For the sake of my mental health, I decided to go for walks. This isn’t a new thing for me; in the past, it was what I did almost every day after work. It started off as something more serious – I’d walk and began pushing myself further until it was a sprint, a job, a run.
These days though, I walk in hopes to build some strength back in my lungs.
For those wondering, people-watching is essential to creative writing – be it fiction, nonfiction, or poetry. Jose Skinner taught me of its importance, though it had been a pastime of mine for some time.
When you observe your surroundings with a creative eye, you register things that would otherwise be overlooked. The way a young wife moves away from her husband when he sits next to her. Or how a child darts across the street while his mother scrolls across the screen of phone. Or the mannerisms of a young couple.
They paid no mind to the scent of rain that lingered in the air; they were more focused on studying each others smile. The groove between their hands, their teeth. With the first drops, she pulled him into the open space. They wrapped their arms around each other.
It took me back to a moment in life. One taken for granted. When a girl pulled me outside to kiss in the rain.
Last night’s post is my last “real” post of the year. It’s a better, less raw, version of an earlier-but-now-deleted post.
It’s not a secret how terrible second half of the year has been. From not getting the position I wanted to the devastating loss of three beautiful people. Not that the first half wasn’t terrible, but it pales in comparison. Losing stuff to some punk kids doesn’t hold against some punk kid taking people from my life.
It’s not that I took it well in the months that followed; it’s that I had Shaun living with me to distract me from falling into that black hole of despair. Sometimes I slip into the hypothetical realms not getting that phone call that night because no one survived. And I remember my words to Monica echoing from the past—I can’t lose her. Not like this.
While life goes on, it’s hard to reach a sense of normalcy. Especially when your life changes abruptly. In that sense, old characters started snaking into my mind. When someone started reading my blog, it just so happens it was a Mackie/Anderson post. It seemed almost too coincidental. That the characters that resurfaced would appear again on my notifications. And I wondered what they’d be doing now.
See, their story never ended. They just weren’t needed anymore.
Mackie and Anderson will return in 2019. I’ll be reworking my “Letters of Resignation” in 2019. I’ll be Bullet Journaling in 2019. I’ll be keeping a book log to write reviews again. I’ll be quitting Tumblr in 2019. Whittle my distractions in 2019. I’ll be making an attempt to be a more mindful human being, living in the moment and making memories with those I love. It’s an an attempt to be a better person, son, brother, father, worker, friend (boyfriend?).
What follows between now and then will be fragments, unpublished material saved in my drafts, and excerpts from my personal journal.
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.
Operation: Bad Sex with ****** *** **** is a-go. Talked to my partner in crime and the persona shall be hashed out this weekend. Writing projects are fun when they’re deviant. Bad Sex isn’t the final title, I’m simply referring to Nerve back when it was cool. I will state that project is erotic and humorous.
Aside from the erotic works of ****** *** ****, I’m planning to use the blog as a erotica review site. While A Book Hunter’s Journal is my book blog, the fact is I’m walking a fine line on what’s acceptable by the advertisers when I review an erotic work with a questionable cover–I’ve actually had to censor a couple. And I promise that I won’t limit the blog to just the works of Alison Tyler. Okay, I can’t promise that.
One question remains, what service will I use? WordPress has its perks, but we have our tussles in the past when it came to posts above a PG-13 rating. Blogger is the obvious go to, but Tumblr will give me a larger range of readers and rebloggers. And do I go with a custom domain name, or have the yourname.service.com route? Decisions. Decisions. At the moment, however, it’s just the blueprints. What font will I use as a header? Will I be able to sew together a custom picture for the header? And what posts will I feature first? Write write write.
Bared on your tomb
I am a prayer for your loneliness
And would you ever soon
Come above unto me?
For once upon a time
From the binds of your holiness
I could always find
The right slot for your sacred key
I can’t sleep. I haven’t been getting much these last few days, weeks, months. Like a recurring nightmare, the dream of a sweeter time in my life keeps revealing itself, jolting me awake, leaving me with the realization how lonely I am. The greatest part of this scenario is I haven’t a single person to share this dream with. Nor would I if someone would offer to listen.
I used to think of a world in which I’m not a part. A scarier thought never crossed my mind. Not suicide, just a world in which I never existed. How much happier would people be if I never polluted their lives. If my indecision or inability to act never held them back from bigger and better.
I used to think of suicide, too. What a waste of life. At my weakest state, that seemed like the best solution for everything. I read a post by someone on Tumblr stating that suicide wasn’t a form of weakness. Her argument seemed sound, but it lacked everything. We only get one life, one shot to do something great. Even in the smallest way, we leave a mark that changes the world. Maybe not the whole world, but maybe someone’s world. And quitting before you even get a chance to start is possibly the most selfish thing. And selfishness is the sign of weakness. I should know.
I’m rambling. I know that there isn’t any linear way to describe depression. Fuck it. I’m out.
I purchased the Samsung Galaxy S III Friday, and I have to say I’m in love with this little sucker. Better pictures than my old BlackBerry Curve, and isn’t that what fatherhood is all about? Taking pictures of your spawn? And I’ve tapped into my hipster-dom and created an Instagramaccount to boot. Prepare yourself friends and family, I’m going to shove images of my son down your throats.
I’m thinking of revamping this blog, again. The last time I said that, it never happened. I’m not motivated enough to keep up with a niche. (See: just about every blog I ever had.) Perhaps I’ll come to terms and just drop the Tumblr blog – have we agreed on calling it a Tumblog yet? – and start from zero. If I could, I just shove all the blogs into one. But then that would be super chaotic.
Ugh, why do I feel the need to keep my life on display like I’m someone important? Why do I feel like leaving a set of letters to my son where just anyone can read them? Am I trying to exist? I don’t know.
Anyway, as for the Samsung Galaxy S III, if you’re thinking about it, you should just get it. It’s worth every penny. Now, if only I can figure out how to do all the cool stuff with it. Any help will be greatly appreciated.
Chapin City Blues 