April 4th, 2011
Yesterday Mr. Big was in town for a charity event for which I had agreed to help with. The provisions of my help were that “we would make dummy buy us dinner.” The event itself went off rather well and at total of $2,400 was raised for cancer research, or awareness, or something. It was cancer related.
The only problem I felt with the whole situation was that S[f] and V were also there and I had not expected this. My impression from the text messages I’d received was that I would be helping Le Petit Garçon dans les Cuissard Rouge assist Mr. Big in the preparation and cleanup for the gig and that we would be doing it alone. The truth of the matter was that suddenly we had all the assembled cast (except for L’étranger) in our recent soap opera. A, the final character, was not present, but didn’t need to be as I had been spending the whole day with her and was heading back over to see her once the task was finished.
Rouge and S[f] are brothers and were both vying for the same woman, V. Rouge then undercut S[f] to “win” V for himself and distance her from S[f]. V stopped “putting out” so Rouge (as far as we ascertain) began sleeping with A to make V jealous as much as to get his rocks off. This was not done “openly” so V only had suspicions but immediately disliked A. I introduced S[f] to A in the hopes that he could use his “vast network of friends” (now known to be a great exaggeration) to expand A’s limited social circle. I took a strong liking to A and Rouge tried to keep their relationship secret from me. S[f] started his own plan to get A to have sex with me and then leave me so that I “wouldn’t be able to get laid for two years” and that this would mature me. S[f] ended up developing his own attachment issues and the whole quagmire formed.
The only person to really get screwed in the deal was A. And she was screwed multiple times.
The presence of the entire cast made me very uneasy about even bringing her up, as this has caused violent explosions from a number of parties in the past.
After the situation was over we all went out to dinner at The Bagel. We, in this instance, included the cast already mentioned, Mr. Big, his girlfriend, and his mother. (L’étranger even made a cameo as he was on the ham radio band that Le Petit Garçon dans les Cuissard Rouge was using to communicate with S[f] on the drive over to the restaurant.) I avoided bringing A up in the slightest the whole time in order to keep the flying feces from hitting the fan. This, in turn, caused me to be dropped off (incorrectly) at my house instead of her apartment. My house is about a thirty minute walk from her apartment.
I gave her the story of the situation when I arrived and this included my reason for being late. Her demeanor changed and she clammed up. Minutes later she gave me the option of getting a ride home or walking. (The obvious point here—which she did not make directly—was that I would be leaving, and leaving very shortly.) What had come over her was a mask of anger to cover the pain that lingered just beneath the surface. In protecting her from the unnecessary drama that might or might not have occurred from bringing her up, I had, in fact, betrayed her by making her into some dark and unmentionable secret.
On my way out she verbally cut me down. Her anger had little effect on me. It was the pain that got to me. One of the things she accused me of was being embarrassed by her. “You have only five acquaintances in the world and you never mention me with them!”* was another line I endured. I wanted to be angry at her for not appreciating what I did for her. (In the past she had gotten upset over casually being talked about in what she felt was “behind her back.” I thought that by avoiding her as a subject, I would save her from this.) I wanted very much in that moment to be angry at her and if her pain hadn’t slipped through I quite possibly could have been. But seeing the pain I’d inadvertently caused her broke me and I just stood in her doorway with my head down as she slung her words at me.
A thunderstorm had been moving in for at least the past hour. On my way over I saw many bursts of lightning, but heard no thunder. On my way back I could hear the thunder and hoped, quite seriously, that I would be struck by the lightning that caused it.
We ended up exchanging text messages and slowly got to the root of the problem. My actions leave her feeling rejected and left in solitude and are caused by my avoidance of conflict. The (recurring) problem has her wondering if we should continue in this capacity.
I had hoped writing about this situation would help me unravel my reasons for constantly avoiding conflict. In one of her texts yesterday, she suggested the cause might be deeper than that I am aware of. I’ve gotten to this point and I feel no concrete answer forming within me. Perhaps I need to sleep on it again. One thing is certain: the more I think about the issue, the more I feel I need to know the answer, not only for her sake, but for my own.
Avoiding a conflict where one is sure to arise and be harmful, is not only logical, but wise. Avoiding a supposed conflict where there is no reasonable backing for such a belief—that is, where there is no reason to believe that a conflict will arise—is bordering on insanity.
*I thought about this for a while and then realized that this is not true. While the “five acquaintances” part is a bit of an exaggeration, I do talk to people I know about her. (My friends included.) I’ve talked/texted to the people at the Chinese restaurant (the one my father visits every Friday night) about her, I’ve talked to my doctor about her, I’ve talked or texted various friends and discussed her and our relationship. The only people I’ve thus far avoided talking to about her are those people involved in the drama, namely Le Petit Garçon dans les Cuissard Rouge, S[f], and (on the rare occasions in which I see her) V. I’ve even talked/texted L’étranger about her.
December 31st, 2010
I am in a foul mood to say the least.
My doctor did not allow my prescription to be refilled as he wants me to come in for a visit. Of course, with it being the holiday(s), no one is in the office to schedule an appointment or to have me get a temporary prescription. I am now experiencing the withdrawal symptoms (or rather, I have been experiencing the withdrawal symptoms for the past few days) and, as expected, it is less that fun. In the past I have found that sustained eating can temporarily stave off such symptoms, though remaining in a state of constant consumption is not nearly as easy as it sounds. Today my feelings on the matter can be summed up with the phrase “fuck it.” I have no desire to eat, or even make the attempt to eat. Hunger does not even enter into the picture.
I am sullen, depressed, unmotivated, and angry. At the moment the only thing I feel “motivated” to do is to curl up in a quilt and let myself starve to death. Prior to middle school, I was a very happy child. Then everything withered into shades of beige and gray. When I began taking the little pink lies (which are actually purple now that I’ve switched to the generics) my parents noticed that I was a “happier” or at least, a “more agreeable” person. (I began taking the pills for anxiety, not depression.) I have been off of the lies before, but something about this particular instance allows me to see just how much of a difference there is in my personality and mood. While I am not typically “happy” when on them, I do not feel a crushing sense of impending defeat or futility in all my courses of action. I am easier to become motivated about a subject (though -5 + 25 still does not get to 100) and more capable of doing the things that I want for myself and to make other people happier. In short, I can see just how much closer to my idealized concept of who I want to be—who I should be—I am when I am on the lies now that I am deprived of them. It is this which has me furious. The notion that the person I need myself to be can only exist with the aid of some chemical is beyond abhorrent and yet true. That there is a lack (of something) within my brain that causes me to be this way naturally makes me want to do very violent things.
Aha! They shall not get done. You see, as I stated earlier, I don’t feel like doing anything.
Adding to my situation is that She is once again at home in Texas. She goes home for Thanksgiving and I am bereft of Her presence. Then she returns, but Her ex-boyfriend (damnable 61-year-old, millionaire, university art professor that he is) is trying to appease Her and win back Her affections. In their relationship he would fly across the world to see various people (including former ass that he used to grab) at the drop of a hat, but he would not come to Chicago to visit Her. (He did, but only once. In fact this one time, was the only time he visited Her. In every other instance, She was the one who had to make the journey to see him.) Now, as part of a list of things that he must do to prove that the situation has changed, he comes out to see Her for a week. Essentially this means that I cannot see Her for a week. (There is no rule about this and I have fantasies about randomly showing up at Her apartment, stopping him in the middle of a scene and overpowering him, but I maintain distance out of respect and the knowledge that the situation will doubtlessly combust otherwise.) He leaves on Tuesday. (Have you noticed the sudden tense shift in my writing? I have.) Of course, right after he leaves the Christmas/New Year’s break arises so I only am allowed a few days with Her, and these are taken up with an unreasonable amount of work dumped on Her by Her job.
So She is once again away from me for an extended period of time. What’s more, She was planning on seeing an old friend of hers for a New Year’s Eve party, but the geezer demands that She see him on this day. He commands and She obeys. His intention is that he will perform two scenes with Her. (One, I am certain, has already been performed as of this writing.)
In no formal way are we bound to each other. She is not my girlfriend. (Though, from all outward appearances it would seem so.) She may sleep with whomever She so chooses. Apparently I am free to do the same, though the probability of this coming to pass is so low as to not even be worth the time to calculate. Of course, She’s already made it abundantly clear that the thought of me being with another woman irritates Her to no end. Yet while She’s in Texas She freely (and at length) tells me about the people She wants to fuck and how She’s excited for the possibility to try with a friend of hers with an enormous cock, or a female friend that’s supposedly very hot, or etc., etc., etc.
I’m not even in a position to demand certain things from Her. I have no job, my house is a complete and utter mess, I have few friends, and (for the most part) I’m still living off of my parents. I can’t even threaten (if I had any inclination to do so) going off with someone else.
I had more to say, but I really don’t feel like typing any more…
December 1st, 2010
Have not written for several months. Through speed skating I met a wonderful, dedicated, and beautiful young woman from Texas. Almost immediately a strong connection formed between us in a way that I have never experienced before with anyone. She accepted that I had problems and was committed (and more importantly, willing) to help me get through them. Fortunately (for me, at least) she was having her own (decidedly different) problems concerning her move to Chicago and her recent breakup with her boyfriend. In these respects I was capable of giving myself to her in a way that she needed more than I was aware of.
She helped me prepare to find and get a job and I was able to open up about my lifelong issue of hoarding. My mother and I have so much garbage and crap in the house that we haven’t let anyone inside in years. It’s far more embarrassing than I am adequately able to put into writing. Nevertheless, I was able to stab the beast in its side delivering a serious (if not mortal) wound. It bleeds out slowly but still takes vicious swipes at me. Still, I was able to get the situation under control enough to the point where I was able to let her into the house.
In spite of both of our difficulties we did begin to move toward each other both romantically and sexually, although we were never officially “together” and there was never any agreement of exclusivity. My quickly depleting funds did put a strain on things as now she was giving me both mental and physical support. I was opposed to her buying me things and meals, but apparently not strongly enough.
Then I managed to land a fairly competitive writing job with Groupon, an internet company she enjoyed and uses quite frequently. Suddenly my life felt as if it was coming together. I had a job that forced me to write and write creatively, I was with someone I had a strong connection to, and I was finally readying the house to either take over as master or to fix it up for my mother to sell.
Halfway into the two week trial period (which is what I had managed to land myself in) she went back to Texas to see her family (and ex-boyfriend) for Thanksgiving. It was a trying time mentally, as I did feel as if she had taken part of me with her when she left. A conversation with her father (who likes me as a person, but thinks I’m not a suitable match for her) gave her some serious second thought as to our potential future together. Then the hardcore questions began to rain down on me and it was clear that she was filled with doubt. A conversation with her mother seemed to provide almost the opposite view. In this scenario I was probably the right man for her even though I (probably) won’t fulfill her projected needs in a mate but she was probably not the right woman for me. It was after expounding upon the subject that her mother began to cry.
Our relationship had been strained from the beginning (it was though we were running toward each other and keeping ourselves at arm’s length at the same time) but this trip brought out a coldness in her toward it and in our discussions it became readily apparent that she was having an increasing need to draw away from me. As the days progressed the feeling of a certain decision or doom hanging over us began to feel more and more tangible.
Still, we were friends and in love with each other and very much eager to see one another again. This was very much in my mind during the last day of my two week trial on the job. My level of excitement made it a bit difficult to focus on my work but I managed to slog through the day in high spirits until about 4:20 PM when I received an email notifying me of a meeting to review my progress at the end of the two weeks. Suddenly I was filled with dread and forced myself to ignore and then reread this ominous communiqué. After a few minutes if feeling horrendously bad, I decided that I was Captain Awesome and that they were going to tell me that there was no way they couldn’t keep me on the job.
This feeling was fleeting.
The meeting itself was very brief and to the point. They did not see the progress they were looking for in my write-ups and would not be keeping me on.
I cleared out the few personal belongings I had, returned my keycards, turned in my final timesheet, and got the hell out of there. My life had come to an end. Of course I still had a job to do. I had to ride back to Evanston, get the car from the parking garage, drive to O’Hare, find her or a parking spot, pick her up, and return to Evanston as agreed and planned.
My ride back on the ‘L’ was punctuated by cheerful texts about her impending arrival. These were of an informational nature and needed no response. I did not feel up to or capable of responding and so didn’t.
As expected, her plane was continually delayed. When we finally found each other I hugged her and took one of her bags, but did not kiss her, pick her up and spin her around as I said I would. We hadn’t even left the airport terminal when she asked what the problem was and I confessed. It was a very long drive back as she discussed her problems with the situation and this latest development. I didn’t need or want to hear it. I would have preferred silence in my misery.
In the end she decided that she needed distance from me.
September 11th, 2010
Completely unrelated to September 11th. I find that I have been neglecting this journal and I should write something.
Today is rainy and overcast. No storms, just light rain. Unfortunate. Exceedingly lonely and depressed at the moment. I need a woman to put my arms around and just relax with. Someone who cares. A. would probably be willing, but she is almost a county away thanks to my house bouncing. I am in Hillside and this house is stifling me. I am sure it is the house. Something, some Anvë, is bleeding through the walls and is trying to make me kill myself. Should probably read Kafka, yet I don't feel like doing so. Haven't even gotten off the couch yet. Considering forcing myself to get up and eat some pineapple.
Was advised to view craigslist recently. Specifically the "strictly platonic" section in the personals to try to meet some women. I have done so, but I believe that this may be making me more lonely. I have nothing to offer any of these women. And no one would respond to any message that I should post with any truth. (A lack of information is still a deception.) I have nothing to offer except my empathy to people in an emotionally bad situation. Of course, people in such a situation do not want someone such as me.
August 17th, 2010
|04:32 pm - Late Night Adventure|
I have very little patience for writing today so my intention is to be succinct. This should prove to be an interesting writing exercise.
Training yesterday was held on the Skokie Valley right of way. Given a comment by S about G not paying rent to his father because “he’d just waste the money anyway” I began thinking about the whole financial situation. I have not paid G for training in the past for being broke at the time but was considering it earlier in the season due to my job. Following the whole situation with G, S, V, and A,
my the beautiful, intelligent, and caring young woman, I was disturbed and angry enough to not pay him out of spite. Then I began thinking about the situation with his father and realized that this was the incorrect way to go about my passive-aggressive vengeance, should I take any. It would be morally wrong to not pay for services rendered because of a completely unrelated event.
On the way I threw forty dollars at him and told him to get fat or drunk or whatever. At first he refused the money on the same account as the previous times, but I insisted. After that he (and “his pocket,” such were his words) was happy.
After training, when A had finally showed up, G—instead of thinking of taking me straight to the train, as is usual—invited the both of us over to his father’s place to hang out before heading over to “Starsuck’s.” I found it odd that he invited us both instead of allowing for some time alone with her. What ended up happening was that A became essentially ignored by G as he focused almost totally on asking me questions about Chicago & Northwestern bi-level gallery cars.
Eventually we did go to the coffee shop where a whole host of people were gathered. After a short amount of time G went outside essentially leaving me alone with A for a few hours. We did a lot of talking and I poked her a lot (which I enjoyed a little bit too much).
We ended up staying so late that there weren’t any trains that I would be able to catch back to my father’s house (and I didn’t have my pills with me) so she offered to drive me back. I attempted to navigate my way to Mannheim Road from Dempster but missed a turn in Desplaines and got trapped on the wrong side of the UP-Northwest Line for a huge section of area without any grade crossings. This gradually led us further and further from where we wanted to be and instead of pulling a U-turn at the first available opportunity, I suggested we try to find a cross street, head south and then back east to run into Mannheim.
This was a terrible idea. All the roads were crooked and spaced unevenly and we kept getting more and more lost as I kept trying to steer us back east. What I had not realized at the time was that the UP-Northwest Line (true to its name) travels northwest and that as we paralleled it looking for a turn we were moving further and further north. Given this we would never run into Mannheim as we were well north of where I thought we were and only vaguely began to realize this as I saw names such as Pfingston and Tower Road in the dark.
I began to get more and more freaked out as the gas got lower and lower, all the while completely conscious that she had an unfinished and unpracticed project due for work the next day and that she was having a performance review this same week. She also repeatedly mentioned that she needed to get to bed by at least two o’clock otherwise she would be totally useless for the next day. Every cord in my body started to hurt. Nothing out there looked familiar, A was going to get fired, and I was the cause of it all.
The after a series of more unfortunate turns, we looked up to realize that we had turned onto a small residential street and that we were clearly in the wrong place. It was at precisely this moment that I looked up and finally did see something familiar: a train station. On closer inspection, e gads! it was the Milwaukee Road! Suddenly I had a general idea of where we were and had a method to follow getting back. We were in Glenview and the train station was The Glen. We followed the train tracks until we came to an east-west road I finally recognized and we began heading toward our starting point.
The low gas light came on and we began hunting for a gas station more than anything else. Of course gas stations proved to be elusive and the few we did manage to find were all closed: one after another. She couldn’t comprehend it. How could they all be closed?! I understood it perfectly well: we were in the suburbs and it was late at night. Everything was closed.
After more continued driving we ended up back in Evanston and I could navigate back to the nearest gas station.
In the time between we initially got lost and found a gas station I must have apologized about the situation a minimum of forty times.
On the way out (one I had a crystal clear idea of where we were and how to get there—taking Oakton instead of the accursed Dempster) it was an easy shot. She was concerned that the twenty dollars she’s put in the tank would not be enough to get there and back. When I tried to give her the remaining twenty five dollars in my wallet to cover any potential trouble with fuel she refused. At one point I threatened to push the money between her breasts since I knew that if I tried to put it in her hand she wouldn’t take it. Still, she insisted that she didn’t need the money and so I insisted that I was indebted to her for completely ruining the situation. At first she seemed reluctant to the whole idea, but the more I insisted that because I screwed up big time I both couldn’t do certain things to her any more (such as poking her) and that I had to do whatever favor she needed.
The more she thought about it the more she realized that this fit in perfectly with her desire to dominate a man and be his mistress. She began talking about things she could have me do (boot licking was first on her list) and because of the potential severity of these recent events I couldn’t say no. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea (that is, as she thought of more uncomfortable situations to put me in and heard me groan and watched me squirm just thinking about it, the more she liked it). Thus the whole thing was settled. It’s not something I would have suspected to find myself in.
August 16th, 2010
A dream: Sitting at my laptop when it finally loads in safe mode. Trying frantically to load every document on my hard drive. The documents open, I copy them all to the clipboard and try to paste the text into one huge email so that if my computer is utterly destroyed, I will at least have a copy of all my work. Just as I paste the text into the email the computer locks up.
August 14th, 2010
The most fascinating aspect about the whole night was that while the figure of speech is "like getting kicked in the balls," while waiting for and riding the train one of my testicles felt as though it had been twisted around upon itself. Perception creates reality.
August 13th, 2010
|10:50 pm - Supplemental|
Hope is terrible. It can make one happy before anything has actually happened.
August 10th, 2010
Woodstock is 1709 days old
Blondie and Dagwood are 1195 days old
Yesterday’s dryland training session on the North Shore Line was moved to Robert Crown due to high temperature, soggy ground, or something. On this particular Monday the figure skaters where having some kind of a show. During the warm up I got to get a sample of some of the music they would be playing for the show. One skater was going to skate to a bastardized version of “A day in the Life” and another (which I found instantly comical) would skate to the 2005 version of the theme for Doctor Who.
Much of the training was done to work around the performance and ended up getting chopped up ad cut down. Still, we managed to finish in time for me to just miss the 8:02 train.
Ashley offered to give me a ride to the train station (even though there was about a forty five minute wait for it) as it was on her way. I accepted. On the way there she must have thought better of the idea and offered instead to drive home and then walk back with me to the train station. She said something about not knowing where to park around the station.
This is very important. It seems so obvious now in hindsight, but it would not have occurred to me. This concept of walking someone to their destination. It is both polite and allows for the opportunity for conversation. Like Kintaro, I must study study study.
I learned much from her in the time we talked together on the way to the train and while waiting for it on the platform. I fear I talked too much about myself even though she assured me it wasn’t a problem. She thought it was “cute.” People have often thought I was self-centered (they have said so to me) because I talk about myself often. I merely don’t know what else to talk about. This all came about when she admitted to being narcissistic, although I’ve seen no signs of this whatsoever and told her so.
Apparently she talks to George a lot. (Or rather that he talks to her a lot.) This was both surprising and interesting. George has never seemed to be the type to talk much. He has always seemed much more of the type to use text messages that say little to nothing. It would seem that his communication skills depend greatly on the gender of the listener.
It is very depressing. It is yet another reminder than I don’t talk to people “like others do” because I don’t know what people talk about.
On the whole she spoke a lot about George. She spoke about George as much as I talked about myself.
Apparently she tried to go out with George (she liked/likes the attention) but he refused on account of already having a girlfriend. (An interesting tidbit which I know, but not from him.) She thinks he's trying to get her laid. (Probably because she wants to get laid.) I recounted the story of George's comments after her first training session. (Thinking back on it now, I wonder if George already told her about it.) This ended up leading to the general topic of getting laid and then, as if it suddenly occurred to her that I am indeed a guy, she asked if I would be interested. The gist of what I said was "I'm always interested," though now I wonder if this was not an active enough answer. It lacks specificity, and therefore, it leans toward a passive answer.
For a while the prospect of this greatly excited me and lasted through the night and into the next day. At some points I wanted to do flips and summersaults and other physical activities, but later my excitement slid into depression and lethargy. My anxiety about such situations makes itself all too clear to me, though it didn't make any sign of showing up last night while I was in front of her. I did make it known that I have never been in a relationship before and It felt good to do so. It came off in a casual way and this is no longer a "dark secret" of my life. The best kept secret is one that doesn't exist. I wonder if she fully realizes just how inexperienced I am in the whole matter.
When the train arrived it suddenly occurred to me that I should get her phone number.
All seemed well at the time, but now a strong paranoia has come over me. I find myself seeing plots and setups woven throughout this whole situation. If something potentially positive happens, it must be a bad thing. I will always convince myself of this.