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After the dull gray damp of the end of March, this April fool was surprised to find no one at the shop on such a bright sunshiny day. Had it to myself. Did some painting and organized my wheelchair scraps. Pulled the batteries out of the Lurveseat, cleaned the contacts, put them in the next rev's motor carriage. It is alive! Little fucker's fast, too. Gonna be fun making a brand new one with that. Gotta get crackin', though. The deadline for applications is fast approaching and if I ever actually build the thing, 'twould be fun to take it.
Spring threatens to break out but rain is in the forecast. A couple more days of that, and then? Then? Can we please have endless strings of warm sunny days?
California wears her finest clothes in this transition out of winter. The colors are brightest now, greens and violets and blues, colors that fade in summer's drought. In three days when the sun returns we will go blind at the brightness of it, blind and happy, everything growing, changing.
Everything is changing. I can feel it. I can fear it, if I choose. But no: the colors are bright.
When you're indoors at work all day it's hard to write about nice things. 'Deed I've been in the office for eleven hours ...
Wait. I went out. S was at the park with four kids. I took my lunch. It was a fine sunny day with high clouds, not very warm. They were politely disinterested in me, as children should be. We chatted a wee bit. Nothing more.
I thought it was wonderful.
The theory is to write fearlessly. I cannot. I write glowingly of one, and it stings the other. This happens both ways.
So I write about nature.
Meetings can work sometimes. Last night's -- 8:30 to 9:30pm, or 9 to 10am Bangalore time -- went really well. We communicated and I came out of it with clear ideas. Today they are implemented, and I think that team will be reasonably satisfied.
So I wonder.
Do I work better with Indians than Americans? I also worked better with the Japanese than many of my colleagues. Chinese and Israelis and Germans, not so much, they're so aggressive.
Do I work better in very small groups? I get lost in large ones, even when I'm the ostensible focus point.
Unbidden, earlier than expected, I feel the crossroads approach. D + A3 is an exciting equation. An instinct tells me to put my stuff on the table soon.
This is driven by still-deepening feelings for S2. Not by ever-deep feelings for N, because N is not local, and local disturbances don't matter. Entire relationships can come and go and have no impact so long as N knows the score. But local disturbances can affect my S2 time and I don't want that. I need the discretion to manage time.
A3 deserves the chance to buy in, or opt out.
I fret too much. There is nothing to worry about. No big important discussions to close out on. All I need to do is relax and get acquainted and as time rolls on determine the likelihood of jealousy. If high, goodbye. If low, hello. And gauge also my own sincere level of interest. This is a perfect opportunity to practice working against my ancient tendency to try and become he whom I think a new friend wants me to be. I don't want to do that. I am so much happier now that I am discovering and being simply myself.
At first I took the boat ride lightly, a lark out on the Bay. Dad's ashes were going to get scattered whether we went or not.
So we went. It was a lovely day.
My wife wanted to help me pour him out. So we did it together. She brought flowers. We scattered flowers with his ashes.
Dad had taken a lot of macro shots of wildflowers. When I held these flowers and opened my hands and let them drop into the water, it felt like letting him go. I started to cry then.
Been more emotionally vulnerable ever since.
I am a creator of my own drama. The situation that I THOUGHT had me all up in knots is exactly the one I imagined would exist under the best case conditions: Close to a couple three wonderful woman friends, all of us bravely and lovingly expanding our worlds. Insecurities, fear of loss, perhaps the impermanence perceived when facing my father's death, these and other feelings, some of them wearing the frightful mask of jealousy, all crowded in on me. They still do, actually, but less now. I am loved and I know it and am easily reminded of it.
The days keep going by. I just don't feel like writing anymore. Well, but that'll pass. And I have learned that writing while depressed has embarrassing results, so with any luck I'll just put the writing off a little longer.
Meanwhile, back on April 9, what was that day about? I worked, that went okay, had a spectacularly good time afterwards, I'm thinking, yeah, that was a good day.
Oh, and we started P90X, some of us, down in the gym. That's a good program. I need to keep it up ... except ... I missed today (not the 9th). Oh well.
A little more catch-up. Tuesday was a good day too. P90X went well. Got all sweaty and had to shower afterwards. After work, my date caught me changing clothes in the parking lot, she looked very nice, we went to dinner, then to the new auditorium for a long and excellent production of the musical version of The Color Purple. Great story, great music, great voices, great dancing. Went for a drink afterwards, and a wee bit of impromptu dancing to the shitty music the spring breakers were into.
Underneath it all, sadness, fear of loss, of being weak.
Since tonight I'll either work in a panic or get lucky I may as well assume I won't be writing and do the writing now. A question arises: Why so sad? What loss fills me with fear? Why for god's sake fear my own weakness?
Well, I only had room left for a few words, why not be brief and stark.
These fears come and go. Of loss, mainly. Weakness? No, forget that. I know what I want and I can't quite get it. I'm just being a selfish child. Meanwhile, outside my foolish little fears, I am deeply blessed.
A rare and spectacular thunderstorm made its way across the state this day, inspiring some great press photography and not a little awe of nature amongst the citizenry. We don't get a lot of thunder and lightning out here on the gentle western slope and so people typically enjoy it, especially natives such as myself, we who've not seen a lot of dramatic weather in our tenure.
A text called me outside, where I smelled rain coming in on the rising wind, saw forks of light flash across the sky, and heard the rumble of thunder echo amongst the clouds.
Dammit, I keep forgetting I owe the government several thousand dollars and must pay it within the next couple three days. It's not my money, it's my father's, but I don't yet have control of his accounts and so the cash must come from me. I'll pay myself back eventually. Meanwhile I am doing a lousy job keeping financial records.
I just don't care. Not nearly organized enough at my job either. Life, and my brain, are fitting less and less well into jewelry boxes and spreadsheet cells. It must flow more, step less. I don't care overmuch about consequences.
My current journal has been going for twenty three years but I think I have to stop.
My emergence from a lifetime of self-repression, sexual seriousness, inner conflict, and doubt requires I shush the inner voices, the dark whispers and echoes that judge me and pre-judge everyone else, attitudes implanted by negative people that have influenced me since childhood.
When I journal, I give them voice and permanence. I talk to them and they talk to me. So do a lot of very good voices too! But the good often requires justification. I must grow beyond all that.
I guess it's called irony. I'm all depressed, and I've no real reason to be, and so I tell myself as much and to brighten the fuck up.
It actually stems from isolation. I was at the shop a little while today. Kept to myself. Didn't interact if I didn't have to.
I sometimes think I know the root of it: Sharing is hard.
Excuse me for saying so, I know I've overspoken the difficulties I have, I should just shut up. But there it is.
And I don't want anyone to change.
Is that why we're all still looking?
So here I want to get all slimmed down and hard and defined and shit for the big shindig this weekend and what do I do? Order a chicken quesadilla for lunch with enough food in it to last me all night. I'm not a small guy but I am stuffed and haven't even finished the thing. I will eat it all, of course. I'm good at nothing if not eating. But geez. I should have packed half of it away for dinner. Now my stomach will grow and I'll be even hungrier come dinnertime. Save me from Panda Express!
I have my ups and downs, surely. I seem prey to the whims of intimate relationship dynamics. But the queasy end results are entirely mine to own.
When I'm really down, an active relationship has dredged up something from way back in my past, something that needed exposing. Miserable as I can be in the moment, I am lucky having the chance to deal with it.
Otherwise, things are awesome. N wants me and desires me, S wants me and desires me, their other interests are well understood, and new A, who knows I am not monogamous, clearly remains motivated.
I skipped the follow-up session with the psych counselor and also skipped the ADD class. I was too stressed to take the time off. I have an upcoming session with some other psych type but will probably cancel.
I'm not ADD. I'm unable to focus on my work because I don't want to. I want instead to fret endlessly over this love life of mine and drum my fingers to music.
I am horribly unproductive. I don't know how people stay on task. Hell, I often can't even remember what I was about to say.
So far, I admit I cannot find you. There are many ways to cover a trail, of course. You're clever enough for all of them; except that cleverness connotes a bit of deviousness, and with that I cannot credit you. Just the smarts, and the impish desire to peek around corners unseen.
To think of you enjoying yourself makes me smile.
Indeed, what I learned about you this weekend, which took place after these words were dated but before they were written, fills my blank pages with less worry and fear and more growth and enjoyment and therefore: More smiles.
Mondays are strange. (I am writing this on a Monday even though it is ostensibly a Friday entry.) There is a staff meeting every Monday at one. It is never a surprise. Yet somehow, Monday is always the day I forget to go get lunch until about twelve forty five. Then I rush down to the cafe, fill a small bowl with the soup du jour, grab a hunk of bread and a soda and dash back up, alight with the vain hope I will be done eating by one o'clock.
Today's "soup": Red beans and rice. Oh, oh yes.
Hot weather. Sunshine. Work, working together. Completion, or near enough.
Clothes are shed. The two of you ...
Rush, no rush. Go. Arrive. Be.
Lights. Music. Costumes. So many friends. Hugs. Drinks. Bursts of flame.
People I love, more than I can count. So much love, happiness, so much touching reality.
The two of you ...
You with me. You alone. You in the arms of some guy. You asking me if I'm all right. You patient, you smiling, you lost, you found.
Holding. Carrying. Eye to eye. Eye to eye.
So much love, happiness, so much touching reality.
We are god.
It seemed awkward, but later conversation showed it was not, really. One took half the bed and slept hard. Other took some of the rest. I asked her to. I wanted to be with her and the couch hadn't any room. I wanted both to be and feel cared for and I felt that was easy enough if we all just slept together.
So I lay on my back between them, no room to maneuver, heat emanating from all directions, unable to sleep, laughing wryly to myself over the absurdity of the situation, and sure I wasn't the only one.
Back in the work-soup, a few days behind ... four days behind on 100words. Well, will get to them later.
Wrestling again with tools issues. These not only wear me out but prevent me effectively catching up on the real design work. I need to have all the remaining design pieces in place within a couple days. This requires another detailed pass on my part followed by detailed review by stakeholders.
No big deal, really. I just see the clock ticking really fast.
Not even this design job really feeds me. It's better than most corporate gigs. But! Not! Creative!
Aerobics day. Leg work. If it's Tuesday it must be bulging? Goddam tiring anyway, and a good thing. I need my ass kicked.
Missed yesterday. Had a schedule conflict, impulsively left gym clothes at home, then skipped the meeting.
But today we squatted and jumped and hopped and frogged and ran in circles and squatted and leapt and this and that left and right back and forth for an hour and my legs were unable to do it all. That's a good thing: Means they're working.
I focused on the fact that at three o'clock Sunday morning I'll be dancing.
As the time draws near I look ahead and damn, New Orleans goes at it! There are shows all night long, quality shows. We have tickets for a 2am show and it ain't the only 2am show in town either. Plus an Italian rock band I really like is playing tonight -- wish I was there already.
With a magical ability to need no sleep.
The natives may have a trick of napping after dinner so they can go out again at midnight but I really can't see taking a nap on a Saturday evening in New Orleans. Will need drugs.
No workout for me today. I worked till midnight last night and I'm still not done. But I have to leave in a few hours, done or not.
Which is why I'm pretty convinced that instead of one long dual vacation, I will take two, with next Tuesday in between 'em.
This design gig requires so much correct detail. I'm good at that, given time. But I blew away a lot of time not engaging with people to grasp those details, and then not organizing them better.
But that's my brain. Focuses okay under deadline. Otherwise, does what it wants.
Friday morning, frenzied packing to get away, rush, rush, got to leave early and make that plane, traveling companion in bathroom ...
Phone call. From G.
Working from home, swamped (I believe it, considering state of real estate market), laptop power brick left at work, wants to know if we have ...
We don't. We design the things, not stock parts. I suggested a quick run to Best Buy.
She'd had her surgery, results less than perfect, more to do, in lots of pain. Sounded depressed.
Signing off, she called me "honey".
That's a bad sign. Definitely will not be initiating contact.
New Orleans architecture. Unselfconscious mixtures of old and new. Old to me anyway, since I live in one of the newest parts of the world. Those old piles from the 1830s with their elegance and their post-hurricane rot draw my eye like almost nothing else can. Almost. My companion beats them for that. And then we were at Jazz Fest and digging on some kick-ass music all afternoon, and dozing in the heat for having had only four hours' sleep.
No more of that. Visited my brother. By 2am were at HoB. Sunrise on the levee.
Sunrise on the levee after a night of rockin' out. Found a bar before its 6am closing time for bloody marys. Walked through the Vieux Carre, quiet but for the trashmen and the late partiers. Stumbled into Buffa's for eggs and grits and coffee, oh yes coffee. Took a three-hour nap in the cool morning air, then ...
Up to greet the day! More bloody marys at the French Market. Shopping in the Quarter. Jazz Fest again. Closed it down with zydeco accordion stars. Rock band outside, ad hoc street party, danced danced danced. Frenchmen Street, partied more till 2am.
Up at 4am for a 5am taxi. In hindsight that was a bit early but I had considered other factors when scheduling. Easy trip home, just one stop (Vegas), flew right over Hoover Dam, home early enough to spend some good quality time together decompressing.
Took 327 pictures over the weekend, many of them evocative at best since my little pocket camera with its worn edges and knocks and scratches and playa dust can't always deal with reality exactly as presented. Sufficient though to spark memory and illustrate some great writing should any ever emerge but augh, there's no time!
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