I hope that I'll remember it with a smile, not because of how much it hurt, but because of how good it felt when it stopped hurting.

Someday I hope to be the man that you see in front of you sometimes. (If only I could see it too.) Someday I'll love me as much as I hope all of them did. Someday I'll be loved as much as I loved them, as much as I love you, as much as all the hope that tears my heart apart even as I try to shush it, because it hurts so goddamn much.

Someday. I will be free. I will appreciate everyone and they will appreciate me, I will be loved the way I deserve to be, I will give love to others freely and without condition because I can afford to, and I will not need to buffer my phone call frequency, hide my attraction, nor hold back my feelings.

Someday I will not sit alone and wonder about long lost loves in reminscience, but in simple goodwill. I will not wonder how they are without me, but simply hope that they're well.

Someday I will actually be able to love someone I've had sex with.

Well, maybe. Heh.

Someday, maybe, I'll be able to sleep alone, after a drink, and not cry. I'd like that.

Oh yeah, Alcohol is a depressant

So if I were being honest, I'm not sure how many times I've driven home with a 0.09 Blood Alcohol Content level. You know, that level where you are pretty buzzed, but can really drive just fine if a deer doesn't pop out in front of you and you're not trying to talk on the phone.

Or, basically, as well as your average chick in an SUV drives while on her damn cell phone. Bitches. ;-)

But I digress.

Or, actually, I don't, because I'm not sure I have a point today. I don't want to whine about some little girl from long ago, nor about some not-so-little girl from the other day. I am here, going through the motions, wrapping things up before I disappear from everywhere but here (as in the blog, knucklehead) to everyone that matters.

Or pretends to.

So, yeah, I'm a little bummed today. I don't know why, I don't know how, I don't understand it. I just get bummed sometimes. Ok, no, actually, I get bummed a lot, but I distract myself enough generally speaking with work and athletics so that I fake normality.

But y'all knew that already.

So my friend Mo was in town tonight, and I hung out with he and 4 other friends from long ago. Or, actually, three old colleagues and one good friend. And Mo, living in Austin, referred to the last time I saw him several times and how I had a reputation for nailing 20 year olds and "living life".

The guy who owns like 11 houses, hardly works, and bangs 20 year olds.

Right. Just call me Alfie.

--

I'm buzzed right now. I have a headache, and I'm vaguely hungry (fucking bourgeois restaruants never fucking feed you properly, damn it!), and if I could go to the gym or go get coffee right now, I would.

But it's a little late for either, and so I thought, hey, I haven't checked facebook in awhile...

I thought, first, actually, about having sex, about making a booty call, because it might be nice for a few minutes. But there is neither the conquest of someone new nor the satisfaction of someone old.

And then, of course, clicking through on facebook, I thought of the last time I had that satisfaction.

But anyway. Fuck that. I'm going to school in a week, going to fill my life with experiences I've never had, people I've never met, and lovers I've never held.

I can't wait.

I would nevertheless be lying if the random "I could just slam on my breaks and hop over the guard rail" thought didn't occur to me as I crossed the bridge tonight.

Don't wince. Don't call. It's not the first time, nor will it be the last, and you know it. I'll be fine. It's nothing a lifetime of therapy and some high dosages of medication can't solve, right?

Laugh. That was fucking funny. Damn it.

--

The thing I notice most about getting older? It's not that you're wiser or smarter, not the confidence or lack of anger.

It's the detachment. Because I've always been this way, but I'd get angrier and channel more back in the day. I'd be at the gym right now were I 23.

But now, I'm not passionate enough to channel, nor in enough malaise to actually even cry.

I just feel... alone.

Weird. I hope it changes when I leave the state next week.

I just clicked through on some Match-spam on the one hottie in the lot. I clicked through, observed the stats (26, SF, UCSB undergrad, Masters from Cal, psych/journalism), cycled through the photos, was intrigued, and then felt angry.

Angry? At what? At women in general? At the privilege? At the fact that her activity time frame as quoted by Match tells me she'd never reply because she's no longer a subscriber?

Amazing. Feeling angry for no reason.

--

Only 4 weeks to go. College awaits.

Working my ass off

I've worked every day for the past two weeks. I'm tired.

It's 2:30am, and I am still an insomniac, still wired to sleep all morning and stay up way past when 30 year old, responsible, young entrepreneurs are supposed to be sleeping.

I just said young. Heh.

So I'm moving to the land of milk (duds) and honey (flavored cherries). Where the grass doesn't grow and 22 will seem old.

And today -- tonight -- I feel lonely. I just went and had dinner with my cousin, sister, and brother, after seeing Serino earlier today and hanging out most of the night with familiar faces at the gym. I saw that girl I went out with once, and the guy with short-man's complex, the fellows that trust me no matter what and those that only seem to see me tired and thus haven't noticed my awesomely better game.

But I still feel so alone.

I don't have the luxury of whining or complaining. I can't talk about how bad my life is when I'm going to earn more this month than my mother has made this year. I can't complain about girls when I can get a date with anyone that suits my fancy. It's just a question of how hard I want to work at it. Will she takes ten minutes of chatting, or can I get away with only three?

And I can't whine about my family because it just gets old.

--

So two of my friends, in their own little way, have conveyed to me in the last two weeks that I have a negative impact on their well-being. That I am, at times, too negative, and whether it be through empathy or just hearing it directly too much, they get tired of it.

They get tired of me.

Maybe that's why the girls leave too.

Ironic. Those that have the most power to put me in my place (as in, close friends and the girls I sleep with) choose not to do it. They don't tell me to shut the fuck up, or grow up, or get a fucking therapist and whine to that bitch instead, or whatever.

They just absorb. Or detach. Or walk. Or some combination thereof.

I wish I wasn't this way. I wish I didn't feel lonely for no reason, angry without cause, and pain without end.

I wish you told me before you got angry with me. Told me before you just bailed on me. Told me when I was acting out instead of acting well, told me when I needed to lighten up and have another beer, told me when I needed to chill the fuck out and stop trying so hard.

Told me I was wrong, was hurting your feelings, was harming our friendship.

--

Friendship is harder for me, I think. When they walk it hurts me more than most people. Sure, everyone is hurt, but normal people don't question their worth, their business being on the planet, and second guess their behavior when someone bails on them.

My happy ass, on the other hand, stews over shit forever. Replays conversations, relives moments, and... I wonder what is wrong with me.

Internalization. Abused child syndrome. Sigh.

--

So, speaking of internalization, an interesting thing occurred to me sometime in the last day or two (I was on the road for four hours today, so I had plenty of time to think).

My father blames everything that is wrong in his life on someone else. He cannot take responsibility for anything whatsoever.

Why? How is it that his type of abuse caused that response? Is that just the result of more damaging trauma?

Chrissy (my super-crazy ex) did that too. Hmm.

Is this one of the results of sexual abuse versus physical abuse? Because my cousin and siblings have that pattern, too. So does my mom. All were physically and emotionally abused, but not sexually. But my dad is a whole different species.

Let's see, Slutbag ex had sexual abuse, too, but later in life. And she had an inferiority deal with an elitist/snobby mask. Not unlike good ol' Alfie in some ways. No physical abuse.

So it's not the type of abuse, although one exception isn't really enough data.

Maybe it's just the intensity and duration. Maybe internalizing is the typical response (you have no control over your life, surroundings, or destiny, so you take control of it by deciding that you're a bad person; if you just became a good person, you wouldn't get raped/beat/tortured any more), and externalization, or displacement, is the result after many years. Or perhaps it's the result of both types of abuse over many years.

It's kinda hard to do an informal survey on this, because no one wants to talk about it, and it's not exactly socially acceptable to ask a chick you just met at a bar about their history of sexual abuse.

(Although that might have its fringe benefits. Oh? You were gang-banged by your 3 maternal uncles when you were 12 while your mom watched? Cool! Wanna come to my car and give me a blow job? Wait, here's some listerine... yeah, sure, your best friend can come too! j/k!!!)

--

Hmmm. Taking this apart like this is a little cathartic. I don't feel lonely anymore.

For now.

Sleeping with the ex girlfriend

Er, in the same house as the ex girlfriend.

I didn't make a pass at her. I wanted to. I think part of her wanted me to. I think Becky wanted me to.

I know the guys, the dogs, and my hormones wanted me to.

But I didn't.

Sigh.

There was that awkward moment, the staying up just a few minutes later than everyone else, the pause and the look when "good night" crossed both our lips.

And I stood in the hallway, around the corner, and waited, pondering, wondering, wanting, but not doing.

It's okay. I know why. I know what I could have said, I know that to anyone in the known universe with some semblance of sanity, I could have made a pass and had it come across as flattering if not downright charming. I could have poked fun, and made her laugh, flattering even as she declined.

But not her. No, she was one of the crazies. The craziest of crazies, in fact. The remaker of history even as she's living it. The rewriter of the words crossing my lips even before they're articulated.

The soul mate. Or so she said on her 26th birthday. I remember, even if no one else does.

Sigh. That was almost 5 years ago, and I am no longer hurt, no longer mad, and no longer ruminating (until now). And yet I'd so much rather be in her bed right now than my own.

I guess it just wasn't worth it. The risk of being shot down and told another set of stories about for the next year -- this one with a grain of truth.

I would like to be touching her again, though. That familiarity of a bygone lover, even as everything is new and different because you've forgotten, because you've both changed, and because, well, you've both been with a cheerleading squad and a football team since then.

Or two.

(She always was a slutbag.)

--

I think my room smells vaguely of cat piss.

Damn it.

"Who was your last", aka, Being Unproductive, a side effect of cube-ville

8-5 sucks. Ok, Ok, it's 10-5, but it still sucks. This is the result... stupid myspace quizzes.

Rule # 1:
If you open this you GOTTA take it.

Rule # 2:
You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone
messages you and asks

Rule #3:
Answer True or False or Kinda

Q: Kissed someone on your top friends?: F (all boys)
Q: Been arrested?: T
Q: Kissed someone you didn't like?: T
Q: You like someone?: T
Q: Held a snake?: T
Q: Been suspended from school?: F
Q: Been fired from work?: T
Q: Done something you told yourself you wouldn't?: T
Q: Laughed until you started crying?: T
Q: Caught a snowflake on your tongue?: T
Q: Kissed in the rain?: T
Q: Sang in the shower?: T
Q: Sat on a roof top?: T
Q: Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on?: T
Q: Broken a bone?: T
Q: Shaved your head?: T
Q: Played a prank on someone?: T
Q: Had/have a gym membership?: T
Q: Made a girlfriend/boyfriend cry?: T
Q: Shot a gun?: T
Q: Donated Blood? F
Q: Had your heart broken?: T
Q: Broken someone's heart?: T

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who was your last?"
just be 100% truthful
LAST PERSON....

1. You hung out with?:
shane

2. last person you texted?:
ayla

3. You were in a car with?:
yadong

4. Went to the movies with?:
shane

5. Went to the mall with?:
rachel

6. You talked to on the phone?:
some stupid customer

7. Made you laugh?:
myself, reading my own blog

8. You cried with?:
Myself. If that doesn't count, well, um... it was in texas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WOULD YOU RATHER...?

1.Bite or lick?
Depends where. Bite I guess.

2 be serious or be funny?:
FUNNY

3. Drink whole or skim milk?:
NON FAT

4. Die in a fire or get shot?:
GET SHOT

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ANSWER TRUTHFULLY...

1. Sun or moon?:
Sun.

2. Winter or Fall?:
FALL

3. Left or right?:
left

4. Sunny or rainy?:
SUNNY

6. Where do you live?:
In a hick town

7. Have you got in a physical fight before?
of course.

8. Do you want to get married?:
sure.

9. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it?
yes

10. Do You Cook?:
yes

11. Current mood?:
is it 5 yet?

---------------------------------------------------

IN THE LAST 72 HOURS HAVE YOU...

1. Kissed someone?:
yes

2. Sang?:
Yes

3. Been Hugged?
Yes

4. Been told you were hot?
yes

5. Wanted to scream?
yes. i did.

6. Missed Someone?:
no, not so much. (yay)

7. Wished you were somewhere else?
only in cube-ville.

8. Thought of an ex?:
yes

Repost this as, "Who was your last..."

Overwhelmed Today