Friday at night time

I am in a weird mood but in a message I am receiving from the past I am telling myself not worry about anything.  At the same time I am also telling every other person in the world not to worry about anything and to take solace in the fact at least they are not me.  I quite audibly laugh out loud as I tell everyone this.  At that exact moment I also remember the very first time I ever became acquainted with the phrase “lol”: a gal named Christina wrote it in a yearbook of mine after a reflecting on a mutual humorous anecdote.  I had to ask around to figure out what it meant.  A few years later she would sign another one of my yearbooks but never finish the message.  I saw her a further few years later while at a jewelry store (either Fred Meyer Jewelry or Zales, I cannot recall which).  I was pretending to look for an engagement for a fiancee I did not have and she was searching for a gift for her sister.  We spoke for a few minutes and I learned that she was married and working at a fast food restaurant.  We shook hands and parted ways in an amiable fashion.  I have not seen her since this encounter.  However I can remember clearly that before the jewelry store meeting and in between the two yearbook signings thinking that she looked quite good in a denim skirt.  Years later in a completely unrelated set of circumstances I would come to realize that the album Load by Metallica is highly, dare I say criminally, underrated.  Think about that last statement.  I’m essentially saying that anyone who underrates that particular album is committing a criminal act and should be brought to justice accordingly.  I love the English language so much that I frequently find myself wishing it could be turned into a cunning, ruthless person who would savagely murder me for being inadequate on almost every fundamental level.
 

I want pizza but I am not pizza.  I am not delicious or saucy nor do I come in a box though hopefully soon I will be buried in one.  During college I once gave a presentation on Papa John’s Pizza that received a standing ovation.  It was probably the greatest moment of my life.  Amongst the attendees was a charming, beautiful woman with the last name of Gamble.  Despite my yearning I never had the guts to take the gamble of asking her out. 

At some point while driving the other day I had to come to a halt for a stop sign.  There was a large white delivery truck coming from my left whose driver did not have a stop sign.  He was traveling roughly 55 miles an hour.  I considered unbuckling my seatbelt and then slamming on the accelerator in the hopes of interfering with the truck’s trajectory at just the right moment.  I imagined my head slamming against the window with such force that my brain was rocked back and forth inside my skull, banging off the graffiti covered inner walls of my cranium until its lights were permanently dimmed.  I saw my blood splashing across cracked windows and heard the symphony of twisting metal and splintering bones.  What stopped my right foot from slamming down on the gas pedal was the thought of what guilt the oncoming driver would experience due to my selfish decision as well as the uncertainty over whether the impact would be enough for a finishing move.  I think what also may have stopped me was the fact that I still listen to David Bowie’s new album every single day as it is a captivating work of art and I still hold out hope that he may one day tour again.  Plus, I still need to watch Man Of Steel which is less than two weeks away.  I have been waiting over 25 years for that film and though my excitement and anticipation could scarcely be higher there is a grim and insistent part of me that believes it will be a disappointment.  Big Hollywood has not offered much in the way of greatness as of late.  Perhaps I have lost my ability to have hope when it comes to these types of films.  Where have our heroes gone? 

I should clarify again that I do believe it is only a select few trials that should be closed off and there are other ways to alleviate the possible prejudice or dangers.  When there is a clear and present danger to a fair trial, certain actions such as a gag order should be permitted (Tedford, 244).  Though in other cases there are other helpful things to get around any prejudice on the part of the jury.  Changing the date of trial or its location is a good suggestion because it gives people time to forget about the details of the case and to look at things in a more impartial light.  Though I do believe this particular suggestion is still a bit problematic because it is difficult to determine exactly how much time one would need in order to regain their degree of impartiality.  Also, while the practice of using prior restraint on members of the press may be controversial, the use of it on trial participants, such as legal counsel, is more accepted (Tedford, 244).  What I naïve young fool I was.  And what I naïve old fool I have become.  If I ever meet my younger self in a darkened alley I will snuff him out in the hopes of extinguishing my current existence. 

The words “senior ballroom” keeps echoing in my brain.  It is a haunting refrain and I cannot figure out their deeper meaning.  I think this is a place I went to years ago but I am unable to recall why I deemed it impactful.   USA TODAY is my favorite national newspaper but there is no bias here because the November 18, 2008 edition does not feature one of their best front pages. The first thing that caught my eye about the front page of the Spokesman-Review for November was how much white space there was. 

I like to wear my robe around my duplex and pretend that I am Neo from the Matrix. 

Wednesday, brunch time

I have let everyone down.  I woke up this morning with the comforting sound of rain falling outside and this thought repeating in my head.  The morning was a strange mix with my environment and actions hazy but this thought clear and constant.  As I went through the day I had the distinct sensation that I was no longer in control of anything, that my life was simply happening and I was no longer an active participant, just another working part.  The only aspect of my life that seemed real and legitimately connected to me was the never-ending failure.  This was something I could feel in my throat and chest and taste on my tongue.  It was at the bottom of every bottle and the first thing I saw when opening my eyes in the morning.  The rain reminded me of several people and it hurt to think about any of them. 

True to my word I purchased the new Alice In Chains album last night at Best Buy (one of my favorite conglomerates).  Funnily (adverb alert) enough I have a shirt that is very much Best Buy Blue and on one occasion – without thinking – I wore it into the store and was mistaken for a worker several times.  I think I have been mistaken for a retail store worker more than an average amount throughout my life.  The mistake does not bother me save for the discomfort of being noticed.  Indeed, I have worked at more than one retail store in my time and understand the often thankless nature inherent in the work. 

The album itself is called The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here which I find to be a rather provocative title.  It is a searing, molten slab of rock.  A grimy, sludge ridden and altogether compelling musical statement and first impressions suggest that it easily stands up against the best of the band’s output.  The musical combustion was so fierce that upon first listen my face was melted off and my eyeballs liquefied and oozed from their sockets, resulting in a grotesque puddle of skin, blood and puss forming at my feet (which were adorned in well worn wing tip shoes).

Sometimes I remember waking up in the middle of the night and seeing a tiger at the foot of my bed.  I remember not being able to breathe in this moment and feeling suffocated by terror, not simply at this animal but at some as yet indescribable presence that was also in my room and perhaps even closer than the tiger.  I do not know what happens after this and sometimes I am not sure whether this is a memory or something else. 

I also went to hastings (the entertainment superstore) last night.  I had a coupon for $5.00 off any purchase of $20.00 or more and I was determined to use it.  I was specifically looking for a copy of The Joshua Tree by U2.  I already own a copy however someone very dear to me does not.  This dear person is also owed a rather large apology by yours truly and I wanted this trinket to be part of said apology.  The Joshua Tree is an incredibly rich album and though it is not my favorite U2 release (that would go to Achtung Baby) I cannot deny that it is an essential disc.  One Tree Hill is my favorite song from that release and I feel it is actually a bit underrated.  The melody is beautiful and this song is always a must on rainy days. 

Hastings succeeded in having this item but failed in having the Godzilla movie I was looking for (Final Wars) and failed in having a new copy of the movie Narc (gritty cop movie with Ray Liotta).  Instead I purchased two Megadeth albums: Risk and Cryptic Writings.  Despite the fact that there was a new remastered copy of Risk available I actually purchased a used, non-remastered copy.  This action will likely confuse many as those who know me best know that I am a slave to remastered re-releases, especially those chock full of elucidating liner notes and bonus tracks.  However I have read that the remaster for Risk greatly diminishes the “Riskier” parts of that album, namely the eastern instruments, keyboards and synthesizers which were all new for The ‘Deth.  I craved to hear the album in its original and musically exciting state.  It is entirely possible that at some point I will purchase the remaster to compare and contrast.  The woman working at the checkout aisle was very kind and had a soft beauty with just enough contrasting grit to have a truly compelling appearance.  She mistakenly entered the coupon for $10.00 off instead of $5.00 but I did not realize this error until I was home. 

I can remember being on a campus made political debate show during college.  The individual in charge of the show was in the army and one of the most respectable people I would meet in my time.  I can remember his name but not the names of my fellow panelists or moderators.  I do remember at one point we were debating an issue – the exact issue I cannot recall – with myself and another gentleman on the Republican side and two others on the Democrat side.  I had remained silent for much of the debate until I finally stood up and asked why we were talking about this.  I further inquired as to why we were bothering to talk about any of it.  Did our contributions, did our voices actually make a difference?  Whichever way the scale was tipping, would it not go the other way at some point and continue teetering back and forth with no real resolution ever in sight?  Does any of this actually matter?  The other panelists gave me strange looks and I could not discern whether their eyes held confusion, disbelief or something else.  I do not believe I spoke for the remainder of the debate.  I never saw that episode and I do not know if that part was edited out. 

People become angry for reasons I cannot understand over things that do not matter while remaining complacent and silent over things which should provoke screaming.  We line up like animals waiting to be clubbed, skinned, consumed and forgotten.  It has occurred to me that at some point there was a bizarre cultural shift in what is perceived as polite behavior and what is perceived as offensive.  I do not know how to figure any of it out.  I just know I want a hug and that is all I have wanted for a very long time. 

 

Tuesday, mid-morning

I see everything through a haze.  There is a gray veil over my eyes at all times.  Actual verbal communication with my friends makes me feel even worse and I often find myself wishing that everyone would simply leave me alone.  I seem to be developing a strong connection with a fictitious person.  The problems this presents are not lost upon me but I still make daily efforts to strengthen this bond. 

At some point today I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly 30 minutes could by and I figured out how many 30-minute intervals there are in my day and thought perhaps if I measured my day in those terms maybe it would pass me by just as fast. 

Sometime in the past few days I am saying horrible things to someone who does not deserve to hear these words.  I feel immediate regret and this grows after the person has left.  I do not believe there is any hope.  I talk to many people who are unhappy and who continue to make the same type of decisions that will only prolong and increase their misery.  I do not laugh at them.  I do not feel sympathy for them.  I look into one man’s eyes and realize that I cannot imagine him ever being young or hopeful.  I cannot imagine him not being full of despair, bitterness and disappointment.  I also realize that after a good long while of constantly fostering these emotions they stop being aimed one thing or one person in particular and instead become associated with everything. 

I watched The Iceman over the holiday weekend.  I drove to the movie theatre still in my suit and tie and purchased a ticket for the 7:30 showing.  When the gentleman running the register asked if I wanted I receipt I replied with “yes please.”  I considered buying Dots or a drink but ultimately decided against this since I was already a couple minutes late and did not want to miss the previews.  As expected, there were not many people seeing the same movie and I took an aisle seat somewhere in the middle of the small theatre.  There was a smell I did not like in the air and it took me a few minutes to realize that it was popcorn.  Michael Shannon gave another great performance and nearly melted the film stock with his searing intensity.  Chris Evans was an unexpected and twisted delight as a fellow hitman and Winona Ryder and Ray Liotta turned in reliably nuanced performances.  I felt the film could have stood to be a bit longer and there were occasional pacing issues but overall it was a highly pleasing movie and one I plan to purchase once it is available on blu-ray.  Leaving the theatre I kept repeating a line from Batman & Robin that George Clooney said to Chris O’Donnell: “You get the ice, I’ll get the iceman”.  He was making reference to Mr. Freeze and a rather massive diamond the frosty criminal was trying to steal.

 My mind was racing and screaming a thousand things at me every second last night.  I started reading chapters of the Bible and then Rendezvous With Rama to calm it down.  I laid on my couch and put a pillow over my head to block out all the light and I did feel sleepy for a moment.  Sleep is a strange thing in that it feels so wonderful but no matter long it lasts, it is always too short. 

The new Alice in Chains album comes out today.  I will be making the purchase after work though I’m not sure if this exchange of money for goods will take place before or after I drink a few pints of alcohol.  Next week if I am still alive I will buy the new Megadeth album and possibly the new Queens of the Stone Age album.  I hope I am still alive because the week after next Man of Steel finally hits theatres nationwide.  I have already purchased my tickets for the first showing at 7:00 PM on June 13 and it would be unfortunate if all the waiting, anticipation and subsequent expenditure on advance tickets had all been for naught. 

I recall at one point I was in Pullman and covering a city council meeting for my broadcasting class along with some peers.  In the middle of the meeting a fellow student whose name I cannot recall – though he was tall with blonde stringy hair and a bad goatee – showed up roughly 25 minutes late.  He fumbled with the door nearest the council members (as opposed to the back entrance we had all used) for a minute or so before finally getting it open where he then proceeded to walk right through the room to where we were sitting.  Along the way he passed directly in front of the projector one of the council members was using for a PowerPoint presentation on funding for public schools.  She paused her presentation and looked incredulous and he walked by.  This was made all the more comical by the fact that he was wearing a tan private-eye style trench coat and was soaking wet due the rain storm going on outside.  I bit down on my pen to keep from laughing while a few of those around me employed their own methods to stifle this natural response.  Upon leaving this place I saw a beautiful reporter for the Moscow Pullman Daily News.  She smiled at me and I at her.  I would later go on to learn her name and we would have several conversations together.  I believe I saw her on 3 separate occasions after that night.   

I remember I started watching One Night With the King and then decided to watch Star Trek III: The Search for Spock instead though I made a mental note to return to the former at some point. 

Every time I wake up in the morning my first immediate thought is always: God, I just want to go back to sleep.  This desire grows stronger throughout the day but my wish cannot be fulfilled until I return home.  Someone tells me I am a good person but I know this is not true.  Nyquil and/or wine makes one feel quite relaxed and I heartily recommend these beverages to anyone who is having difficulty sleeping.  With the right kind of background music anything can be frightening.  I recall seeing leaves falling off a tree set against a grey sky and feeling absolutely terrified. 

Sometime on Sunday

Today felt a bit different from previous days.  At some point during the week there came a moment when I was speaking with someone and they were asking me work related questions while also attempting to have a genuine conversation and I found myself unable to respond. 

I teared up today while thinking about the final scene of the movie Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and I teared up even more while listening to the songs “Cabecita Loca” and “Los Aviones No Pueden Volar” by Amaral.  When I heard the harmonica, the sonically lush guitars and then Eva’s voice I was able to imagine a world that was born from this music, a place I could inhabit where the tactile senses met the aural and I would be able to feel her voice press up against my body.  Truth be told for roughly the first five hours of the day I was holding back hot tears.  My life is long stretches of misery punctuated by moments of unbelievable horror. 

The full length trailer for the movie Riddick was released on the net of inter this week and I watched it no less than two hundred and fifty-seven times on my iphone 4 while at a strange apartment complex that I do not call home.  I recall seeing Pitch Black nearly a millennia ago when it first graced the big screen and I remember loving every millisecond of the film as it was a stylish and fresh sci-fi romp.  I eagerly awaited the sequel – The Chronicles of Riddick – with so much anticipation that I nearly chewed off my own tongue at the sheer intensity of the emotion.  However Chronicles turned out to be a movie so horrible that it still haunts my every grim waking moment while waiting even stronger for me in my gory and violently sexualized nightmares.   In one of the increasingly rare instances where the public at large dares to agree with one of my always controversial opinions the movie pulled disappointing numbers at the office of box and plans to continue film series were put on hold. 

Still, I must commend the dark hearts of Mr. Diesel and the director whose name I am disrespectfully forgetting right now because they never gave up the belief in this character slash mythology and its potential for future movies and now we have this third chapter coming in the merry month of September.  Savvy folk (and me) know that September is something of a dumping ground for movies – though not quite as notorious as January – but that does not immediately concern me because every once in a while comes a September movie that stirs my and soul and sole with a potent mix of gore, violence and tight scripting.  Machete fulfilled this a few years ago and Dredd made my testicles dissolve and ooze out of my rent trousers with its sheer awesomeness (Dredd is one of my new favorite movies and I typically watch it on a nightly basis while eating roughly 5 bowls of frosted flaked with chopped up bananas and strawberries.  What is so neat is that Karl Urban – who was amazing as Judge Dredd – is also in these Riddick movies). 

I am feeling so close to her now at certain moments and it is a wonderful thing.  And then when I do something that pushes me away from her the energy that swirls around in my head is much grimmer than it otherwise would be.  New darkness coming from new light and new pain resulting from new pleasure is a scary and somehow amazing concept. 

I was driving around Yakima (the Palm Springs of Washington) the other day and was struck by the consistency of beggars.  On the corner of every major intersection – sometimes facing one another – was a seemingly homeless man with a long beard, cardboard sign hanging over his chest and a mug or baseball cap held out in his hand.  As cars stopped for red lights or slowed to turn he/they would politely ask for money.  I was in the inside lane and unable to reach my hand out that far.  As I drove around Yakima I happened upon some neighborhoods and streets which were quite lovely.  Despite what I frequently hear about the levels of violence and crime within that city I am quite convinced that I could be happy there, at least for a while.  And anyway, don’t we all on some level want to live in a crime ridden area?  I drove through these areas with my windows rolled down and I was listening to the most recent Iron Maiden (live, not studio) album.  I was feeling very good for about four minutes and saw a blue sky, thoroughly modern apartments and green trees swaying in the wind.  For the following two minutes I had to almost stop driving completely as an image flashed through my brain of the sky turning red and black and the trees and buildings catching fire.   There was white noise all around and I too was burning in this image, my skin boiling and popping, my hair bursting into flames and my face smoldering and melting off.  Still, through all this I was somehow able to continue screaming and screaming but no one ever came to save anything.

I met an absolutely beautiful woman somewhere in Yakima that day.  She was wearing a gold necklace and a gold bracelet and I complimented her on these even though I really wanted to compliment her on her hair.  It was black and mostly pulled back with some hanging down the right side of her face and it was somehow messy and orderly at the same time.  At one point – though I’m not sure if it was the same day or a previous day, maybe even a day afterward – she called me “mijo” and I imagined the oceans and stars contained in her eyes and the universes she must hold in the palms of her gentle hands.   

I love all the hatred Kim Kardashian has been receiving for being pregnant.  Maybe I should choose a random, non-famous woman who is pregnant and decide to hate her for no reason.  It shouldn’t be too hard given how often people fuck around and make babies “by accident” because they are so intent on getting off and have no actual ambition or means of supporting themselves.  What stupid things we are.  In my mind I’m telling someone that they are not nearly as attractive as before.  How is it possible that none of us has any self-control anymore?  There is a river outside of my room and I can see it from the balcony.  It makes me think of another river. 

Monday Night

God was a beautiful woman in a dream I had last night.  I woke up several times throughout the night, I have not been sleeping particularly well lately and wake up anywhere between 3 to 11 times on average.  Last night was especially dire and was mixed with strong feelings of fear, desperation and self-destructive desires.  I recall staring up at the ceiling and then at (but not out) the window and then at the wall in front of my bed.  I wondered if there was someone else in my room with me.  The air conditioner was loud and making a strange rattling noise, possibly broken somewhere.  The album Amarantine by Enya was on repeat and coming out of my computer speakers at volume 9 out of 100.  I felt like crying and screaming but for some reason could do neither.  The older man who lives below me – usually noisy – was silent and this also frightened me.  I pulled a pillow over my head and tried to imagine I was somewhere else, somewhere familiar with water crashing against waves and the sky painted always in a sunset.  Yet I continued to be pulled back and my stomach tied itself in knots and my palms began to sweat just as my mouth grew dry.  I think I said someone’s name but I cannot remember who (though I have several guesses). 

Perhaps I was taken out of my room at some point and made to dance naked in a room of blinding white light where large black eyes stared at me.  Certainly, I was screaming at that point and trying to close my own eyes but being denied this simplest of comforts.  Voices in my head asked how they could calm me down and all I could think of was Marina.  Thousands of images were flashing through my mind all at once: my hands being impaled on jagged splinters of wood, the color blue swirling into a red hole, my first kiss with a woman I met who was selling fruit on the sidewalk, something being placed in my eye and I can see it inside my head, a man with slicked back hair and long teeth telling me his name though I don’t hear it because I’m only staring at his red eyes and the protrusions coming out of his back, there are people screaming their hatred of me and wishing me dead and stabbing me and I’m falling – first down and then up – and there are deer and white owls wherever I go and a tiger at the foot of my bed and they all stare at me and they all laugh while I panic and my reality is irreparably fractured….and I still tell them to show me Marina and for one second – maybe two – I can see her and the shrieking horror in my brain subsides just slightly and then she’s gone and I’m back in the white room and I can’t speak or think and any semblance of the old me is being stripped away and my voice rises higher as my vocal chords tear at the strain.

At once I slip from this reality and I’m in a dream and I am asking for forgiveness and strength even though I know that I deserve neither.  There is music from Meredith Andrews playing around 5 hours in the past and I can almost hear it.  It is comforting music and I will listen to it on the way to work in the morning. 

She looks familiar – she looks like several women I have known.  I remember seeing her once in a sterile office environment where she was willing and happy to walk amongst us.  Her hair coal black and her hands gentle and welcoming.  I saw her again in a park on a sunny day and she was cradling a baby in her arms.  I questioned repeatedly where she was at the point of my birth, knowing she was there in the room and wondering if I had been able to see her or reach out and touch her.  And I wondered where she will be at the scene of my death and if she will welcome me into those arms.  I see her again and I’m meeting her by accident for the first time like I’ve done a thousand times before and I apologize for my clumsiness but she smiles and tells me it’s okay and I believe her.  Much later on when my words fail me and my actions prove meaningless I reach out my hand, not feeling worthy, and she hugs me instead.  I close my eyes and try to make that one moment stretch into an eternity. 

And now, then, she is dressed in blue, her lips are red and her eyes gentle caring.  She tells me once more that it’s okay and once more I believe her.  She’s far away and I want to go to her and fall at her feet and touch the dress she is wearing – a fabric I’ve never seen before – but I am unable to move.  However, I no longer feel scared and there is sun and water around her.  She is an embodiment of passion and comfort and she tells me that she knows I can be strong and that she will help.  She blows me a kiss from her red lips and the feeling is euphoria.

There were clouds in the sky all day today and the rain rarely ceased.  I think she made that for me.  

Sunday night

When I woke up this morning the inside of my mouth tasted like soap but my lips did not taste like anything.  Dial is my preferred brand of soap – both in bar and liquid form – and I can recall with great clarity years ago walking past the library on the Washington State University campus carrying a heavy camera for a broadcasting class and wearing an ugly maroon plaid shirt when I was stopped by two fellow students who themselves also had a camera.  They asked if I would be willing to answer a couple questions for a presentation they were making for a marketing class.  I was very conscious that my disgusting face was not meant for film yet I was unable to turn them down.  When they told me the presentation was on soap I laughed and the absurdity of the situation helped put me at ease.  They asked if I prefer liquid or bar soap in the shower and I said bar and added that I like having something firm to grab onto when I am showering.  They asked if I would have any problem using a soap with a “feminine” scent and I replied that I would have no problem at all as long as cleanliness was achieved. The truth is I have never liked the sporty or athletic soaps with their obvious and cheap masculinity.  But I did not tell them that.  To my knowledge I never saw those two again but I sometimes wonder how their presentation went.  I’m not sure why I woke up with the taste of soap in my mouth. 

There are many many days where I wake up in the morning and have a nearly overpowering desire to either go back to sleep or fall victim to some type of horrific accident that would end my existence.  This is a grim feeling that lasts for at least the first hour of the morning.  By the time I arrive at work I have enough distractions that this tearful despair is turned into an anguished acceptance and I go about my day in this manner.  I often find myself laughing at things that are not truly funny.  I smile a lot and I am charming and likeable in an odd sort of way, no one seems to have any problems with me at work.  Everyone I talk to seems nice and interesting but I rarely feel that I have anything interesting to contribute.  Sometimes I do feel happy at work and things are going quite well but this is not especially common.  However, I am always able to fake happiness and in the end that is the important thing.  I am able to do my job though I still have trouble with filing.  Better people than me help me with the filing and I know they rightfully despise my existence for having to waste time on my incompetence.

The emo-ness of that last paragraph reminds me of music that I never listened to while in high school but that many of my contemporaries were fond of.  I recently acquired a strong taste for the Blink 182 song I Miss You.  I learned the bass line earlier tonight and it is a smooth, silky line to play.  I had never listened much to Blink 182 before this month.  I remember so many years ago Michael walking into to zero hour class, a bright smile on his face and he said “got the new Blink CD”.  He was talking to Savannah and she asked how it was to which he replied “it’s hella different but it’s good”.  I never listened to that CD but I always loved the cover.  Michael was an amazing guitarist.  I once came in 5^th place in a poker tournament where he took 2^nd.  I was happy with 5^th but he was furious that he got 2^nd. 

 If I were Leo I would have happily moved to Paris with Kate, no questions, no second thoughts.  Kate had it right, Mike understood too but he was not able to articulate those sentiments without offending.  Everyone understands but very few people actually do anything.  About a month or so ago I watched the trailer for the upcoming movie Before Midnight, continuing the story began in Before Sunrise and Before Sunset.  These are some of my all-time favorite films (a pretentious word but I will use with barely contained glee) and I have been following this third chapter’s development with much enthusiasm.  There was a beautiful song played during the trailer and I meant to do some deep investigation and find out what it was but then this slipped my mind.  However flash forward to three weeks later and I was ordering some compact discs off ebay including With Blessings by Haris Alexiou, a Greek singer whose music I’d longed to try for many months.  It was a happy coincidence when I realized this is the artist whose song is featured in the trailer.  I listened to her music while driving to a friend’s house for breakfast this morning and it was beautiful.  I do not understand a word of what she says but it is beautiful and I am very grateful to have it. Breakfast was also tasty and I consumed eggs over easy, beans, chorizo and papas with homemade tortillas.  Saying goodbye is never an easy thing.  Before hugs we discussed golf and movies and drinking and relationships and I felt very content. 

As the work day progresses there comes a point where the grey bleak clouds begin to clear, if only a tad.  There is an escape on the horizon.  I have nothing against my co-workers or my supervisors or my clients.  They are all good, hard-working people.  My only anger is for myself, my only resentment for myself.  I often eat nothing but Chewy granola bars and Oh Boy Oberto pepperoni sticks throughout the day in addition to several glasses of water and roughly 11 sticks of gum.  The bars and sticks are all purchased at Costco which has good prices on books and blurays as well.  A friend and I were once metaphorically booted out of Costco after entering without a Costco card in an attempt to purchase and eat the delicious sausage dogs they sell.  I had planned to layer mine in kraut, relish, onions and mustard yet never got the chance and it is a loss I still feel to this day.  Once home I typically have a decent dinner. I do not know if this diet is healthy or unhealthy yet I never seem to lose or gain weight, remaining my standard fat self.  Lunch is often a depressing meal. 

The words this is not right keep repeating in my head over and over and when I feeling particularly stressed I like to put on a Shakira album as she makes me feel calm and happy.  Lately I’ve been listening a great deal to Fijacion Oral volumen 1 and songs like “No” and “Dia de Enero” have struck me with their beauty all over again.  It is bittersweet to know that the backup vocals in “No” are by Gustavo Cerati (whose own album Bocanada is one of my faves, amazing piece of work and goes very well with Low by David Bowie).  I cannot deny that Iron Man 3 was a big disappointment but it is still quite fun to go see a movie and I can still leave happy if the person I am going with enjoys the flick.  Leaving work I start to perk up a bit though I know that this cycle will just repeat.  Once home I am feeling okay except for the moments when I am not and there is typically a moment somewhere between 11:15 and 12:05 where I experience a feeling of deep euphoria and peace and feel like everything is going to turn out all right. 

Sleep is wonderful but goes by far too fast.  Sometimes I wake up and feel very frightened.  Sometimes I’m wide awake and am missing something intensely but I do not know who or what I am missing.  Then there are random moments of paralytic fear where I don’t think I will have time to say or do everything that needs to be said and done and I wonder how any of this is possible.  There is a terrible finality to things.  The majority of planet earth (always amongst my favorite planets) will not read this text.  I’ve never been able to find those Mexican candies again.  I will never understand why cake is handed out at parties when pie is obviously superior.  Most people even prefer pie yet we still eat cake.  I feel great sorrow for many things I have and have not done.