Prince of Why

I would have guessed that tonight would have been about making amends. And maybe in some part it was … but that was a side effect to what it was about. To me, anyway.

I had drinks with someone tonight who, we discussed, I can’t really put a word to what our relationship had been. Not an ex, really. But not an old friend. Not simply “someone I used to know.” Not really just someone who was but no longer is …

Tonight I met with someone who was once the most important thing going on in my life. 

Tonight I met with someone who, I can assure you, I wronged.

I have to first say that every single trope was annoyingly true. For instance, she smelled just like I remembered. And she smiled just like I remembered. And she laughed just like I remembered. And she misplaced her adoration for me just like I remembered.

Or maybe not that last bit. I think one of the lessons I am still learning is to trust that other people can think some good things about me without an ulterior motive. Without it being a selfish or delusional thing. Sometimes people just like you, and they’re not wrong.

Yeah, still working on that one. Working on grace.

My hope is to not diminish things with my words, which are oft self-serving and inadequately focused. So I’m only going to say this:

I’m deliberately evasive sometimes. Its not a power-play or attempt to raise my social stock. As much as that, apparently, is a perspective on it. Its not about trying to make anyone think or feel anything at all.

Sometimes I don’t want to be around the world.

But sometimes, I guess, the world really misses me when I do this.

I’m not a very good person, I think. I have hurt others and, whether knowing and deliberate or just the effect of trying hard to protect myself and make decisions I can live with, in the end the effect is too strong for me to deal with. As if I am not fairly living my life, because I shouldn’t hurt anyone in the process.

Sometimes people get hurt.

And I’m relentless in my self-loathing on this topic. I’m embarrassed, and mortified, and such a predator because I know that people get hurt, and yet I willingly enter into friendships and relationships with other humans, knowing that there’s a chance my selfish actions are going to hurt them and scar them and ruin them, and that in the end, their time with me will have been a waste, because all they are left with are ashes and salt.

And that’s bullshit. I know that now. Because no one is ruined, and because people are resilient.

I can’t tell you what its like to feel forgiveness for my sins. Because that’s not what I feel right now.

What I feel is that I misinterpreted and misplaced a lot of supposed negativity. And it nearly cost me the friendship of one of those rare people who gets you, your jokes, your humor, your attempts at lightening the mood, your awkwardness, your embarrassment, your sincerity and your affection.

And it wasn’t the wrongs done that nearly cost me that relationship.

It was my fear. My running away. My trying hard to protect myself. My cowardice. My sense of self-preservation.

We hurt each other often. Sometimes it’s deliberate and knowing. Sometimes it’s an accidental side effect of the messy wort of emotional life. An off taste. An unintended consequence.

But when no one is saying a word about it, perhaps you’ve only been punishing yourself for all those years. Perhaps between the awful things you did and the unexpected admiration … perhaps you actually did do something in your interaction deserving of affection.

Perhaps the good in you was actually seen and understood, even if not expressed.

Perhaps the good in you outweighed the bad.

Perhaps someone, somewhere, actually got you.

Gets you.

Perhaps.

Anyway, it was a good night. And it was a good reason to start blogging again.

And aside from this, or perhaps because of it … please hit me up. Tell me you read this. Tell me you heard this. Tell me you forgive me or never felt the need to forgive me despite my knowing I wronged you.

Or perhaps just say hello, how have you been, we should get a drink.

Because I can promise you, I know I did you wrong. Whoever you are. And I probably still haven’t forgiven myself. But I’m learning how.

I’m in a very familiar place right now. For some very different reasons.

I realized sometime a little over a month ago that I’m not equipped to deal with the world at the moment. Much hermitage has commenced, with a special focus on getting back to being alone, yoga-therapy, and cutting out the bad things. Trouble seems to beget trouble in my life right now, and even while hiding away from the water’s edge, I seem to have backed up a graveled bank; even my mere existence seems capable of causing ripples and splashes.

You know that thing where you haven’t seen me recently? No one has.

When I lived in Baltimore, I used gaming as a way to connect with people. Whether WoW or Call of Duty, old friends or new strangers, it seemed like the only way I could actually connect was through the limited, untouchable means of the electronic. In an internet sphere, I am witty and charming, at times even attractive. And minus the occasional “Someone Is Wrong On the Internet!” rage, I am mostly in control of the persona. Its easy to make people like you when you feed them only and exactly what they want. … Mostly cat pictures, for the record.

Since moving here, I’ve tried hard to connect with actual real people. At times I’ve felt successful, even proud, as if some new Me was emerging, same as the old Me but somehow better.

Then shit got bad again. For a lot of reasons. All of them different than the ones from before. And I ran and hid.

This is not an apology, necessarily. Although I am sad that when some of you have reached out to me in recent weeks, I have not been able to truly express my gratitude for being there. But unlike Old Me, New Me doesn’t wish to lose control. And perhaps this is a reflection of how terrible and shallow a person New Me actually is – I don’t wish to show anyone what’s going on. I don’t want to share with anyone. I don’t want anyone to see this version of me.

I’m hiding because it is my right. Whatever is going on in my life is mine to disclose or not.

I see you admiring my new shell. You can have one too, for a tragic, scarring cost.

Anyway, life is back to mostly exactly where it was a year ago. There’s a lot of time alone, a lot of yoga, and a lot of music on big nerdy headphones while walking around DC.

I’m not even sure why I am writing this, as it mostly says exactly nothing other than “I’m fine. Don’t worry. See you sometime soon.” I guess I just feel guilty not explaining the sudden radio silence. Hence this cryptic non-explanation.

Then again, maybe no one really noticed anyway.

Well if you did – I’m fine. Don’t worry. See you sometime soon.

Whatever music is to me. Whatever it is intended to mean. There’s this thing.

Sometimes a song comes on. I’m walking to the metro, let’s say. And it comes up. Sometimes it is a contrivance. Sometimes it is a randomization of things I like. But there it is. And all I want to do is dance.

Understand this: dancing comes in at least two forms. One is the club-style, dance party flow of limbs to a rhythm, a flailing of parts to a beat, or sometimes NOT to a beat, and it doesn’t matter at all as your moves become a part of the thick air about you, and then a part of the mass of flailing bodies in your proximity, and then an undulating section of the entirety of the room, everyone poorly moving and swaying, so heartfelt, to the beat of the song, like some giant supple organ pulsating in a random room.

I wish I had learned to dance the other dance. The expressive dance. The beat-matched, collapsing, smothering, emotive dance. Sometimes a song comes on, and I just want to fall to the beat.

But I can’t. Much like the things that happen in everyday life, I am ill-prepared and untrained to handle the overwhelming desire of the thing.

So I can’t dance the way I want to dance. No big deal.

It’s really about Synechdoche, New York.

Did I ever tell you about Maddy? I wrote a vignette  once, about a zombie who lived behind the furnace in my basement. Despite her overwhelming desire to devour my flesh and, whatever her resolve, to turn me into the undead, we actually fell in love. Things were complicated by her ex-boyfriend, a werewolf with keys to the basement entrance to the house. But on the whole, we were happy in our existence … two beings, so raptly hungry for one another, for every bit of each other’s being. She was the best girlfriend I ever imagined.

Did I ever tell you about Maddy? She was an undead rogue. She fumbled through 60 levels, achieving success through sheer “showing uptitude” and the occasional blue drop. She had some funny mannerisms, and emoted high-fiving before high-fiving was actually added as an emote. She connected, and on some level she got it, and by the time she retired for the first time, she was on top of her game – once called “one of the best rogues on the server.” She was the best avatar I ever controlled.

Did I ever tell you about Maddy? Sometimes, with the headset on, we’d talk while we conquered the Firelord of the Molten Core. Lex was there. And Nyella. And Riki. And Maddy. Despite the gender difference, I never had an issue responding to the name – that was my toon, that was my persona, that was me. Later on, I might be on an alt – Maddrithal or Maddrock or Maddisen … but I was always Maddy. She was the best handle I ever procured.

Did I ever tell you about Maddy? We went to a far-away shelter to meet a cairn terrier. I grew up with cairns, and I wanted one so badly … as if any dog would ever capture the magic of Mac. So we met a little rascal, and we loved him. We put in our papers. The shelter worker was all business. “You’ll be fifth on the list for him,” she told us. “Fifth? Do we really stand any chance of adopting him?!” “Well, to be honest, between families not having the right conditions to adopt him, and other situations, you might stand a good chance!” “What other kind of situations?” we asked. “Well, many people get put on the waiting list and get discouraged, so they go to the city shelter and find a dog they can adopt that very day, so they don’t want the wait-listed dog anymore!” “That’s horrible! These things take time and you need to be sure the home is right for the dog!” is what we said.

And then we headed straight to the city shelter.

We split up. I came upon a small Boston Terrier who had just been neutered. He sat in his enclosure, bleeding, laying still with his head up, whimpering. A pool of red was forming below him. I went for help. When the attendant came by, she was not concerned. She said this was normal. I wanted to cry. So helpless.

Shmi waved to me to come down the corridor to another enclosure.

I saw her for the first time at the back end of the enclosure. She was clearly timid. Her eyes! …

She approached the fence, rubbed up against it. I reached in and pet the fur and skin pressed up against the cage. Her tail was a pom pom. She cheered immediately.

When they brought her outside the shelter to meet us, she did not hesitate. She approached immediately, anxious for more physical contact, for more approval. For love. And she received it.

As we signed the papers, as she paced anxiously on her thin tether while I signed and paid, the shelter-worker told us how sad she would be to see this dog go. What a wonderful dog this was. And what would we call her?! She suggested something very foresty, like Hunter! Or Scout!

I turned to Shmi. “Do you think we could call her Maddy?”

She was the best dog I ever knew.

***

Everything is an approximation of something else. None of it is original or inspired.

And yet every single bit of it is unique, and perfect, and separate, and itself.

Did I ever tell you how much I miss Maddy?

I wish I knew how to dance.

The block on my writing here stems from a courtesy, of sorts. Don’t get me wrong … so much of the enjoyable content on this blog has been commentary on the idiocy of life and people, or an unrestrained passion for such simplistic things that stink of the mundane (with an edge of believing that nothing is mundane, everything is extraordinary). But when I look back at which posts get the most hits … well, I have commented on it before. People love a good personal torment, a drama full of details and heartache and pain, and somewhere in the mix a redemption tale of my own crafting.

It isn’t actually about redemption. That’s the selfish part. Its so much worse than that.

Its really about a book. At least at the moment it is. I finally finished “The Once and Future King” tonight. And for the first time in a long while, a book made me cry. Here’s why:

I truly believe we’re all trying to do the noble, righteous thing. I truly believe I’ve known nary a malicious or evil person in my life. The tides of fate don’t actually create people intent on harming others … not without reason. And those exceptions strike so rarely as to make themselves noteworthy. Of the people in my life, I can’t think of a one who has been noteworthy in a harmful regard and sustained any form of existing in my life for more than a moment. You all know this, right? Somewhere between my insecurities and my sense of the bigger picture, I sit in a place of believing myself to be the luckiest person alive. Even at its worst … no, especially at its worst, life has granted me the opportunity to know some of the greatest, kindest, smartest, funniest, most clever, most compassionate, most loving people that might be alive today. I don’t say that by way of hyperbole – those who have spent any amount of time with me know the sincerity to which I truly believe myself outrageously lucky to know you all. If you’re reading this at all, if you’ve been granted the access to knowing this exists at all … well, you’re one of those people.

I get sidetracked so easily.

Back to the major point: “The Once and Future King.” We’re not so noble as we try to be. We are creatures driven by our passions, our loves as much as our hates. We strive for some unobtainable, undefined, indescribable perfection in life. We make our decisions based on our passions as much as our logic. The weight we give these things is perfection in the moment, and occasionally complete disaster in the outcome. We don’t intend to hurt, only to strive to do the thing that will make us feel right, to feel righteous. And sometimes, the consequence of such actions is the downfall of Camelot. Sometimes everything we aim towards some kind of personal good only ends up destroying the foundation of the community and life we’d otherwise built ourselves around. Only its worse! The consequence is not just the loss of that thing for us, but the loss of that idea for everyone else. Sometimes you can’t realize how profound the punishments will be for the choices that feel so right in the moment.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I won’t be talking about it anymore.

Here’s the way you can discuss it if you ever feel the need: Everyone is fallible. Life is significantly more complicated than we plan it to be. Everyone ends up okay in the end. Everything else is private.

Tonight I cleaned my apartment, hung out with Kir, played some video games, and worked on, planned for  or confirmed the following plans: Monster Jamz (the monster truck show, not the awesome 80s rock mix), impending cases for work, impending Sith Flash Points, Veal Pistache for my birthday, homebrew meeting, yoga classes, crochet lessons, indulging in more music, trying to figure out when I am meeting Arlo, spending more time with my “nieces” and “nephews” (Emmett, Audrey, Arlo and James, Sara, Ella and Harley), preparing for inevitable bungee jumping (which I hope is not a surprise incident), figuring out which will be my next tattoo (Triforce or Rebel Alliance emblem), and over-indulging in things Beardsy has given me to enrich my life (“The Once and Future King, LCD Soundsystem).

In addition, I’m continuing down the path of making new friends (at least 4 new lesbians and a gay man in the last 72 hour), working on strengthening the friendships I established in the last year (Micah, Menendezteinenfeld and Knate will be getting the big push in the next few weeks), spending more time with the family, continuing to strengthen the inexplicable long-term friendships I have (T&K, Emmett’s parents, Cynji, Drestin, XYT to name a few), and in general keeping up with that whole mantra of “keep saying yes.”

That sentence really got away from me.

The point I’ve been trying to make is that my fear has dissolved. I think the end result is that this is who I am now. Its not just an affectation to get through or over something.

Given everything that was, I am in the best best possible place I could hope to be.

With ides come passing idle times; and new horizons are imagined, both contrived and natural. Somewhere after it all, the new dawn springs.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

No, this year I celebrated Xmas in ways that truly reminded me of my impending 32nd birthday.  But on the whole, I would say the entirety of the holidays this year shall be marked down as one of my favorites.

The highlights:

• Kir’s first Xmas tree and lights.
• Participation in the Santa Deception for my nieces, followed (the next morning) by hours and hours of unfastening toys from the GD police zip ties that strangle Bullseye to his cardboard backing.
• Presents! Including, and actually limited to, the following: SWTOR, Flight to Arizona (paid for finally), Parking Tickets (paid for finally), new work clothes, a sugar bowl and an iron, a print that no one seems to like but me, dinner at Little Serow and lunch at District Commons.
• And presents for Kir, including her new Hex Bug which has been a HUGE hit!
• Island of Misfit Toys Doctor Who Xmas Special Party!
• A metric shit-ton of (re)watching Doctor Who
• Visits over the course of the week to/with/from The Mole (and Mrs. Mole), the Dutchies, The Beardsies (and Mrs. Beardsy with her new single about to drop!), the Others, Emmett’s Mom and Dad, and an entire extended weekend of XYT.
• Medieval New Years where everyone was sparkly beautiful (especially the tin-foil helmet) and Nik’s pirate shirt was the hit of the evening.
• First RPing of the new year, including the introduction of Maria Na to the process and the inception and subsequent elimination of Gryphon Schmeltz. All this despite a lack of vampire trees.

I will have more to say on a lot of these things, especially if I can get off my butt and complete my “year in review” post wherein many of you are quoted and/or thanked and I put a final spit-shine on what can easily be called “The Most Unexpected Year of My Life (Thus Far).”

But I will say this – for those I saw over the holidays as well as for those I did not: Thank you all for making me feel like I was a part of your lives.

If my neighbors ever look into my windows, here’s what they probably observe:

• Subject spends a lot of time admiring himself in mirror. Ill-spent or at least ill-advised time.
• Despite attempts at “feeling it,” has no discernible rhythm.
• Sings excessively. Either to self or to indifferent cat.
• Loves “Naked Night.” Not a real celebration. Not a party if alone.
• In love with own semi-emergent triceps.
• Not as good a singer as subject believes himself to be. Needs more “Jesse’s Girl” and a cappella backup.
• Slaps belly repeatedly. Possibly an attempted mating ritual. Perplexed by solitary status.