Friday, August 22, 2014

A Series of Unlikely Events

One was having another grand mal seizure.  This was from drinking.

I had done so well for half a year without drinking.  Then June hit. and everything hit at once, and I didn't care anymore.  I seriously didn't care at all anymore.  I tried to stay on the meds, but why?  We weren't going to be friends again.  When that became obvious even to my thick skull, I just gave up.  I'd lost my job, the one I loved, and all care for the world.  I kept trying to get back on the Zoloft but it didn't feel like before.

I look at my bookshelf that I haven't packed.  I should throw away the Nexus 7 packaging.  Why is it still there?  Sentimental.  Mrs. Peregrine's Home For Peucliar Children... why isn't it sold?  You finished it, I never did.  More and more I think after my cousin comes help move most of my stuff into storage for me, I should give up and move home and get a job at the factory Keith works at. 

Last night, I got a gmail alert.  "Ding."

"Your friend xxxxxx has recommended you for a job..."

And I clicked the link and read about the job.

And for the first time in months, I'm excited.  Years, even.  This job was practically created for me.  My friend knows it.

So I cut short the trip this weekend taking junk home to come back and put together a more appropriate demo.

My head is spinning right now about it.  It is a perfect job for me and my entire life would change.  And best of all, the things in the past would become that... the past.  No longer something I need to drag out of the tide and examine the contents of.

Sure, I'd have to say goodbye to family, but once a year I'd see them.  Besides, I can see what I saw in Dad two years ago in Mom... her age is changing her. I don't want to see that.  Keith will be better at dealing with her.  Heck, he almost talked me into the ambulance.  Just was a tad too mean about it.

Finishing up the demo and crossing my fingers.  Maybe a new life will start soon.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

But they keep dry clicking their revolvers at my head

I should preface this with I do not have suicidal thoughts.

But I do, in fact, think about my death a lot.

For example, if I had a stroke right now, packing shit up and stressing out, if I had a stroke right now, I'd die.  And nobody in the world would care.

My body would lie slumped over this laptop, drooling on the keyboard.  And a stroke would be a horrible way to die alone, being paralyzed and unable to call for help.  And then just knowing my mind would run through all my sins and would focus on myself.

And that's how they'd find me.  My little brother, probably.  Slumped over and half naked and decaying.

And nobody would miss me.  I'm part of nobody's life.  The funeral would be sparse.  Nobody would even leave flowers at my tombstone after the first year.

Makes me wonder why I bother going on.

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Death, murder, mayhem, devastation and horror

Well this has been quite the week, hasn't it.

First, the suicide of Robin Williams and having to react to all the stupid shit posts that came with that, about how he was "selfish" and should have just worked through his depression, because everybody knows that's so easy to do... don't you just take some happy pills? 

Then watching Ferguson devolve into a cesspit of racism and lawlessness, then re-emerge from it in peace, only to devolve once again at the end of the week.

Plus, finding out that I was not the lead candidate for the job in Virginia after all, and that they were close to closing on an agreement and it should be final by Tuesday, which I found out yesterday morning, driving home another load of stuff from Dayton.

Then early this morning, finding out that Roger from Peoria lost his partner Carl to a heart attack.

Friday, August 15, 2014

He's got legs

This may be the most depressed I've been since Dad died and Dale left.  Who knew I would be making a huge mistake going off the meds?  Everything seemed to be going fine.  

Anyway.  I'm signing up for COBRA soon so I should be able to stay on them now.  A new job will come along, in fact, I'm applying for one this morning.  Checking on the Navy base one too, but somehow I think that ship has sailed.

Heh.

I had another stroke dream.  This one had to do with my legs.  They weren't working right... I mean, I was walking around but I felt drunk or in molasses or something, always off balance.

Anyway.  Back to work on my demo.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Mork

What's really freaking me out is that the day before it happened, I, for no reason, watched the first two eps of Mork & Mindy.

I remember sitting on his couch when Dale got a text from Peck that Michael Jackson had died.  That moment really stuck with me.  No matter what you thought of MJ, you couldn't say he wasn't talented.  Unless you just saw Captain Eo.  But I felt so sad, mostly though because I knew Dale enjoyed his music, and there would be no more music.

Dave, my cousin, had been texting me at the time.  We were talking about "The Strain."  Guillermo del Toro's big vampire apocalypse story.  Then, at the end of it, as the first ep of Mork and Mindy ended on youtube, came the message, "just herd robin williams killed himself."

I don't remember my response.  It was just one word, whatever it was.  "Ouch?"  That seems like me.  I wouldn't be crass, not about Mork, and I wouldn't be disrespectful so immediately. Not about Mork.

For no reason... actually, there was one.  I thought of the egg that came with the M&M card game.  Roger had thought it was stupid and went inside to play his Odyssey II.  Jumpman, maybe.  I just started watching it and then the next ep and then Dave told me Robin Williams had died.

I tried watching some of his failures this morning.  Do not bother with Bicentennial Man.  That was a paycheck.

I'm scared of finishing ep2.  What if Pam Dawber gets hosed by reality?

I am just going back to sleep.  Benadryl.  Gnite.

nightmare.

Had a goddamn bad one.

Bad, bad, bad.

Monday, August 11, 2014

fucking Robin Williams

I was all prepared to be ashen faced and sad about unemployment and being kicked to the curb yet again by everybody in life and then fucking Robin Williams has to go and kill himself and fuck up my shit.

I remember the Mork & Mindy card game we'd play at Roger Garret's house.  We brought it there for some reason.  Roger never wanted to play it, but he was always wanting to do his own thing (also dead now RIP).  It came with an egg for some reason, which was important to the game... my memory makes me think if you got the egg, you basically won the game.  The game was basically Uno, if I remember correctly.  We only played it because of the Mork connection.

It was Mork & Mindy that made me realize how much I did not like summer.  It was nearly 9 PM and I realized if I didn't go inside I'd miss the show... yet it was still sunlight out!  Fuck that!  Fuck you sunlight!  I'm watching Mork!

In the mid to late 80s, we of course could not afford to buy a VCR, but once in a while I saved up enough from mowing yards to rent one.  One of the first ones we rented was a Robin Williams stand-up hour, cocaine-fueled and high-energy, and pretty damn funny.  I was always good at choosing which movies to rent when we rented a VCR for the night... even now those movies hold up.

And now he's gone.  Mork is gone?  I guess it should have been expected, but honestly, we were expecting a heart attack from cocaine overdose, not suicide.  I guess, most of us, anyway.  The ones with depression probably expected something else.

Just not me.

Valerie

Just had a bit of a meltdown.

I'd put together my new demo and was writing emails for it to send to various folk, and realized I needed a quote from V FOR VENDETTA.  I'd forgotten that the quote wasn't included in the movie, and if I had remembered that anyway, I'd already packed up the novel, but I streamed the movie looking for the quote, and came up on Valerie's Letter.

As far as I am concerned, it is one of the most beautiful pieces of fiction, ever.  I totally believed she was in a death camp, like Evey, and that she had written the letter to her just before dying. And when V revealed he hadn't written it, it broke my heart, because I believed that too.

I believed a fiction.  I've never done that.  The characters, so real in my head, how could they not be true?  But they weren't.  They were all just things made up in Alan Moore's demented head.  A head which also devoted over a dozen issues of a brilliant original comic Promethea to explaining all the levels of sex magic, so there's also that to consider.

It is a story of true love.  Valerie will not give up her love, even after being betrayed.  I hate to say it, but I know the feeling.  I reject what people said about him.  I told myself they were trying to console me.  That they were trying to ease my pain.  They did not realize how much it hurt to hear such things... because if what they were saying was true, it meant I was the idiot.  I was the stupid and selfish person, too, waiting in the shadows for a love that would never return.

I don't know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.


Dog gone

Putting together a new demo this morning and packing up more stuff (today, hardcovers... one box for "keep" and one box for"Half Price Books"), and read a horror story about a dog that survived being thrown from a car, which made me cringe and realize how far I had come in appreciating animals.

We grew up in the sticks, and in the sticks pets would come along and stay for a while, or leave after a bit, or half the time get hit by cars.  These pets were almost always cats, most of whom decided to have their litter of kittens under our porch, and at the time Mom wasn't medicated and Dad wanted nothing to do with them, so the first two times they wandered off or were run over, yeah, it was traumatic... but after a while they were kind of like popcorn at a movie... good if it's available, but no deal breaker.

It wasn't really until Kelly started getting into animal rescue that I recognized the benefits that they could bring, and really not until he brought home Leo that it really hit me.  Leo changed my perception dramatically, impossibly.  He was fiercely loyal (to a fault it must be said), extremely loveable, and goofy as fuck.

The snooze-button story is the one I tell people to explain how smart Leo is.  It amazes everybody, every time.

Knowing that he'll be gone in ten to twelve years actually makes me sad right now.  I guess it's better to have to bury your pets if you're alone than have them wonder why you're not getting out of bed.  And then probably eat you.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Overdrawn at the Memory Bank



Memory is not what you think it is.  

We think memory is like a video recording, collecting an exact record of what you saw and felt at the time the memory was created, but it is rarely just that.  It's also a collection of feelings that have changed since then, say towards a person, or desires of when something happened and what you wish had been said, instead of what really happened.  

This is why I always try to record my thoughts, somehow, of events as soon as they have happened, especially if they are important to me.  And even getting them written down, hoping they are unmolested by memory's delusions, they already are before they even leave my fingertips.  

I can say an ex treated me wrong, but there is just as likely a chance I mistreated him in much the same way I'm thinking he did me.  Obvious projection brought on by guilt, with a touch of immaturity... basically, "No I didn't, you did!"  And likely the same thing happens with my ex.  Either of them.

Being part-OCD as well as depression didn't help.  It made matters worse.

But still I look at old entries and I can at least recognize some truths.  I wasn't blind to my own faults... I wanted the people I cared about to recognize there was something wrong with me.  I  think, maybe, if they just said, "You need help," rather than "Stop doing this," that would have maybe been the best medicine.  Because "You need help" implies that they don't want to lose you... "Stop doing this" implies that they'd be glad to abandon you if you don't stop your behavior.

Well, not glad to, but willing to.  

But that's important to remember about memories, especially with people you were once close to.  Whatever drove you apart is likely shaping those memories.  One example is a close friend from back home who suddenly one day asked why I would hang out with my cousin.  At the time, I bristled at the question, and in fact stopped hanging out with that guy afterwards.  It was like he was saying I could do better than my cousin for a friend, and I did not appreciate that at all (he had said the same thing about others in high school, although not to me).

I avoided this friend through the years, which was easy to do as we grew up and apart, although once I started going back home more often over the years, we'd see each other.  One day I was talking about visiting my cousin and he asked how he'd been doing.  We had a good talk about Dave's stint in the army, and how he'd gotten married a few times and had kids.  This friend wasn't putting my cousin down, he just really didn't know anything about him.  

Suddenly I realized that all those years I'd been harboring a grudge based on what I thought was a snide remark the guy made, but he hadn't, it was just curious about my cousin, whom he really didn't know.  And my feelings tempered my memories of what he asked... I had been the asshole all along.

There are relationships I will never repair, partly because of my own stupidity and jealousy, but not just my own feelings.  Our memories are tempered and shaped by other experiences and are an amalgamation of this... knowing this helps, but not always, especially if the relationships are beyond repair.