It’s been over a year, no?

Maudlin

Begin rant, with apologies to my friend Jaerik.

Someone mentioned that they found my blog maudlin.

That made me chuckle to myself. Maudlin means unduly self-pitying often with alcohol. That’s probably apropos. God knows I should probably drink less.

Still, I wonder how they expect someone – who just lost his wife and father and almost his best friend via suicide all in the same year and just over a year ago – should act?

I dunno enough about them to make a comment about their lives but I do hope they don’t have to watch the people they love die up close and personal, slowly and in fucking agony.

Cancer and suicide are nuthin if not death in slow motion.

That’s my hope for them. That they continue in their blissful, ignorant – and hopefully cancer, suicide, and death free – lives where someone can go through everything I’ve gone through and not be a little fucking maudlin.

After all, it’s been over a year, no? That’s gotta be enough time for someone to be normal again in their estimation.

I don’t think so, though.

Dunno what they’re made of but I don’t think most people would survive what I’ve survived, let alone function or raise a kid that’s – from all outward appearances – not a train wreck.

It’s hard figuring out the best way to end a rant but I always think that the way the girl with the Blue Jean Eyes used to do it was, and remains, pretty good:

Go fuck yourselves.

Me: Is he…is he happy?
Teacher: Oh yes, he’s always laughing. I mean, it’s a little rough for a minute or two when you drop him off, but then he’s fine.
Me: Good. (thinking) I worry.
Her: (gently) He’s doing well, Logan.
Me: (nodding) Thank you.

Location: In bed
Mood: sick with a fever
Music: What are you made up of?
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Mentally checked out, but home

The other part of the weekend


Been chatting friends and strangers a lot lately. The friends are people checking in on me.

The strangers are just me trying to remember who I was before Alison.

Some people are better with conversations at bars and clubs, others are better out and about. I’m the latter.

Me: I feel the need to tell you that I’m not following you.
Her: (surprised) What?
Me: We got onto the train at the same time, got off the same stop, crossed the street at the same time. I just didn’t want you think that I’m following you. (pointing) I live over there.
Her: (laughs) Oh, ok. Thank you.
Me: (holding out hand) Logan.
Her: (takes hand) Gabrielle.
Me: Hello, Gabrielle. Nice to meet you. You’re French, I take it?
Her: (laughs) Yes.
Me: Lovely. (turning away) I’m…I’m just gonna keep walking this way. (turning back) But maybe I’ll see you around the neighborhood?
Her: (smiles) Maybe.
Me: Goodbye, Gabrielle.
Her: Goodbye, Logan.

After I met up with Kung and Nadi, met up with other friends, all of whom already have nicknames courtesy of my gym. Kong, Panda, Mouse, etc…

Me: Man, I’m already lit.
Him: Logan, you are way too old to talk like that. Way, way, way too old.
Me: Why do you hurt me so?
Him: Because you’re old.
Me: That doesn’t even make sense!

Somehow, Mouse and another girl end up arm-wrestling on the floor of the bar, which is a story in itself. Mouse won. She was one of the people that ran for Alison.

Stumbled home just after 1AM. Took forever to fall asleep.

Met up with someone we’ll call Artistgirl for lunch. She’s going through a breakup.

Her: My thing is obviously a lot different.
Me: (shrugging) Everybody’s grief is grief to them. On that note, I should tell you that I will probably randomly start to cry.
Her: We’ll sit in the back.

Ended up going to a total of three bars across several hours with her. That’s also a story for another time, I suppose.

Stopped drinking so much last week. Because I have to start being OK with reality again.

Also because everything is just a copy of a copy of a copy again. And I’m just trying to clear my head somehow.

Her: Are you home?
Me: I’m home. I’m mentally checked out, but I’m home.

Location: same
Mood: same
Music: Feels like love is a losing game, that you can’t dodge the pain
 Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Blogarama - Observations Blogs