We all have our own Black Swans

A Black Swan is an unforeseen event that makes a huge impact

 

A Black Swan is an unforeseen event that makes a huge historical impact. The assassination of Franz Ferdinand, 9/11, and the rise of dot coms are considered Black Swans.

But we all have our own personal Black Swans, yeah? Those events that changed everything about our lives completely unexpectedly?

The ex moved out a year ago this week.

I recorded the above video for my brother after I got back from Baltimore and saw that she, and all her stuff, was gone (nothing risqué; trust me, totally SFW).

I used the spatula to make myself a peanut butter and orange marmalade sandwich. I sat in my empty living room and thought, Well, this is gonna suck. And it did. Really bad.

But it doesn’t anymore. When I do think of a girl, she’s not the one I think of. I never would have believed it.

Time and tide changes everything.

Note to self: If you ever live with a chick again, do not throw out your utensils just because hers matches.

Life is good.

Location: -20 mins, on Broadway, picking grapefruit
Mood: grateful
Music: My heart was broke, my head was sore, what a feeling
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Still thinking of the other side

If we fail, let’s fail greatly

Saw my friend Skinny tonight. He’s on his way to Japan to a new life.

I’m secretly a little jealous, but happy for him too.

Teddy Roosevelt once said that of the person who tries something bold and new:

at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.

I’m always impressed by who just pick up and go. Thought so many times about moving here or here. But I never did.

Don’t know why I don’t just get to the other side.

Someday.

Until then, Skinny, if you meet a nice (non-pescatarian) Japanese girl, send her my way?

I’ll be here. I’m ever here.

Location: 10PM, yest., with friends
Mood: sotted
Music: What does this city have to offer me
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Depression

Richard Jeni shot and killed himself

Richard Jeni shot and killed himself this week. The news upset me. I liked him. He was good at what he did. He made people laugh. He made me laugh.

Cause: depression.

Depression is horribly, ridiculously misunderstood. I hate how it’s something talked about in hushed tones, an embarrassment. No one sees cancer as an embarrassment but the end results of both, untreated, is the same. Someone ends up dead.

Nobody (in their right mind) refuses chemo because they worry how the family might look with a bald wife/son/father/daughter. When you catch a cold, no one thinks you’re brave if you refuse medication or help.

You’re just an idiot.

Read something once where they interviewed the people that jumped off bridges and survived. They pretty much universally said that, on the way down, they thought, “Oh man, I can change everything about my life…except this thing I’m doing now.”

I heard on the drive home last night that Brad Delp from Boston killed himself too.

What a waste. A colossal, avoidable, waste.

Postsecret
The Overnight

Location: @9 PM yesterday, getting kicked out
Mood: angry
Music: spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide

Leftovers

Splitting cellular phone plans is like signing divorce papers

(c) Postsecret

Saw my ex the other day. We split up our mobile plan; so comically modern – it’s today’s equivalent of signing divorce papers for domestic partners.

It would be funny if it…well…if it just weren’t.

Not one kind word was spoken by either of us. Not one.

She looks like the woman I once loved; I’m sure I looked like the man she once loved. But we’re both not; just shells that can’t even manage to smile.

The above pic summaries perfectly her sentiment as to what went wrong. Who am I to disagree? I know what I am.

When we broke up, I ate my bones and chewed on my heart. Then I had leftovers for @#%^&$! months.

I’ve been seeing a few people; I had drinks with someone just last night. There is this one girl with eyes like faded jeans that I can’t get out of my head, though.

Finished those leftovers months ago; I’m ready for something new.

Location: @12:20, Duane Reade buying cures
Mood: thoughtful
Music: Someday you’re going to get hungry and eat most of the words you just said

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Finding out

Moving on from the breakup

That’s my houseplant, Harold. He keeps mostly to himself.

———-

Bought a new bed about four months ago.

Stopped making two cups of coffee every morning about three months ago.

Stopped thinking about her constantly about two months ago.

Last week we finally split up our phone plans (more on that later).

Just bought new linens and sheets.

I’m moving on.

But her shelves are still bare. Her side of the medicine cabinet is still empty. The spot where her desk used to be is still open.

The thing is, they’re not empty for her.

Tuesday night, I gave in and called one of those women I said I wouldn’t. Something about the weather I guess. Last night, we met up and were out for eight hours in the first real NYC snow of the year. Laughed harder than I have in months.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe something.

Who knows?

Let’s find out.

Location: @3:03 AM, hopping a cab on 9th St & 3rd Ave.
Mood: Working
Music: in the faces you see, you’ll see just who you’ve been

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Changes

Getting your ex off your cell / mobile phone plan is a lot like a divorce

Tom Otterness, Life Underground sculpture

Went out with some friends the other night and I met a girl who recognized me from years ago. She’s 24 years old and an art director now but it turns out that she went to the same church as No. 3. Moreover, some 10 years ago, she was in my apartment, when I was 23 and No 3. was 22, and had a “sleep-over/retreat” of some sort. Vaguely remember it. She was 14 at the time. Felt old.

So very old.

My friend signed his divorce papers yesterday; it’s sad because I was part of his wedding and I thought it would last. It actually the third wedding that I was part of that ended in divorce. I spoke to him today and he said he was fine (he sounded fine) but it was still sad to hear. His best friend dropped me a line about the situation too; it was good to hear from him. It’s good having friends that worry about you.

Speaking of which, my ex contacted me this week. It was the first contact we’ve had with each other for two months. Nothing angry or kind or anything. Just business. She wanted to tell me that my health insurance would run out at the end of this month (I’m currently on her plan) and she would like me to spin off her mobile phone (she’s currently on my plan).

Hadn’t thought about it or her for a bit. Well, that’s not entirely true. Try not to think about it or her.

Dunno…for me, it’s a little like signing divorce papers.

How disappointing.

Location: @ 3:00 – having a burger on Grand Street
Mood: disappointed
Music: Hol fuer dich den Stern vom Himmel
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Moving Day

Decided to make a new personal blog here

It’s been another blur of a weekend. I actually managed to sleep some last night although I don’t think enough. My hands have been shaking like a crack addict on withdrawal.

Ricky had his birthday party last night and I saw him and the rest of the guys. I would have stayed longer (there was a very cool girl I was talking to when I was leaving) but I had agreed to meet Rain downtown so I left at midnight or so.

I’m glad I went, though, because I met another nice girl who’s studying to be an actress and it turns out that we both go to the same church (although at different locations). I offered to give her a lift back home if she wanted to swing by my upper west side church but she had to call me, which she did this morning. She couldn’t make it this Sunday but we agreed to do it next Sunday. She has a nice web page of her own for her career so it was part of what prompted me to get cracking on finishing up my page.

I would type more but my hands keep shaking. I’m going to try and get some sleep. I’m flying back upstate this week for more boring work.

———-

I’ll now be at these two places:
http://logan607.livejournal.com
http://www.loganlo.com

location at 14:45: on 28th Street, playing “whoosh”
mood: awake
music: there must be an angel
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Not Me

Yes, but it is not I

St. Augustine was a guy who lived a pretty sordid life until he found God. He was walking down the street one day and he ran into a prostitute he used to frequent and she called out to him, “Augustine, it is I.” To which, he replied without stopping, “Yes, but it is not I.”

So I have now been single for 31 days. I woke up yesterday after seven hours of sleep and went into the bathroom and looked at myself and I saw a face I hadn’t seen in years look back me. Last night, I slept for another seven hours.

Today I went to see my doc and I took something called the PHQ-9 test, which is basically a test of depression. 30 days ago, my score was 24 out of a possible 27 meaning I was pretty baked. 15 days ago, I scored 19.

Today I scored 6.

I once wrote that I had been here before and I had. Back then, took about a month to get past the worst of it and another four months to get back the remaining bits and pieces. In between that time, I knitted myself back together again (literally and figuratively). I know from past experience that I’m most likely going to fluctuate between a 3 and a 9 over the next several months, because that’s what happened last time. But that overall feeling of sadness is gone. That’s the good news.

The bad news is that I’m not sure who I am any more. I’m not really sure I ever knew. The last time around, after I picked myself up, I was just a patchwork of pieces. Even No. 6 said I wasn’t ready for a relationship yet and maybe if I listened to her, we’d be happy right now. She once wrote that “It’s like dating two people and I never know which one will come home.” One of these two, she called a “monster” because he was always irritable, tired and moody.

It’s not so much like a split personality where you don’t know what the other you is doing, rather, it’s like when you’re intoxicated: You know what you’re doing but sometimes you don’t know why you’re doing it.

It’s easier for me to know who I am when I’m with someone because I can always blend into the other person – like Samanderic from Lord of the Flies. My college friends always joked that I have a million jobs and a million interests. But it’s not so much that – rather it’s my need to be able slip in and out of work and lives. And when I can’t slip in and out easily, like this past month, I stutter and stall.

I waited a day to write this just in case it was just gas, but no, I’m good again. I’m not great, I’m not whole, I’m still a bit busted up and dented in places, but I’m back.

I just don’t know who’s back.

I guess I’ll figure that out as I adjust to single life. I’m going to work on clarifying what I do and who I am in the next several (weeks? months? years?)

I started some projects, one of which will be a proper blog that will replace this one (yes, Nadya, you have to come with me) but I’ll continue to update here until that new blog is in place.

I’m back, but it is not me.
Location: @12:34 – Scoring a 6 on 71st Street
Mood: relieved
Music: I’m free
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