9-11-11

DREAM: Standing on the sidewalk. An antique tow truck parked on the street. It’s green and has an obnoxious front end—the grill measures higher than my height. A man is instructing someone else inside the vehicle to fix something. My stomach feels queasy—emotionally nauseous…

Waking up just after 11:30 a.m.

Italian Plums. Orange Juice.

Even though I’m speaking metaphorically when I say there’s a grey rain cloud hanging over my head, I wish there really was one to block these ultra violet sunrays.

Build me up. You built me up.

Then…pause…stop…wait.

Hold on.

What am I doing?

Invasion. Intrusion.

Sparkle. Ignite.

Is this not perfect understanding?

The delicacies of a heart sinking…

Lunch: Peanut Butter Bagel. Lemonade.

Rachel: “All parties are in the wrong.”

Quick stop at Trader Joe’s for honey, milk, and chips…

While I’m waiting in line I get lost in a hypnotic daze, staring at the other persons in line, some of them fairly attractive. But I come to the realization during this ten second moment that I’m the kind of person that enjoys suffering and invites it into my life through one form in particular, an open heart. Maybe this is how I feel most alive, in these periods of distress, giving power to sentimentality. Really I’m just getting ahead of myself—reacting ahead of the game. But I’m a hunter for whole grain emotion. And all I’ve done is rake in a cluster fuck of sadness/loss/rejection/fear piling up in every corner of the room and experienced on all fronts by more than one person. Slowly I’m becoming level headed—feeding the left-brain equations and logic. It spits out blunt solutions that the right-brain will do nothing but argue and fight against.

Snacking on Salt n Vinegar Chips and a Coke.

The night continues…

I’m a versatile actor in relationships. I’ve played almost every single role there is. It’s strange watching all the characters switch.

Blueberry Yogurt.

The last hour at work is insanely slow. Not one order. In regards to 9/11 my boss comes up to me and says, “So are people at church or something?” like maybe that’s the reason business is slow.

Finally home.

Dinner: Polenta Provencale with Turnip Greens, Egg, and a Carrot. Shitty Beer.

“Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark,

And has the nature of infinity.” ---Wordsworth

God, I’m pathetic—sitting here in my room, my head throbbing, face planted into my baby pillow, weeping…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…*…

The forbidding of expression is the ultimate crime against the human heart. I don’t want to fall out. I don’t want to digress. This is too important. I’m sad. I’m dramatic. But this is good. This means something. There’s a reason. There’s a reason my heart is heavy. But is it really that serious? Survival is a given but prosperity is not. To be me…is to be acutely aware. That’s who I am. And that’s why I behave like I do and think like I do and love like I do.

I will try to be patient...for now. But just know I fight for things I believe in. I am a warrior and always have been. I’ve won some and lost some. And unfortunately lost faith in some too. You have your own energy to handle. You are smart enough to know what’s best for you. And you’re definitely taking the proper precautions and setting the proper boundaries. But time has a unique way of revealing our true inner desires and drives. And I trust in that…always will.

I’ve experienced too many forms of death this year (2011), too many funerals in my head. Maybe this is just training for the end when 2012 hits.

Time for a nightwalk to clear the head…the moon is exceptionally brighter than usual, lighting up the whole sky, doing a better job of spotlighting the scene than these glowing streetlights. Stomping the grounds of the abandoned courts by Laskin road and mulling over everything—talking to myself out loud. Smoking this Djarum Mild until the last crackle. I’m a confident man. I should keep reminding myself that.

In the meantime, Margot has given me what she claims to be her last reaching out in a long passionate and endearing email entitled “The last letter”. It would be too much for one entry to divulge its contents and describe another subject on loss. This soap opera is thick enough as it is for one day.

Detach. Break free. Attach to the lone wolf bellowing inside me.

Frosted Shredded Wheat Cereal.

Sleep sometime after 4 a.m.