Silence

I haven't slept well in this place for weeks. It's gotten to the point where I just stay up until I pass out for a few hours, which is long enough to get me through another day followed by another night just like this. I'm tired -- every hour of every day. The world seems... muted, lately. Like I'm constantly walking in a haze. Is this depression or just extended sleep deprivation?

Finally got a new apartment lined up -- excited as I can be about it. It's exactly what I need; What I've wanted since day one of living here. Remaining for as long as I have has changed me, and mostly for the worst. I can't count how many ads I responded to, how many times I wanted to pack what I could and just LEAVE and get the rest of it later. I've fantasized endlessly about how great and freeing and healthy it's going to be to get out of here. Yet for some reason my chest hurts when I think about the fact that in a matter of days, I will no longer call this little apartment on the lake my home. It's like Stockholm Syndrome; As if I like that I'm trapped here, physically and emotionally. I've become comfortable and oddly content with being miserable. I hate to admit it, but I think I'm scared of the closure moving out will give me... very odd feeling, considering how desperately I want this all to be over. I'm going to miss so many things, and I can't figure out why.

Listening to the wind chimes through the sliding door.

Laying on this couch.

Sleeping on my worn-out futon that I've had since high school.

Sitting on the balcony with my eyes closed, just listening to the world breathe.

The echoed peals of gunfire from the range across the street.

That weird "plink" noise the sink makes.

Beer, bud, pizza, and Netflix with Cat.

Cat... despite everything that's happened, I'm going to miss her. I know that sentiment isn't exactly mutual. She stopped missing me in November. Since then I've been... ugh. No. I'm not ranting about this shit again. I'm so... fucking... tired... of talking about her, but everything on my mind, everything in this place, this place itself -- literally all of it, reminds me of her. Of us. Of... god dammit. This is ridiculous! She's in love with someone else; Probably was the whole time, even if she wasn't aware of it. Knowing that, why can't I let go? This is bullshit! Our relationship, as genuine as the feelings were, was a star-crossed FARCE from square one. Wasn't it?

Am I seriously trying to protect myself by downplaying the relationship?

If so, why did I just spend 4 hours on this painting for her?

When did I start flip-flopping so much?

Have I really become that guy?

What the fuck happened to me?

This needs to stop. I won't let this drag me down any further. I'm moving out on the 30th, cleansing this place of my presence the 1st, and then it's over.

PS -- I might be meeting her mom and stepdad on the 2nd. I'm not sure if I'd have been more nervous as the boyfriend, or if I'm more nervous now as the ex.

This fucking blows.

Writers Block

So I'm going to quote something.

"I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all. No... not the artful postures of love, not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that... overthrows life. Unbiddable, ungovernable - like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture. Love - like there has never been in a play."

This. I want this -- and I WILL have it all. Not now... not for a while. In time, however, it will all be mine.

Watch me.

Holidaze

Ah... so here I am, exhausted after a long and intense dinner shift. Sitting in a hotel room hide-a-bed with my dad snoring like a chainsaw in the adjacent room. As I relax with a glass of my mother's 2008 Primitivo Port, I can't help but look back on the wild ride that was 2010. Come with me, won't you?

2010: A Year in Review

EDIT -- I wrote this huge thing, and it was 75% about my ex. I realize that I've been using this blog primarily to vent about Cat. It's not intentional, it's just what's been on my mind lately. I didn't start this thing to whine, and it's certainly not the reason I'm going to continue using it. The ordeal of our relationship, in its entirety, has had more of an effect on me than I could have ever imagined -- but it's time to stop being wistful and nostalgic. She, and we, are done. Prrrobably permanently. I fucked up major, and while she's been a saint about it I know that I've worn out my welcome in her life, at least for now. I don't know the future holds, but at the moment I can't see anything beyond the most rudimentary of friendships between us. It's truly creepy to me, how perfectly she mirrors how I was at 21. I couldn't see it at first, and it's made a lot of things make a LOT of sense.

On THAT note, I'm moving on. In a week, that chapter of my life will be closed. Where things go from there? Only time will tell. The 2010 Review will have to wait until I can be a little more objective.

Til then? Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

A Hotel Room Christmas

So with how often I work at Cheesecake, my parents are in San Francisco for the next few days to celebrate the holidays. We're staying at this pretty nice hotel downtown, and my mom has basically moved a car full of decorations and accouterments from home and has been cheerfully decorating this room for the last 40 minutes.

I don't mean like, a few things -- she brought candles, all these old decorations from when I was a kid, her coffee machine, really nice plates/glasses/silverware, the champagne flutes I got her last year, her iPod dock... even the stockings that, I kid you not, we have used since I was 5. It makes me happy that she went to all the trouble, just to make it feel like home. This could seriously not have come at a better time. The last few months have left me utterly worn out, physically and emotionally. It's nice to have that feeling of "home" again; I haven't had that since shortly after I left the Balboa apartment.

Anyway, gotta go. Wine and cheese calls, then a dinner shift. Happy holidays, everyone!

Its nights like this

When I realize I was nothing truly special; I was just another casualty. Another bit of collateral damage from a neverending crusade.

Yet I still hold a candle, for reasons only a God I've always refused to accept could know why.

Ask Yourself

In the face of an ever growing hardship, we are all capable of crafting an escape through which we may isolate ourselves from the pain, loss, and consequences we would otherwise carry with us on a daily basis. However, this makes acknowledging the former reality an impossibility because to do so would accompany the realization of the pain in that reality, negating the escapism that the mind worked so hard to create; which prompts the question...

Are you escaping right now?

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be capable of completely uprooting my life. I mean selling 90% of my possessions, quitting my job, bidding everyone a fond farewell and moving to a new city or even new country -- and never looking back. Not because I'm unhappy where I am or who I have in my life, but just for the adventure. The sheer thrill of having NO idea what's around the corner. To figure out who I am and just what I want out of the world. I've become so bogged down in planning finances, living situations, over-analyzing relationships... I wonder if throwing myself into that kind of world would help me let shit go.

I've always been a little jealous of people capable of that kind of thing.

...maybe I should consider it.

On Learning Shit

It's one of those nights.

It's fair to say that every life experience carries with it something to be learned. Sometimes those lessons take a few repeats to really sink in. I've spent most of my time over the last few months brooding. Not introspective analysis, not thinking in rational terms, not evaluating why I am where I am right now. Brooding. Letting my knee-jerk emotional reactions fester away at my normally sound logic until I've completely lost touch with who I am.

I'm fucking sick of it.

I need to stop scrutinizing things that have been laid to rest, and just walk away.

I need to stop torturing myself with curiosities and memories.

I need to stop acting like it's any of my business anymore.

I need to stop feeling for a minute and start thinking.

I need to stop being such a martyr about all of this.

I need to stop trying to change overnight.

I need to stop wanting it and her back.

I need to stop wasting my time.

I need to stop trying.

I need to stop.

Because life is TOO. FUCKING. SHORT.

Back Again

I remember way back in the day I had a LiveJournal. I filled that thing to the fucking rafters with everything in my life. It gave me such release, just to talk and bear my emotions with the vast nothingness of the internet.

...why did I ever stop doing that!?

An open letter to my ex

So here I am again, brokenhearted. Once again, I've turned into saran wrap and clinged my way into oblivion with you. Why do I do this? Every time I've fallen in love and broken up, I completely lose my shit. I stop being the confident, witty guy that women love -- I instead revert into this gelatinous goop of denial and emotions. I give people advice on things like this all the goddamn time, and I am GOOD at it. Yet I can never seem to apply my own methods to my own situations. What do I tell someone who's been broken up with?

No matter what you want to have happen... whether you want to be friends with them, get them back, or get back at them... just BE HAPPY. Move on with your life and make it clear that you don't need them, just as clearly as they've made it to you.

I need to take this as a learning experience, and be thankful for the good times we had and not besmirch them by constantly reminding myself and you of just why we broke up. I KNOW why. I lost all my edge. I'm not the same person you fell in love with. I stopped being the confident, witty, sexy guy you first fell for. I turned into a tongue-tied, overdramatic, whiny little boy. You don't deserve that, and I don't deserve you anymore. I made my mistakes, but so did you. You were a standoffish, cold bitch to me more than a few times, and I had done nothing to deserve it.

But what did I do? Did I once stand up for myself? Nope. I just rolled over and took it. Every -- fucking -- time. Until I finally exploded and did something way more rash than needed to express it all. It's no secret that I had you on a pedestal; I'm just wondering why I started building it higher when you finally ended it.

Our relationship was far from perfect. While we were happy for a time, it all just wore thin. I got sick of feeling neglected, and dealt with it in the worst possible way. I should have walked, but the thought of being with you was worth the pain, the apathy, and the nights I spent sitting on the side of the bed cradling my head in my hands wondering where things went so irrevocably wrong.

I should have pulled the trigger months before it ended, but I rode it out until there was nothing left but the few straws I so feebly grasped at. Now I have to deal with the fact that because of how amazingly poorly I handled this thing, you're 110% over me. It's no wonder you found someone to take your mind off things; I was being really fucking irritating, which is the last thing you needed on top of everything else.

Don't get me wrong; I'm always going to love you. You are a beautiful person, in body and soul... but you have your issues to work through, and I have mine. In all honesty I really hope we wind up being friends and while I'd love another shot with you, I know neither are going to happen for a long time. I need to find the guy that you liked hanging out with in the first place.

Part of me hopes you'll never see this.