Sunday February 27 2011

DREAM: The train is moving in the daylight. On a flatbed car with three other people—we’re all trying to take naps. One of them is an unfamiliar girl, tall and built, yet very pretty, light tan skin, long brown hair that looks like she just blow dried and combed it. We’re lying there interlocking our legs—being affectionate. The train is making sharp turns and cuts around a corner causing me to be in danger of falling off. The girl jokingly pushes me but grabs me just in time. I’m leaning over the side while she holds onto my body. Later, as we’re still lying down together, I’m counting quarters from a small pile. Next to it is cocaine, but it’s grey and has a very coarse texture, looking more like sand. I separate a line for her to try but she’s tired.

Waking up exactly 8 minutes before I have to be at work at 5 p.m.

Breakfast: English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Immune Defense.

Work at China Wok.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Banana and Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups.

Carmen’s here fixing up the attic space for living.

Margot and I in my room talking—a fun and light mood. I tell her about the recent romantic visions I have…

“There’s this stop I make on Shore Drive, The Lynnhaven Fish House, right on the beach. I can smell the sand and everything. I just imagine you having a big house on the beach. We’d live there or I’d be seeing you there. You’ve got a king size bed with thick white linen sheets. We’re naked under the covers—in the moonlight.”

Getting on the topic of our individual marriage plans like the ideal age to elope or have kids. Not much else to mention except it was more enjoyable until we went to the storage unit.

There, I perform the two songs I wrote about everything—it was kind of awkward. I couldn’t sing out like I wanted to because of how personal it was—my lips shaking and voice breaking. It wasn’t my best but she’s responsive and thinks the piano one sounds haunting. “Yeah, that’s cause you’re haunting me.”

I get a little emotional and, again, lay out my heart on the table. It’s less dramatic than the other times but still meaningful to me. “Every time I say ‘I love you’ my eyes start to water.” And they do. I’m begging in so many words. I was silly to think that music could change things. It’s only a song.

Her lines: “I have strong feelings for you…I love you…I care about you…you’re so special to me….but I can’t be with you like you want…I have to try new things.”

I hate the idea of her giving up this incredible love we’ve been developing for so long. I wish she could understand it the way I do. At some point I get frustrated and, in haste, get my stuff together to leave the unit. “This was pointless,” I blab out to her. We leave to the house. Standing there in the driveway before she takes off to go home. She hugs me and places my resistant left arm around her back. “I’m sorry,” she says with sincerity. How can I not accept her affection?

Newspaper route.

Thinking of something to text her. I want to say How many times do I have beg before you say yes? But I settle for a simple “I love you.” Later she responds back with “I know baby. Me too.” If you ever want me back, just say the word and I’ll come running.

Cinnamon Sugar Donut from 7-11.

I went through the grieving stage where I dealt with pain, sadness, and denial. Now I’m fed up and inclined to be angry and push it all away—it’s cathartic anger. Fuck your love. I don’t need your love.

Thinking about God and the strong presence I feel whenever I think of surrendering. Every time I begin to think about it I suddenly feel joy and inspiration and a motivation to accomplish great things. I want to dive into this.

God help me. There’s an opportunity to disconnect from her, from the attachment, and open myself up to other aspects of my life.

Dinner: Sun Dried Tomato Chicken in Polenta Provencale and Mixed Vegetables. Garlic Naan Bread.

Watching What Doesn’t Kill You [2008].

Business.

It’s really nice out. I take a jog with my ipod to the storage unit to update my gate code access with the manager.

“This is the last song that I’ll write while still in love with you.”

http://hypem.com/#!/item/13crc/Noah+And+The+Whale+-+Blue+Skies

No really, listen to that song.

Goodnight. 10:30 a.m.

Saturday February 26 2011

DREAM: In a car with my mother and Jimmy, my stepfather. It’s the blue Oldsmobile station wagon I used to own back in the day. I think Jimmy is driving—mom in the passenger seat—I’m in the backseat. We’re exploring the hallways of an unfamiliar storage unit facility. I can kind of see underneath the doors. There’s a deer-like creature on the loose—being cautious and keeping ourselves safe. I keep finding silver keys that are broken in half—analyzing a few of them.

5:30 p.m. waking up.

Breakfast: An Orange Grapefruit. Orange Juice.

Work at China Wok.

I’ve got a fairly long delivery drive to make so I give Margot a call just to see what’s up. Not feeling very secure after she tells me so casually that she was at Les’s place last night watching a movie, with his roommates. Immediately, I feel sick to my stomach. She goes on to tell me she got queasy there from the Vicodin she’s been taking from the wisdom teeth surgery and had to go home. I’m really trying to be normal and just listen with a few yeahs here and there.

I’m getting close to my stop, “Hey, I have to go. Bye.”

I call back. She doesn’t understand why I had to hang up like that. “Margot, why do you think I’d feel comfortable with you hanging out with the guy you cheated on me with?”

I’m flustered and emotional—giving her the thousand word speech I give her quite often about how much this hurts and how much I love her and how I want her.

“I love you! Don’t you understand? I’m not afraid to be alone. I’ve done it before. I’m afraid of losing you.”

“Like, I kept checking my phone earlier in case you called or texted me. Even when I’m on the paper route, I’m hoping you’ll wake up in the night to text me or call. That’s how nervous and insecure I am right now. I’m so weak for you! You don’t know.”

She says she wants to tell me how much she misses me and cares about me, which she does, but feels telling me these things are detrimental. “Oh my gosh please tell me those things! I want to know what you’re feeling.”

Her: "I'm just confused."

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Kenneth’s stuff is still everywhere. Trying to help him move it out of the house so we can fit people in here. He’s feeling my irritation. I told him a week ago about tonight but he waited until last minute.

Show N Tell Night—a very fulfilling and warm gathering.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=333766&id=271092470309

Performing one of my newer songs on guitar, the peppier one of the two Valentine’s aftermath compositions.

A girl named Jessa is writing on the spot poetry on a blue napkin. I ask if I can write something in response to whatever she composes. She keeps reiterating that she hasn’t written in months. In the end there’s four pieces, two from her, two from me—presenting it on the microphone. Josh likes it so much he wants to put it up at the new Kerouac joint in Norfolk.

Filling the house with smells of fresh roasted garlic—keeping the vampires out. With Dustin and Brendan in the kitchen, all of us making our own meals. Rachel jokes about how it looks like we should have our own cooking show. “Yeah, we can teach people how to cook eggs and simple stuff like that.”

Eating some of Dustin’s Eggs, with Roasted Garlic Naan Bread, a Carrot stick, and bit of Lentil Soup.

In my room, Rachel is knocking on the door. I respond but nobody can ever hear me when I say, “Yes?” I can barely hear her. She steps inside. “You really really really sounded really far. You sounded far away, Robert.” She’s just sitting there on the floor. Telling her about my conversation with Margot. I always feel the need to console in her because she’s really good for things like this. Every insight she’s ever given me makes so much sense.

“She wants to see your reaction….”

Referring to the idea of Margot being involved with other people, “She wants to hear what it sounds like…especially to someone important like you.”

“Rachel, I just don’t see any other purpose for her in my life unless I’m with her.”

Rachel hugs are comforting, too.

Newspaper route.

Eating a Blueberry Muffin from 7-11.

Love me or lose me.

Eating Cinnamon Raisin Toast with Milk.

Counting quarters.

Popcorn and Fire in the Sky [1993].

Sleep 10 a.m.

Friday February 25 2011

Waking up around 6:30 p.m.

Breakfast: English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

Editing footage from an old Tokyo trip back in 2006—it’s going to be a short film on the DVD.

Stretching—showering.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

James is with me in the kitchen, “It’s never too late for regret, Robert.”

We head to Norfolk to get our boogie on at The Wave club. On 264, sitting in the passenger seat. I challenge James to get at least one girl’s number tonight. Even as I’m saying this to him, Margot’s texting me…

Her: “Have fun! Get dem digitz.”

Me: “Uh sure. But I have yours already so I don’t need anymore. ahhh.”

Her: “Haha cute.”

I really wish you’d understand how in it I am with you. I feel forced by the mental version of you I made up in my head to stay devoted to you. But it’s not just force. Gosh, it’s fucking love!

We stop by Elliott’s apartment for a bit. All of us sitting on the couch watching him play GoldenEye on N64. “You hit a certain wall with this game but I like to just run through the levels as fast as I can.” Listening to a special edition of Weezer’s Pinkerton on vinyl, which according to Elliott has unreleased songs I’ve never heard before. He was right.

At The Wave now. Reminding myself what this place was like cause it’s been a while. It’s not like any other nightclub. It’s geared for the younger 20-somethings—non-exclusive though. There’s an undignified freedom to dance and I like that. Tyler Yowell and Will show up, and a few other familiar faces. Sipping on a PBR bottle.

Hanging out on the smoker’s patio. Jesse Phipps approaches me with a bear hug. He’s consoling me. “I heard your breakup on Facebook.” He’s telling me how the audio clip I posted reminded him of textual studies for some reason. “It’s not art…it’s textual studies. I thought it was kind of postmodern.” His wife Kelly is trying to pull him away. “Don’t worry Robert. You’re a cool dude. And cool dudes always find a way.” He’s able to get out some last words as he drifts off, “Oh, and always wear protection or you’ll have a kid. I did.”

Smoking my last Indonesian cigarette. Corey Dixon, a friend from back in the day, and Megan Maeang are standing there. I mention how Corey looks like a Rockabilly kid, more specifically like Johnny Depp with his black-framed glasses.

On the dance floor. It’s a jubilee. It’s a celebration to our oblivion. Moving bodies. Moving souls. Ahh. It feels wonderful to unlock my legs and arms to a musical pulse and bounce. I’m watching the faces and bodies that surround me. Everyone’s attitude is adamantly displayed in their dance. You’re on my mind. I can see how you would be dancing if you were here. I love watching you dance. I didn’t see that enough. Making my way to different parts of the crowd. I notice a slender girl, attractive in the face—a glare every now and then. At one point she unexpectedly moves herself into my vicinity—communicating through dance. I like her scent. I speak up, “Hey! You smell really good.” It was a safe compliment I thought. “What’s your name?” I could barely understand her, something that starts with the letter J. Later, I notice some interesting tension with another guy and her—he seems like a boyfriend or an ex or somebody involved because he’s got her head in his hands and they’re just staring at each other. Look at that.

Still going at it on the floor. A girl with glasses, a red and white striped dress, and some cute black stockings approaches me for a hot second, “Hey! I just wanted to say I think you’re adorable.” Who doesn’t want to hear that? “Oh. Thanks.” We continue on with our individual dances.

Okay. Okay. I’m trying. I really am. I’m trying to open myself up to other possibilities but it just doesn’t feel right. All I can think about is you. I compared the others I saw tonight and nobody competed or even matched the affection I feel for you. I WANT YOU.

On the drive back home talking with James. He didn’t get any numbers. I guess I had the chance to but didn’t. Who cares anyway? We had a good time. We should do this more often.

Warming up some dinner to go: Navy Beans with Rice and Mixed Vegetables.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast AM radio is scaring everyone about the New World Order and the dollar crashing within the decade.

Coffee Roll and Milk from 7-11.

Business.

Grapes.

Playing music.

Sleep 9:30 a.m.

Thursday February 24 2011

Just before 5 p.m. I wake up and walk to the shop to retrieve my car, now fully installed with a hydrogen generator. No emissions and increased miles per gallon coming my way soon.

Breakfast: English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Pineapple Juice. Zinc.

Musicplayer practice. Trying out a new song and refreshing other ones. Song title ideas: Digaboot or Bugaboo?

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Margot’s still stuck at home. She wants company. I come over and bring Phase 10 by request. Liar Liar on the TV. She’s a phase behind me and I sense that potential bad sportsmanship attitude start in her. I try to drown it out with hugs and affection of the like. She wins in the end anyway.

She paints the ring fingernail to my right hand [photo above].

Me: “Recently, it feels like we’ve been dating. Is that weird?” It even feels new to me.

Talking about my guy’s night out tomorrow and going to The Wave for some good old fashioned dancing. She encourages me to get a girl’s number. I don’t like it when she seems to support the idea of me being with somebody else. It makes me feel a little sick inside. “Margot, I don’t want anyone else. I would give you devotion if you wanted it.” She’s skeptical. C’mon baby, what is love to you? I haven’t always said ‘I love you’ until we started dating. And since then it’s sprouted into something real for me, and you know I don’t say things like that lightly.

Her: “Last night when I woke up I wished you were here with me cause your touch helps me sleep.”

I tuck her into bed and lie down next to her for a while. I just love being close to her like this. “I want you so bad, you know that?”

Back home, eating Dinner: Sun Dried Tomato Chicken with Rice and Mixed Vegetables. Fresh Roasted Garlic Naan Bread.

Starting Last Chance Harvey [2008]. It’s striking an emotional chord in me for some reason. The first 30 minutes I’m just thinking to myself, I don’t ever want to be a single divorced father with children and experience that kind of rejection. I will do everything I can to make sure that never happens.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast AM—Travis Walton is on the show recalling his alien abduction, which happens to be one of the best documented cases ever recorded. There was an inaccurate Hollywood depiction of it called Fire in the Sky [1993].

Thinking about you. Imagining a movie-esque scenario: I walk right up to you and say with a demanding voice, “Look, you’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And I’m yours. And that’s the way it’s gonna fucking be.” I grab your face and kiss your lips with a desperate passion. You respond with the same. Unfortunately, it’s only in my imagination, for now at least.

Back home. The dishes and silverware (especially spoons) tend to pile up like mountains in the sink. Considering I eat most of my meals in the house, I accept some as my responsibility, but man, this is getting obnoxious. I’ve come to accept the chore of cleaning all the dishes when I get home from work. It’s whatever.

Eating a bowl of Cherrios with Cinnamon Bunches and Brown Sugar.

Trouble shooting the hydrogen generator in my car—mixing the solution.

Grapes.

Finishing Last Chance Harvey.

Sleep 10:30 a.m.

Wednesday February 23 2011

Waking up around 5 p.m.

Retrieving my car from the shop down the street—he still needs to do the electrical work for it so I’ll have to take it back in tomorrow.

Rachel flipped her car over yesterday on the First Colonial Off Ramp on her way to my house to meet everyone for the film shoot. She’s texting me: “Had to crawl out the sunroof onto the median.” “Yesterday was so surreal.” She is okay now as well as her car.

Breakfast: Cinnamon Roll Toast with Butter. Orange Pineapple Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

Work at China Wok for like an hour—one order in total. Slowwww.

Trader Joe’s. I keep running into Daniel Hart.

Business.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Visiting Margot at her place. She just had her wisdom teeth pulled earlier today so she’s kind of bedridden, or rather houseridden. She’s holding a Ziploc bag of ice over her cheeks.

Playing Sequence.

In the kitchen as we’re preparing a bowl of ice cream, she sucks some off her finger and suddenly freaks out and says it feels like something’s not there anymore where her wisdom tooth was pulled. Sucking back like that is something she’s not supposed to do for a while. She fears it to be a dry socket now, which could potentially elongate the healing process. Her nana tries to calm her down and so do I, but she’s really convinced herself it’s something to be worried about.

Back in the den on the couch. I try to calm her down—rubbing my hand on her shoulder and head. “Baby, you’re going to be fine. You’re freaking yourself out.” I find the papers she got from the dentist office and call the 24 hour-on-call doctor. No answer. I leave a message.

Popeye [1980] on the tube. She lies her stomach across my lap, her face buried in one of the throw pillows. Touching, caressing, and massaging her body with tender loving care. I feel so grateful right now. This live action Popeye movie with Robin Williams is actually quite funny, but in a wonky kind of way—one of the most accurate representations of a cartoon. She wants me to play with her hair. Of course I will. She’s ready for bed. I tuck her in. “Just get through the night baby and call the doctor in the morning. You’ll be alright.”

I walk into the house. Kenneth is sitting down with a big white envelope he’s written on with notes he’s taken from the day’s troubles. “Robert, just give me five minutes of your time.” I decide to put away the dishes and peel garlic cloves while he vents his drama-fired life to me. I look at him from time to time while he talks and almost literally see the monkeys on his back carrying a pile of bricks in their hands pounding him over and over again. He’s a battered 47-year-old man, “a magnet for disaster” he once told me. He’s tired. He’s stressed. Oh Kenneth, I wish there was a way I could help. “Rob, you’re the only person in the world that’s given me a chance to get back on my feet.” I give him my opinion and advice on what I see could simplify his life. “You need to downsize. You’ve got stuff everywhere—all these material things that you think are valuable, and some are, but you have to consolidate what’s really worth it. The clutter on the outside is causing clutter in your mind. You’re scattered……..Have you ever thought about just getting out? Like, just leaving?” He refuses to stand down from anything. He’s a fighter and wants what he deserves, especially from his family inheritance. There’s a lot of BS going on between him and his sister, our landlord. It only seems to escalate higher and higher. He’s an angry man that desperately needs patience from others.

Dinner: Sun Dried Tomato Chicken with Cheddar Cheese Pasta Shells and Broccoli. Fresh Roasted Garlic Naan Bread.

Finishing Panic.

Newspaper route.

Drinking Coffee with Honey and Milk, Blueberry Donut from 7-11.

I’ve decided that I am an official Coast to Coast Radio Kook. The ideas being discussed on this program are things that have been fermenting in my brain for the past 3 years. Listening to this just confirms what I’ve been feeling. It’s like I’m being awakened to a whole new understanding of the world, and not just in a spiritual form but mental form. The more knowledge I seek the more everything just makes sense—it all ties in: Numerology, Mathematics, God, Buddhism, Laws of Nature, Humanity. Here’s the simplest way to explain it: The despiritualization of everyone is happening at such an incredible rate these days and most people don’t recognize it because they’re falling love with the modern world, a world without connection to nature.

Jeffrey Grupp is the guest tonight. “A former atheist, Grupp said he's found empirical proof for the existence for God by seeing the "golden ratio" displayed throughout nature, the cosmos, and in quantum chaos. He also spoke about "telementation," a variation on the Law of Attraction that focuses more on feeling reality into existence rather than using belief or visualization to manifest things.

Through his study of numerology, Grupp noted that the change into the 21st century, with years all starting with 2 instead of 1, signifies a large change. This suggests we're entering a time of dramatic camaraderie, and improvement for humanity, he noted.”

“Dark ecstasy is the spirituality of the Illuminati, and a force that has, to a lesser degree, been implanted into humans, whereby humans have a capacity to develop spiritual euphoria surrounding artistic experiences of genuine sadomasochism, death and murder, war, pain, and so forth. Dark ecstasy’s spiritual euphoria becomes addictive, and it is triggered by art-forms in the world. It is the opposite experience as one has when ocean surf transports one to spiritual joy and levity.”

-Jeffrey Grupp

http://www.prisonplanet.com/what-is-dark-ecstasy-and-how-is-it-used-to-control-us.html

What can I do to improve my consciousness? What can I do differently? Are my surroundings and my environment holding me back from a light ecstasy rather than a dark ecstasy? I feel that the more my consciousness improves, the more powerful my music will become, my art.

Preaching to myself in the car, “If people would just get out of their auto-pilot consciousness, they would realize that what they’re thinking about constantly is who they become. You attract everything that happens to you. Get out of that defeatist mindset! Find your confidence and you will not only live the good life, but the best life.”

Margot’s wide awake at 6am. The on-call doctor called me back with comforting information: it isn’t possible for her to get dry socket the same day as the surgery, not for another 2 to 4 days. Telling her this over the phone. I thought she’d feel much better knowing that.

Me: “Is it weird to say that I have a crush on you?”

Her: “Does that mean you don’t love me anymore?”

Me: “Ha. No. Of course I love you. But you know, people have crushes on things they don’t have, like when you have a crush on a movie star. They’re bigger than life for you and you can’t have them.”

Figuring out money.

Popcorn.

Bank.

Leaving my car at the shop then walking back home, smoking a clove.

Brendan’s sitting there at the computer as I enter the house.

Him: “Nice glasses.” referring to my sunglasses.

Me: “Yeah, it’s bright out there for a vampire.”

Him: “Shouldn’t you be shriveling up?”

Me: “See that’s the weird thing. I really like garlic too.”

Sleep 10 a.m.

Tuesday February 22 2011

DREAM: Everyone is hopping into a dark abysmal pool. Dustin, my roommate, is there along with so many others, some familiar, some not. It’s understood that you’re supposed to go all the way to the bottom and experience the fear of a potential creature lurking below, and then come back up. I dive in and start waving my arms to slow down the descent to the bottom because for some reason I’m sinking faster than normal. My eyes open—I can see clearly—a dark blue and grey shade highlights my surroundings. I’m not even thinking about how I’m able to breathe but somehow I can. I’m more concerned about my ears not handling the pressure of such a depth. Sinking. Sinking. Sinking. The others are in the process of doing the same thing. I look across the dark waters and get the impression that something big and dangerous is not too far away. I swim quickly back up out of the water. Climbing on a ladder made out of stacks of the metal bars that hold the newspaper boxes together. I assume some would start tumbling out, which they do, and I’m prepared for it and hop right up on the ledge.

Coffee with Honey and Milk.

Becca walks into my room after being at Rick’s Café for a while. She informs me her wallet may have been stolen yesterday. She starts to tell me her story but I stop her, “Wait. Hold on let me type all this.”

Her: “Are you a detective or something?”

Me: “Yeah, I have my own detective agency.”

Here’s the statement:

“Last night I was at work. It was after 9. This woman who I kind of know and I trust her, she wanted to do my make up for her portfolio. She asked if I wanted to buy anything from her. I handed her my credit card. She wrote the numbers down and handed it back to me. I’m pretty sure I put it back in my purse. I had to give her a ride to her car. I craved a waffle real bad. Heading to Waffle House. Alex called me. He had food. Didn’t use my wallet for the rest of the night. Put my purse in his clothes hamper. This morning I went to the mall. I glanced to see if I had my wallet in my purse before I went in. And I reassured myself I did but don’t remember actually seeing it. In the mall looked into my purse thoroughly and it wasn’t there.”

Helping her figure out all the possibilities and discovering more details. It’s more likely that she misplaced it but she’s too trustworthy of everyone so…the case is still opened.

Becca: “There’s some quirky people on Michigan Avenue. Yeah right now there’s firemen walking around a house across the street.”

James G. pops in. The three of us are in the kitchen discussing an idea James brought up where in the future we could eliminate all jobs and work by initiating a life exchange program. You would trade time out of your life for things rather than pay money or work a job. For example, if you wanted to get a Porsche, you would have to trade in two years of your life to get it. So if your predicted lifespan is 79, it would now be changed to 77. Of course, we’re left with the suspension of disbelief, assuming there’s technology of some kind that controls the length of our lives.

Eating a Grilled Cheese with Tomato.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg

James shows me a picture with a statement on it: I’d love to hang out, but I have to go sit in my house by myself. I respond, “Hey that’s me.”

My phone’s ringing. It’s you! My heart throbs just a little bit harder than it was a second ago. You just called to say hi and…“I just wanted you to know that I love you.” I will gratefully accept a statement like that anytime from you. “Aw. I love you too.” She’s nervous for tomorrow’s wisdom teeth appointment. I really want to film her when she gets out because I know she’s going to be dazed and possibly say something hilarious and cute, but she refuses anyone to see her like that except for her nana.

Art and Roma walk in. Art, referring to the clutter and the zoo-like atmosphere of the house asks, “Where’s the giraffe? Where’s the crocodile?” Oh Art.

Poker with the boys, Art, Roma, and James.

Someone makes a joke about this being a sausage fest. I reply, “Yeah, its penis company.”

Art’s getting tired and keeps pushing all in. I win. Nothing like a poker game win to boost my confidence and ego.

James is admiring one of Phil’s marker drawings mounted on the window, the one that says Boring Girls Are The Ones Who Will Try To Confuse You. “I wish I had girls to confuse me.”

My mood is up—I’m regaining my high on life. Being with friends and socializing. I feel stronger now. It’s a new week.

Eating Vegetable Lentil Soup. Fresh Roasted Garlic Jalapeno Cheddar Cheese Bread.

Playing music at the storage unit.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast radio—they’re discussing electronic harassment and warfare, and hologram technology. Dr. Fred Bell talks about an attack called “confusion weaponry” being tested by the military, which uses frequencies and impulses to disrupt thoughts, a sort of mind control. There’s even technology to sabotage computers and shut down a vehicle’s electronic system.

Blueberry Donut and Milk from 7-11.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGJ2XRJBHM8

Migraine? Stroke? Or maybe an example of a "confusion weaponry" attack being tested by the government?

Counting quarters.

Figuring out how to make my own distilled water.

Found a mechanic down the street that can install my new hydrogen generator.

Snacking on Peanuts, Salt n Vinegar Chips, and a Pear.

Watching Panic [2000].

Sleep 9:45 a.m.

Monday February 21 2011

DREAM: On the patio of some house with Margot. I watch a spider the size of a baseball crawl along the wall. His outer body resembles a green and gold marble design earring. “Margot, look! It looks just like one of the earrings that you’re wearing.” She pokes her head down to get a closer look. I notice she’s wearing something similar on her ears but in a different color. I ask her to take off one of her earrings so I can take a picture of the spider next to it. She’s acting kind of stubborn because there’s something else of interest to her. “Hurry! I want to do it before the spider gets away.” I keep an eye on the creepy crawly as it maneuvers up the wall.

Taken from www.dreammoods.com:

“To see a spider in your dream, indicates that you are feeling like an outsider in some situation. Or perhaps you want to keep your distance and stay away from an alluring and tempting situation. The spider is also symbolic of feminine power… Spiders are also a symbol of creativity due to the intricate webs they spin. On a negative note, spiders may indicate a feeling of being entangled or trapped in a sticky or clingy relationship.�It represents some ensnaring and controlling force. You feel that someone or some situation is sucking the life right out of you. To see a spider climbing up a wall in your dream, denotes that your desires will soon be realized.”

Sometime around 6 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

Skype meeting with Chris—reviewing the Tokyo DVD—giving him feedback on the current edit.

Oh! It’s Anna. Just as I’m about to sign off Skype I see my friend Anna from Russia just got on. Talking with her for a little bit. She’s been in China for 6 months. Kate is with her. I have fond memories with both of them from two summers ago.

Anna: “Its difficult to speak about China in English. China is a contrast. Many beautiful places, mountains, nature. But the level of life is different from European life…Something I learned from here is a person who doesn’t have time he doesn’t have life at all. It’s impossible to not have time. You’re given it by nature. That why you have time for everything you want. You just need to know what you really want.”

At Margot’s place. Sitting on the couch—Family Guy on the TV but on mute. She’s getting her wisdom teeth pulled out Wednesday, and she’s really nervous about it.

Still finding the need to inquire about her feelings and why all this happened the way it did.

Me: “How did you switch like that? This is what hurts me the most.”

Her: “I don’t feel like I switched…….Yeah I guess I am having an easier time with this than you.”

Me: “That’s what I don’t get. You’ve never had an easy time with this.” You’ve broke down before over the idea of the end.

Her: “Maybe I’m just not thinking about it…I’m avoiding things.” Maybe that’s my problem. I’m thinking about it way too much.

Me: “You were more important to me than you realized. Maybe even more than I realized.”

Her: “I see you as more than a friend still, Robert. But I’m trying to separate what you are now from what you were.”

Me: “I’m sorry but I don’t know how to do that. And I don’t know how you do……..That makes me sad that we’re just a history now.”

Her: “We’re not just history. You’re only history if I never see you again. I’m not gonna never see you again right?”

Me: “Right. You’ll see me. But you not being the same person to me is really hard.”

I know I’m a downer. She suggests we go see The Rite with Anthony Hopkins at AMC. So we go.

In the theater—holding hands—she’s being sweet with me and I to her—snacking on popcorn. The electromagnetic lovesickness is heavy, even when I’m with her. However it does help to be physically close and feel her touch. It’s like I’m in high school again having one of those awkward crushes.

The movie doesn’t raise any questions for me but it is an entertaining exorcism flick.

On the way back to her house—she’s driving. I’m still talking about things.

Me: “You’re a good girl. You’ve got a lot of passion in you. You’ve got a lot to offer someone.”

In her neighborhood, we spot a red fox in someone’s yard.

Her: “That was perfect.”

Then, a raccoon that seems to be limping appears a few blocks up.

Her: “Aww. That’s sad.”

Recalling a time last year when I spotted both a raccoon and a fox within minutes of each other (Ref: Tuesday April 13 2010). This time it all makes sense on quite a few levels—it’s symbolic.

▀Fox: Intelligence, Feminine Magic, Feminine Courage.

▄Raccoon: Cleverness, Mental Skill, Curiosity, Inquisitiveness.

Margot is the fox and I am the raccoon. Even as clever as I am, my curiosity in her feminine magic caused an injury and now I’m limping. Aww. That’s sad.

http://wiki.answers.com/Q/Who_would_win_in_a_fight_a_raccoon_or_fox

Sitting on the couch in the den.

Me: “Gosh, I hope you come back to me. Who knows, maybe down the road…” Oh yeah, Robert. That’s what everyone says when they want to hold on to an inkling of hope, maybe down the road…

Me: “I’m aware of the benefits of this ending. I know we’ll both benefit.”

Me: “Do you know how many times we had sex? I don’t think we can count. We had such beautiful times together. They were so amazing to me. You’re so good. You were the best lover I ever had.” I look down at her legs, caressing and squeezing my hand lightly over their richness. I whisper, “I want this.” Then I raise my head to her face and grapple my hand over her shoulder, “I want this.”

Me: “Don’t worry. Don’t worry. I’ve already told you I’m not going to pine over you. I’m just not gonna forget about you. I’m gonna put you in a little corner of my heart………My arms will always be open to you.” I spread my arms out and say, “This is how I want you to think of me.”

Walking up her gravel driveway to leave—getting into my car. As soon as I turn on the ignition, the clock displays 1:11. How appropriate, a sign that I’m on the right track.

Eating a Grilled Cheese with Tomato.

Newspaper route.

Talking to myself in the car—just a little pep talk, “Cheer up, Robert! We both know that I need my time alone. Now we don’t have to worry about giving my time to somebody else. It’s going to be good.”

It’s funny, I always thought you would hate me forever if I broke up with you. Ironically, I’m on the other end, and as much as I’m trying to, I can’t hate you. I’m still trying to recollect the negative pieces to our relationship to help remind me what I won’t be missing. But on the other hand you gave me so much to be nostalgic about. Your sweetness will remain.

Snacking on Salt n Vinegar Chips and a Pear.

Coast to Coast on the radio—they’re having heavy talks about Doomsday/The End Times/2012. Nothing like a reminder that we’re in apocalyptic times to distract me from dwelling on my pain from one single person in my life. It seems insignificant compared to the bigger picture, compared to the drastic changes going on around us. Then again, maybe that’s the reason something so insignificant is so important to me, for the reason that we all need to continue on enjoying life’s gifts. The end times will only help me learn to appreciate the things that make life beautiful and worth it. I want to be with you at the end of the world, baby.

As much as I believe this earth is on the brink of something catastrophic, I’m coming to an understanding that my role in this world isn’t so much to remind people of the inevitable but to encourage the celebration of life.

Back home, eating Polenta Provencale with Mixed Vegetables and Egg. Jalapeno Cheddar Cheese Bread.

Finishing Murder in the First [1995].

Finishing lyrics to a new piano song.

Sleep 10:30 a.m.

Sunday February 20 2011

Waking up at 4:47 p.m. My eyes are glued shut and I have to be at work at 5.

Delivering at China Wok.

It’s busy and people are ordering from all over town causing me to have longer drives.

Your “Hiiii” text was nice and the “miss you” one. To know I’m still lurking in a room somewhere in your mind makes me feel better, even if it is only a closet-spaced size. Keep breaking my heart gently.

Eating Vegetable Lo Mein. Honey Oolong Tea. I feel like this is the first substantial meal I’ve had in a while.

Business.

Counting quarters—listening to playlists on itunes—laundry.

Organizing music files.

Eating a bowl of Cherrios with Brown Sugar.

The two most important women in my life have been texting me back and forth this evening: Mom and Margot. My mother is thinking of my sister Dana who passed away 20 years ago to this day. Mom: “I feel a strange sadness 2nite.” And Margot’s just keeping in touch with me, small chatting about our activities, “Bleh. At a friend’s house listening to kc and Jo all my life.”

Newspaper route.

Snacking on Salt n Vinegar Chips.

They’re discussing UFO myths and realities on Coast to Coast radio.

Overanalyzing things. I tend to do that quite a lot while I’m driving. Still feeling the lovesick pangs over you. Don’t know when they will stop.

Eating an Egg and a slice of leftover Pizza. Pear.

Playing music at the storage unit—composing—reviving old melodies. It’s almost as if these older ideas I wrote years ago foreshadowed things to come. Baby, you’ve inspired me to put music to these feelings of loss. Maybe I can sing my way out of this. It’s beautiful though, this release through song. It’s personal. It’s all in the name of you.

Watching Murder in the First [1995].

Sleep 10 a.m.

Saturday February 19 2011

DREAM: A haunting feeling—creeping around in the backyard. It’s a picturesque scene of quiet snow and evergreen trees. A deer. He’s dead. He’s buried underneath an evergreen. The evergreen tree is bare except for a few bulb ornaments. It’s drowning in a muddy puddle. The snow. The snow. It’s cold. There’s something severe going on—the haunting feeling is ever present. Two old ladies come outside to check that the yard has been picked up and looks nice. I assure them, “I took care of it.”

Waking up at 5:30 p.m.

Grabbing Orange Juice to go.

Rushing to get to work at China Wok because they want me there early.

Discovering a few Ingrid Michaelson songs to my liking.

I knew it was probable that I would see you tonight, but I had to call you now.

Me: “I’m having one of those nights….I want to see you….”

Her: “It’s only been a day.”

Me: “I feel like I’m a burden to you or something.”

Her: “No, you’re not a burden.”

Still delivering. My mom tried to call earlier so I call her back. “Mom, it’s like there’s an electromagnetic field surrounding me and it’s making me feel heavy, weak, and empty.” She uses a metaphor to describe Margot and I, “It’s like when you take two corrugated boxes and glue them together. After two years, you separate them and there’s going to be pieces of you with her and pieces of her with you.” So true.

On the interstate heading to the oceanfront to deliver my last order. The luminescent moon, big and orange, hovers over the horizon. The moon always fascinates me.

Waiting at a stoplight, I notice a Hello Kitty sticker on some girl’s car in front of me. As if I wasn’t already thinking of you enough.

Sitting in my room on the computer. Kenneth barges in with a taser gun he found—CLACK CLACK CLACK! I freak out. It’s such a startling sound. “Kenneth, I’m sorry dude. I know you want to show me all this cool stuff you found but I really need to be alone right now.

Making Pizza from scratch—adding peppers, onions, and mushrooms. Chillin with Margot in my room—off and on, expressing more of myself to her—feeling the need to continuously enlighten her on the severity of my state.

Eating two slices—she eats one. Drinking Vitamin Water.

We head to Kroger to get ice cream—she wants SpaghettiO’s too for another time. The scratch cards strike her attention—she gets a $5 one (no luck). In the parking lot, a little grey white cat is brushing up his head against the passenger side window of a green conversion van.

Her: “Aww. Look at himmm. I want a kitty with that face.”

Back home, finishing the movie, Breaking Upwards [2009]. She’s eating her Cookies N Cream Ice Cream. Cuddling up next to each other. This is always nice. Some of the scenes in this film remind me of similar scenarios we had in the past. It ends. I kiss her—she kisses me—caressing her head and face—telling her sweet somethings, not nothings. More begging and pining on my part. “That fire between us…don’t throw that away.”

She informs me that guy Les, who she kissed before Valentine’s Day, isn’t going away for a month anymore because of a car accident where he broke his leg. He’ll be here next week. She was afraid to tell me but keeps trying to convince me that things will be weird with him and she probably won’t see him that much. I know she’s trying to comfort me. After a short while, I kind of flip out in anger and say something sarcastic along the lines of, “Just go ahead. You want to fucking try new things and be with other people. Fine….” Because people get insecure, so what. It’s just the hardest thing for me to imagine her with someone else.

She says something like, “I’m picky, Robert. I’ve always been picky. I’m not gonna be stupid. I’m not going to sleep with someone unless I’m in a relationship. If things were to head in that direction, I’d probably be the one to bring it up with them and say ‘Hey, so what’s going on here?’” She’s always had a smart head on her shoulders despite the times she let her emotions control her.

I walk her out to the car.

Me: “Say something that’ll make me feel better.”

Her: “I love you.”

Ahhh. Your fresh scent covers up the junky smell of this house and overpowers the onion smell in my hands.

Texting………

Me: “Sorry I flipped out a little bit. That wasn’t necessary.”

Her: “No I know you’re feeling insecure about certain things and it’s ok to flip out over them. I don’t blame you. Don’t be sorry.”

Me: “Yeah I’m definitely insecure about it. But I do feel a little better after seeing you. Sleep well.”

Her: “Night baby.”

Eating a bowl of Cherrios with Cinnamon Bunches.

Newspaper route.

This is my contemplation time. Trying to wrap my head around the absence of your romantic behavior. It was the only way I knew you, and the only way you knew me, baby. I know. I know. We’ve already discussed this. I’ve already brought up practically everything relating to the downfall of our relationship. I hope I didn’t misrepresent the beauty of anything for you, even the sex, because that was definitely pure beauty. In my mind, I glorified you. Sex is difficult to give up, but sex with love, even more. You’re adorable by the way, an Indian jewel from a Pocahontas fantasy, and I’m John Smith (coincidentally my last name too). Even though there is no real record of romance between them, I like to think of them as our past lives. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pine over you, but I will leave you in a corner of my heart just in case—missing you always.

Listening to some old Coldplay songs on the stereo. A short classical instrumental comes on. For some reason, tears build up in my eyes. I can’t contain the intense effect the piano has on me. I haven’t really been playing it recently. It always calls to me like a long lost lover. Feeling an inspiration to be productive and really crack down on music making and recording.

Eating an Scrambled Egg Sandwich on an English Muffin. Honey Oolong Tea.

My appetite is regaining access to the brain.

Engaging on the ivory keys at the storage unit. Unearthing old material. Writing.

Goldfish.

Sleep 10:15 a.m.

Friday February 18 2011

DREAM: In the back lot of my old church. The pastor, his wife, Brandon Holmes, and a slew of other people are taking photos of this new exotic plant that was found, some kind of gift from Heaven. It’s round, orange, and spotty with slim thorns sticking out of it, reminiscent of a Horned Melon fruit. They’ve got them on tall sticks like staffs. A bunch of Navy men are posing for a photo holding a huge bouquet of them—kind of sticking some of the plant on their skin because their Navy men and they can take pain. I’m off to the side just watching this. I walk over to my car. Doug and I are packing it up with luggage. Preston is in the driver’s seat and starts to move the car. “Weston! Not yet. We’re not ready.” I realize I called him by the wrong name and rephrase, “Preston!” Eventually, we arrive in a gargantuan office building, looks more like a mall. Doug and I are riding in some sort of wheelchair together, but he’s in control of the maneuvering. Trying to follow Preston as he opens the elevator to go up to visit this big time CEO or manager named Ken Andrews (I envision him as a tall black man). As the elevator doors open up Doug reverses our cart far back first and then pulls forward but we’re too late, the doors shut. I curse out loud. One of the security guards confronts us because he thinks I have a weapon and tries to escort us out. I get out of my chair and assure him that this bulge under my shirt is not a gun. I pull out a hot stack of soft chocolate chip cookies in plastic wrap. I sit down with the guard and try to persuade him to just have one and that they’re good. He’s not giving in. All of a sudden, Margot brushes by us with a rolling suitcase. It’s understood she’s starting a position to work as a secretary for this Ken Andrews character. I touch her arm to show her I’m happy for her new job. But she doesn’t really turn around and keeps walking forward. She’s wearing a sea green dress—her bare ankles are showing a tan line around them as if she wore socks there too often or maybe shackles? Either way she’s about to hop on the elevator with Ken Andrews and some other people. I get a strong urge to follow. I want to see her to the office. I start gathering my things, my book bag, and some plastic bags with food in it. Getting frustrated because things keep falling out and I can’t seem to handle holding everything. The elevators doors are shutting and I miss my opportunity. There’s a doorman. I ask him, “Which floor is Ken Andrews on?” He gives me an answer I know isn’t right. I repeat the question. Finally he says, “528.” [I wasn’t aware of this in the dream until I woke up, but 528 is the love frequency I learned about the other week]. I’m with a few buddies. We get into the elevator. Doors shut. The ceiling is leaking water. I guess it’s raining outside. I’m angry. “Why is it leaking in here? I can’t stand anywhere without getting wet.” I look at the buttons and there’s only 3 options, 2, 8, 18. One of the guys that is with me taps the 18 button. Apparently this is only a transfer car, so we have to get off at 18 and transfer to another car that can take us to the 500’s. I’m so anxious to see her.

Breakfast: Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

Researching.

Practicing.

Eating an English Muffin with Peanut Butter.

Playing a solo Musicplayer show at The Taphouse along with Phillip Roebuck. Feeling okay about my performance—I felt inclined to say something cliché into the mike with regards to Valentine’s Day, “If you find love, like true love, don’t let it slip away.” The bartender offers me a light beer on tap. Just as I’m exchanging hellos with Kelly, who plays accordion in the other act, her arm knocks the beer out of my hand and the glass shatters on the floor. I go back for a Raspberry Wheat beer called a “Dirty Hoe”. A better choice anyway.

I don’t feel very complete right now.

Sitting down with Tristan Stewart and a few female friends he knows from Hampton—small talk. Phillip Roebuck starts his set with a banjo and a kick drum/tambourine device that he created to attach around his back and connect to both his feet, a legitimate one-man band—incredible up-tempo foot-stompin’ bluegrass. I leave halfway through the performance…

At Elliott’s apartment—hanging out with him and his friend Shelby. Sharing white wine. I bring up topics of love and all the shambles one can go through with love. It’s actually a productive conversation—both of them have good personal insight. Feeling woosy and tipsy….

But I head over to Jon Reynold’s place for a little bit, technically Doug’s place too now. Both of them are there along with Emily and Wesley. It’s good to see my friends, the ones I can have fun with, the ones that can make me smile. Eating some of Emily’s fresh baked Cinnamon Coffee Cake. “Chalking it up” on the wall, in other words, drawing pictures and words with chalk. Doug shows me all of his new findings from thrift stores. “Doug, I can just see you 30 years from now. You’re gonna have your own little thrift shop or consignment shop somewhere in Nashville. You’ve got really long hair, same glasses, but no beard. You’ll be sitting there behind the counter reading—and still narcoleptic.”

Saying goodbye. I head out to my car parked on the street. The night is windy and cool but such a beautiful feeling. I just wanted to call you, just to call. On the phone with Margot—she’s in the middle of closing up at her work. I feel weaker the less contact I have with you. Talking about her weekend plans and such…

Newspaper route. This is definitely not a money making route compared to the Chesapeake one. But it is a lot closer to home and takes less time.

Eating an Egg Salad Sandwich with a Banana and Vitamin Water from 7-11.

Researching—wasting my time—frustrated with the amount of crap one has to sift through to get to legit information and files.

I tried and tried today to distract myself. But I am still missing. My heart is missing. You were in my head all day surrounding everything I did. Oh baby! I wish you could feel this love that I feel right now for you. I hope you can regain your passion in me. That would save me.

Sleep 10:20 a.m.

Thursday February 17 2011

Waking up at 5:30 p.m.

Grabbing some Orange Juice to go.

Work at China Wok.

My brain is churning with more thoughts and reflections.

Would it have changed anything if when you were pining over me I returned with a full force love? Would this have happened still? Would you have still made this decision to leave me? I admit there were times I did not treat you the way you deserved. Would it have made a difference?

I wouldn’t have let you in my heart if I had known it would be a disaster like this. I wouldn’t have shared so much of my life with you. I would’ve been even more closed off.

I feel like I never really appreciated you or the beauty of our world. But did you really think you didn’t mean anything to me?

You let our home get evicted, or maybe I did, maybe we both did. But you decided to demolish it. I don’t know how much longer I can survive here in this rubble and debris.

I see what happened. Oh yes. I see it. I wasn’t giving you all the attention you wanted and someone else came along and gave that to you. And that opened the door for you to get out.

I’m trying to keep in mind how insecure you were before—all those times you went utterly crazy and almost psychotic. It was because of my behavior. I mean, there are other internal issues in you that caused it as well. But either way, I can comfort myself in knowing you felt this way already. And now it’s my turn.

It’s kind of busy tonight at the restaurant. I’m driving around blasting the stereo…On my gosh. This fucking song! It breaks me down as I’m listening to it…Ellie Goulding’s Blackmill Dubstep Remix version of Elton John’s “Your Song” is lulling me inside this mental fantasy world you created in my head. It’s not even the lyrics. It’s that progression in the chorus—that soaring single-note synth lead—the edited vocal melody—all that embodies what our world sounds like. It’s the soundtrack to my nostalgia and it’s invigorating. You are my dreamboat.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vt7wvym6oxI

Still delivering Chinese food. I need something a little more…cathartic. Strangely I’m finding it in these Third Eye Blind songs. Windows rolled down. Speakers booming. Singing as loud as I can to….

“Want to get myself back in again.

The soft dive of oblivion.

I want to taste the salt of your skin.

The soft dive of oblivion.

How’s it gonna be when you don’t know me anymore?

How’s it gonna be?”

and….

“Never look back at all the damage we have done now to each other.

Cause when I see you it’s like I’m staring down the sun.

And I’m blinded.

There’s nothing left to do.

Still I see you.

I’m blinded.”

The big breakdown comes after the chorus and it feels like the floodgates of my heart are exploding. I’m belching my voice out. And then the uncontrollable crying comes out, but it almost sounds like laughing—dry heaving. I shout to myself, “STOP IT!” Pulling up to Sloop Point for the last delivery. Drying my eyes with tissues and blowing my nose so I can look presentable to the customer.

http://www.healthyplace.com/relationships/mental-illness/relationships-and-mental-health/menu-id-63/

It’s funny how food has just become so unimportant to me the past few days. Usually I am very strict about eating meals at particular times of the day. I have to get out of this, for health’s sake.

Back home, eating a Tuna Salad Sandwich with Tomato.

Watching the latest edit from the Tokyo DVD—taking notes for changes.

Practicing a little music.

Margot got off work a little early tonight. She comes over. I had a few more things to say to her that I had been thinking about last night and today. There was no need to make this a heavy-hearted meeting though. I feel better when you’re here. Lying down together and exchanging a few kisses here and there. Admiring her form as she reclines on her stomach. I mount myself on top. She’s being incredibly sweet—smiling and looking content. Allowing me to unclip her bra strap and unzip her dress so I can caress and massage her glorious backside. I know the geography of your body. I can map it out in my head. And you’ll never find anybody with as gentle of a touch like mine. My touch is one of a kind.

Me: “How are you feeling?”

Her: “Fine….How are you feeling?”

Me: “Good.”

Newspaper route.

Snacking on Salt n Vinegar Chips.

In a much happier and hopeful mood.

Eating a Coffee Roll and Blueberry Donut from Dunkin Donuts.

Practicing songs on the guitar at the storage unit for my show Friday night at The Taphouse. I get distracted with a new drop-d chord progression—pulling lyrics from the air above me.

Chocolate Milk.

Researching.

Sleep 10:45 a.m.

Wednesday February 16 2011

I wake up to the sounds of Kenneth making racket in the backyard right outside my window. I’m thinking of you. I can’t fall back to sleep now. Putting on my ipod listening to Lali Puna and Postal Service, and other electronic indie pop stuff of the like. Hoping this will drown out the backyard noises and lull me to sleep. In time….zzzzzzz.

DREAM: Waiting on the street in front of my house. I hop into a car. It’s a green Volkswagen station wagon, like an older 80’s model that I’ve never heard of. Sitting in the very back where the cargo space is. The ceiling interior is a soft fuzzy blue and the floor and sides are a soft fuzzy green. There’s a tall skinny black dude in front of me in the back seat—wearing a big black hoodie and baggy blue jeans. An older black couple in the front—man driving—woman in passenger seat. Maybe they’re the parents. I introduce myself to the skinny dude, “Hey how you doin?” We shake hands but he doesn’t seem to really release our grip even though it’s quite a loose one. He returns the friendliness. I call out to the man driving, “Hey! Excuse me. Could you drop me off at the studio up here? I forget what street it is but I know it’s coming up on the right.” I look outside the window and watch the city pass me by. The urban landscape is quite impressive. And the sky is foggy and hazy with a yellow orange glow. There’s a particular building that catches my eye. I take note in my head to return here and take a few photos. The skinny black dude chimes in, “F Street.” He knew where the studio was. “Yeah, that’s right,” I thank him for remembering.

Waking up at 6 p.m.

I think I’ll start back on a normal diet today.

Breakfast: English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

Business.

Margot and I take a trip to Target. She’s browsing for clothes. I find a shopping cart full of flower bouquets leftover from Valentine’s Day. I grab some pink roses and give them to her.

Her: “They’re dying.”

Me: “Yeah, it’s symbolic.”

Heading over to the food aisles. Holding hands. She discovers a roll of Hello Kitty stickers. I remind her how many Hello Kitty stickers she already has and that she doesn’t need to get that. I secretly put it in my basket and buy it. Getting into the car, I toss them to her. “Oh, that’s sweet. That’s really nice of you.”

As we pull up to the house, the song “Blood” by The Middle East starts playing on the stereo (from the mix I made her). “Turn off the car but leave this playing please.” I just wanted to sit there with her and listen to those beautiful melodies. I wanted a physical soundtrack to the emotional beauty I was feeling. Of course, I get teary eyed.

Making Annie’s Cheddar Cheese Shells for her. I’m still not hungry yet.

Playing with the dog, Diamond, whom Kyle is watching just for the week. She’s desperate for attention, the dog that is. We bring her outside on the street and toss a squeaky ball around.

In my room Margot tries on three dresses she just bought today to see which one is my favorite. “You look good in anything, baby. You look good period.”

Sharing a bottle of Governor’s White Wine and starting the movie Breaking Upwards [2009], kind of appropriate because it’s about a couple that mutually strategizes a gradual break-up. It’s entertaining and funny at times, but at some point I just pause it, so I can pay attention to her. Spooning and forking our bodies. We kiss and kiss, with such intensity, with such longing, especially on my end. “I don’t think I’ve ever kissed you like that before…..so good.” Shoveling my tongue directly on that sensitive spot on the left side of her neck. She’s responding. Moving my hand into that scared dark ravine of hers. She’s moaning in pleasure. I feel useful. I want her to feel good. I want to make her happy. This makes me feel more in control.

After a lot of warming up and momentum she finally says to me, “I want to have sex with you………but this has to be the last time.” I ask, “Are you sure?” “Yeah, I don’t think we should but this is the last time.”

After thinking about what she said, my little guy is only slightly able to stiffen up. On Valentine’s Day evening, we had a moment similar to this but I had absolutely no blood rushing down there. The sadness and emotion was too overbearing. After she gets on top of me I’m workable. I really wanted to savor everything I could—her striking shape and curves—the rhythm, pulse, and beat to her movement—her Indian face that appears so gratifying—every cell on her soft caramel body—even her shadow displayed on the wall. My nervous hands compress on her back and side. I make sure to endure a while. It’s a wondrous exchange of ecstasy.

Me: “What do you want me to do now?”

Her: “I want you to let go.”

We continue. And I finish. I finish like I’ve never finished before. My cheeks raise to a smile, maybe it’s an agonizing smile. I’m notorious for laughing afterwards. But this time it’s sobbing, it’s weeping, it’s………“Baby, I love you so much. I’m so…close…so close to you…so deeply connected.” She’s still sitting on me as I continue to whimper and cry. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. I did this in hopes I could prove something to her, that I could remind her how good we are together—thinking she would remember our passion. I know she does, but it’s futile to expect the same anymore.

I complain later about how I feel like she’s just catering to me and it’s not genuine. She assures me, “Baby, I care about you. I want to make you happy. And I want to help you.” I’m tempted to call it charity, but I know she really cares and that’s important to know.

Giving her somewhat of a lecture on how I don’t want to see her make mistakes with people. I don’t want to see her be taken advantage of. I want to protect her. And again, I can’t handle even the thought of her with somebody else. Man, Robert, just get over it. This is useless. It’s time to be productive and come to grips with romantic separation. Here we go…………………………………

http://www.2knowmyself.com/miscellaneous/benefits_of_crying

So much for a normal diet.

Showering—noticing my stomach is flatter.

Chowing down on a little bit of Cheddar Cheese Shells. Can’t finish.

I don’t ever want to love again. I will love life. I will love. I do love. I love. But I do not want to fall in love with someone again. It’s unproductive. Love is ridiculous.

Text from Becca: “I hope you are ok. This is just a shitty week for everyone. I think we will all make it past this and look back on it detached from our current state.” It’s true. I know I will, but the question is, when?

Newspaper route. I stopped doing the Chesapeake route and started one in Virginia Beach, way closer to home.

Snacking on a Pear.

Margot was right about sex being a bad idea. I knew it before she said it. Now I feel worse than I did before. I’m sickly. I feel broken. That moment—it was beautiful and horrible at the same time.

I think I’ll have cereal. My stomach is grumbling in defiance. My milk has gone bad so I take a walk to 7-11. It’s after 7 a.m. and it’s daylight. Smoking a Sampoerna cigarette and rebelling against the pain I’ve been experiencing all day. Talking to myself, I just need to get out, hang out with my other friends, start running again. I need to get back into the excitement of my life. I know I can do it. And I will. Feeling hope and trusting in the great healer that is called time.

Eating a bowl of Cherrios with Brown Sugar.

Running errands—bank—mechanic.

Sleep 10 a.m.