Tag: Friends

Doldrums

People I Met on the Way Down

GuillermoLeave a comment

Never took the time to appreciate my surroundings. Never really put much thought in what it took to get to this place. Six years ago, I couldn’t even fathom getting to this place. It’s not always simple; there are days when it feels like giving up is just easier. These days, though, that’s not even an option I consider. And if I think too much about those moments (because that’s all they are these days), I risk falling into the rut. Let’s ignore that. For now anyway.

Depression has been a lifelong companion. For years, however, I let it take the wheel. It ruled my every thought. After the split, I just gave into it. Allowed it to make my decisions and let me tell you—they weren’t always good decisions. Actually, there are so many things I did, said, and thought during my long journey to here that I’d rather not think about.

But I’m not here to “throw shade” at my mistakes. Something happened that put things into perspective. These last two months have been a strange roller coaster and strange beginnings.

In August, Jeanna was involved in a car accident that took the lives of her mother, sister, and youngest nephew. Breaking the news to Shaun wasn’t easy; it’s nothing a person can prepare themselves for. Jeanna was on the road to recovery, but he’d lost three special people in his life. While the hospital allowed Shaun weekend visits, he was thrust into a situation of living with me full time. (He’s asleep as I type these words, by the way.)

A lot of people use death as their motivation, and I can see why. Life is short. It’s fucking unpredictable as hell. I’m appreciative of the days I’ve had, and those that are still on the horizon for me. But I don’t know what lies beyond what I can see, because even that isn’t guaranteed.

As I sat in the waiting room, trying to make sense of all the news just thrown at me, I made phone calls. A few phone calls, actually. I called my mom first because she had Shaun. I called Virginia second because I needed to hear her voice; I needed the comfort she has been so good at giving. She didn’t answer, but that was expected; it was one in the morning, after all. I called Monica because she’s been there for me through so much already. And I called Laura, who called me back. Each did their best to calm my tears and fears.

It’s strange to conclude a post about depression with death, but there’s a reason why it ties together in the end.

I’m appreciative of where I am now. There are difficult moments. Like knowing that Jeanna’s mom isn’t going to just text me out of the blue. Or that I will no longer have these random conversations with Marci on Facebook. I’ll never see Arnie, who passed away in September, make another comment on one of my Facebook updates (and like his own comment). I’ll never get a strange, middle of the night phone call from Shon (who passed away last Wednesday) about one conspiracy or another.

I’m happy that I was given the opportunity to have these people in my life. And I’m happy to have been in theirs. I’m happy to have called a few of them my family.

I’m appreciative of where I am now, and more so for the people who helped me get here. And not just with this situation, but situations in the past and those that bloomed in its wake. To those who helped me by dragging me out of my home even though the depression was eating at me. To those who hugged me despite my aversion to it. To those who cared enough to ask me how I felt at any given time. To those who I call family.

Thank you.

“I Might Prefer Chaos to Even Flow”
Work

“I Might Prefer Chaos to Even Flow”

GuillermoLeave a comment

Not a believer of luck, good or bad. Not the superstitious type. Sure, I might joke about the terrible things that happen on Friday the 13th, but I don’t actually think the date is the reason behind them. Bad things happen no matter the day. Apparently, we just focus on the bad things when the day is designated for them.

Friday morning, the first thought I had waking up was—”Why do we have to open the building open Saturday morning so maintenance can leave the moon jumps there when we can just move them ourselves?” When you’re this dedicated on pulling off a great event, I suppose you eat, sleep, and shit such things.

And when I arrived at work, my supervisor greeted me with a question, “Are you ready for today?”

“Heh, no. But that’s my secret,” I said, trying to pull off my best Bruce Banner impersonation. “I’m never ready.”

If I anticipate something too much, that anticipation becomes anxiety. And anxiety causes mistakes. So after I ate breakfast (egg, hash brown, and sausage tacos), I gathered my troops (minus one) and started the day. We filled two vans and the bed of a truck and headed off the arduous journey the faraway land of the activity center, just down the road from our humble workplace. As we were packing the last of our things, we noticed one member of our party missing. Because I walked to the activity center, I figured our paths would eventually cross. They didn’t.

“Where’s (let’s call him) Bartleby?”*

“I saw him coming this way,” one said. “He said he wasn’t feeling well this morning,” another remarked. “I don’t know,” the last said.

Because we were missing things, the four of them returned to work to gather the rest of the things and to find Bartleby. But, surprise surprise, Bartleby was nowhere to be found. They asked his department coworkers about his whereabouts and they thought he was with us. They searched the building and turned up nothing. When they returned to the activity center, they told me there was no sign of him. No one knew where he’d gone.

It didn’t surprise me that Bartleby weaseled out of work. He didn’t earn this moniker because he’s the model employee (though, I’m sure he’ll earn Employee of the Month before I do). Frustrated that he’ll somehow get me into trouble, I called my supervisor. “We lost Bartleby,” I said. “They asked the people and they couldn’t find him. He said he wasn’t feeling well this morning, and I’m a little worried that maybe he’s sick somewhere and no one knows.”

“I’ll call George,” he responded.**

We started without him. Though, when did arrive, his only offering of help was an onslaught of heavy sighs, complaints about not feeling well, and, of course, whining. We were better off without him.

Once more, we’re faced to go back to the office to pick up some more materials. Before we go back though, Bartleby spoke up, “Which one of you called work looking for me?”

“Me,” I said. “When you didn’t show up and no one could find you at work, I got worried. I heard you weren’t feeling well, so I called to see if you were ok.”

“Yeah, well now I have George running up my ass accusing me of wasting time.” Then switching to the most menacing tone I’ve ever experienced  in the work place, he added, “Next time you’re looking for me, come look for me. Don’t call my supervisor.”

This veiled threat from a subordinate might have fallen on deaf ears had Bartleby not been foolish enough to say this in front of witnesses. On the way back, I’m asked, “Was he threatening you?”

“That’s how I felt.”

Word must have gotten back about this gaffe. And because of his mess up, George was now up his and his coworker’s ass. This caused more stress on my understaffed department. My temper at work is calm and cool. You have to be when your work involves children. Number of times I’ve lost my cool with a patron? Once in seven years. And I was off that day.

I gave up on their help. Just go back to work. We’re done with you here. Of course, this didn’t make George any the happier because now he had two extra employees who shouldn’t have been scheduled that morning. Not my problem. Not anymore.

Chaos ensued back at the office. It was our graphic designer’s last day and I bombarded her with last-minute requests made by both George and my ultra anxious supervisor. Nothing good from anxiety, so I did my best to keep him calm.”We have it covered,” I said. “Do you need help?” he asked. “We have the morning covered. We might need more help come the afternoon when we decorate. Maybe some of the girls can come over?” Sexist, I know. But I’d rather have a couple of hardworking ladies than a man-child who’s had everything offered to him and takes no responsibility for his actions.

A few more things happened. George berating us for not having done simple tasks earlier but not actually offering any real help. My supervisor’s panic led to a last-minute shopping spree placed in the hands of someone else. We still managed to build an event that the kids loved and kept the parents happy. Some things fell through, but we survived.

At the end of the night, Bartleby tried to make nice again. I’m a forgiving person. Even people I don’t get along with I treat with the same respect of someone whom I call a friend. But Bartleby? After that threat? I’m done with Bartleby.

Afterwards, I hung out with the coworkers I couldn’t imagine losing but know that the inevitable is on the horizon. We enjoyed wings and laughs. And my thoughts slipped into dangerous territory.

As much as I say I don’t want to be in a relationship. As much as I tell myself that it’s not the right time, and that maybe I should wait it out until I’m at my most content. Even though I know that things might end up a disaster in the future. There’s this woman I like. And it scares me how much I like her. And I’m not sure if I mean the aforementioned things, or I’m just trying to convince myself those things are true. And I just might want to bring it up the conversation about my feelings again.

In the words of Hank Moody:

Fuck.

*I don’t understand why this never crossed my mind until now. I wrote a paper on Bartleby, the Scrivener in college because I was fascinated with the amount of laziness that character possessed.
**Yup, another literary reference, but I won’t mention to what book.
Doldrums

These are not resolutions

GuillermoLeave a comment

The dry spell isn’t over. 2016 brought so much and gave so little away, creative wise. And it’s difficult to remain optimistic about the dawning new year. So many poor decisions were made this year. It started with the decision to only read books of a certain genre. It quickly derailed. Much worse than the year before. 2017 will be a low number goal for books, but do I promise to budget my time between TV, books, and, most importantly, being a father.

And exercise—shit! I forgot about exercise! Earlier this year, it was the first to go when things began to look bleak. Just cast aside after months of fighting with the Zombies, Run! app and my phone’s weak signal (just Sprint’s way to remind me it’s time to upgrade!). And with exercise, comes better eating. Having to watch your sodium and sugar intake isn’t fun at 33. Most things dietary aren’t fun at 33. Things aren’t fun at 33. And it’s necessary to stop expecting instant results. More so, it’s important to know that it’s not something a person can jump into headstrong. One needs to ease into it, otherwise, you’re bound to lose hope and enthusiasm. No diet books. No starving myself. Just better, healthier choices.

And spending time with friends. It’s beneficial to make time for yourself to spend with friends. No matter the activity. After binge watching The Big Bang Theory (don’t you dare judge me! We all have our vices), I brought up the idea of incorporating Dungeons & Dragons into our game night. We’re all nerds, after all. Why not take it to the next step? From the starter kit, purchased for $20 at Barnes and Noble, to purchasing the three main guides from Amazon (thank you Humana Vitality!), Duckie and I have been pouring over everything in order to make decent characters and stories. Of course, Cards Against Humanity, Exploding Kittens, and Betrayal at House on the Hill are also included in our reindeer games—plus whatever board and card games purchased in the new year. But the activity doesn’t matter in the end. Games or movie marathons or a TV show binge. The effort needs to be made at least once a month (twice, if you’re feeling randy).

And writing. After swearing that 2016 was the year that my creative process would resurrect itself, nothing came to fruition. A few jotted notes in my “bible” dealing with story ideas, quotes from stories and books read or skimmed through, snippets of science and astronomy and mythos lore—nothing that amounted to anything. I won’t say 2017 will be my year. But damn, I’ll need to put more effort into my craft. And not just my random thoughts in a journal or on this blog. But serious, hardcore writing.

And returning to the garden. I started a small garden for Shaun this year, but after the summer incident I lost enthusiasm. I always meant to spread the garden until it encompassed a large chunk of the backyard. And after watching Fuller House, I have an idea how to go about it. But it’ll cost money.

And finally, adulting. I haven’t figured out how to do this just yet. But I will.

Personal

The End of Phase 2 Pt. 4: Friends, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Human Race (sort of).

GuillermoLeave a comment

Last November—during my annual Brovember movie month—I watched 21 Jump Street. I caught the movie in the past on FX, always allotted for time and always censored. I don’t remember much from the movie. It’s not that memorable. Although, it did raise a question I had never thought to ask before: How do adults become friends?

When I met my long-time friend, Meester Binx (obviously not his real name), it was on the playground during our years at Sam Houston. Now Binx will argue with me until he’s blue in the face about that we met in first grade. I know that we met in kindergarten. We were walking in opposing directions and crossed paths. I hopped to my right and he hopped to his left. I moved to my left and he moved to his right. “Cut it out,” one of us said. “Cut what out,” responded the other in classic Dave Coulier fashion. And of course the squeaky, broken voice of typical childhood bashfulness broke the routine we found ourselves in. “Do you wanna be my friend?” This is another thing Binx will argue. In his version of the story, I asked it. In the true version of the story, we both asked it because we were obviously destined to be hetero life mates a la Jay and Silent Bob.

In Junior High (now referred to as Middle School), things changed a bit. The dynamics were the same. Chance introductions led to brief or lifelong camaraderie. And high school dragged those Junior High friends through the mud and I met their girlfriends and reunited with old elementary chums. In summation, I have never been without friends.

Post high school/college, most of my acquaintances were made because of the dire need of having classroom friends in case I missed a day. Those are the ones who “throw away” after the semester is over. If you so happened to share another course together, well, it saved you the trouble of having to make another friend. The friends that I made in college—the real ones—came from being a part of Sigma Tau Delta. And even those are just people have become just faces on social network.

The digital age has altered the term friend viciously. I catch myself several times during conversations. My Internet friend. A friend from Tumblr. This Facebook friend. The word follows or is followed by an adjective, the name of a website where we commune. Some of these people I can say I love. I love Samantha. I love Ashton. I love Jason and all his bearded glory. I love Jenn. I love that bastard Eddie. These are people who I could talk to. Who I’d go out and grab a drink with if I drank. I don’t drink. Don’t invite me out drinking. I’ll only ruin your night. And I’ll probably steal your keys. And your cell phone. Because I love you and I want you safe.

My adult friends are comprised by friends I’ve known all my life. There’s Binx, of course. There’s Monica, and there’s Miranda. There’s Jeanna. There’s Esmer and Jerry, who I met because of Jeanna. Monica and Joe go way back to kindergarten where Miranda came about in high school.

Then there are the work friends. These are the weasels who snaked into my life while I wasn’t watching. I go into every job saying that I won’t make friends. Before I know it, there are new people in my life that I actually enjoy talking to. That I enjoy hanging out with. That I can be a complete idiot around. Who’ll laugh when I need them to laugh at me. Who’ll make a joke to cheer me up. Who’ll invite me to places or force me to attend parties against my will. These are the people I don’t mind talking to, confessing to, confiding in. These are people I’d go out and have a drink with if I drank. I don’t drink. Don’t invite me to go out drinking with you. I’ll only snap embarrassing pictures of you and broadcast them on Tumblr and Instagram and Facebook and my blog (which you’re reading).

Somewhere we stop asking the question. Maybe it’s understood. We don’t need to mimic Channing Tatum in 21 Jump Street and sheepishly ask the guy we bullied in high school if he wants to be our friend. We just know. And I love that.