The List

I've been working on the list. I suppose it should be some kind of victory list, but it's become sad. The initial list of everyone I've ever slept with started out as a therapeutic tool of dealing with my past and hopefully, putting it to rest. Instead, it awoke a lot of buried memories. It sits on my desk written on the back of an envelope with my work healthcare benefits information inside. Every time I walk past it I remember another girl that I forgot about. The most recent was "Paralegal who said she didn't have a gag reflex (liar)" and another one "I think her name was Tina." We'll call her Trina to keep her anonymous.

She was the only blind date that I have ever gone on in my life. The first night we ever hung out we went downtown and shared some appetizers and cocktails. She had a good sense of humor and was cute and surprisingly, over 30. After two hours, she said "I've got to go meet friends in the city."

I thought this was her making an escape until she followed it up with, "I'd love for you to go with me."

I agreed to go. We went to the Elbo Room which was a bar from my youth. That place awakens so many memories, it's ridiculous. Being nineteen with a fake ID and listening to the best music on weeknights and then chasing it with a quesadilla suiza and two tacos al pastor from El Farolito at 3:00 AM. Driving home wasted and still feeling invincible. Not a care in the world, but a love of nice times and good music. I was there on my twenty first birthday and asked the bartender if I got a free drink and she said, "Dude. You've been coming here three nights a week for two years."

So, we got there and it was reggae night. The contact high was ridiculous. I met her friends and was charming and nice and really got along with everyone. She drove me home with a slight buzz and I didn't invite her in. I think I was kinda buying into it. She was just normal. I was looking for that at the time. We later talked about it and she said that she thought it was weird I didn't try anything and I told her it was because I respected her.

A week later I met her and her friends at a pub quiz night. I fuckin' rule at pub quiz. I drank too much and she gave me a ride to her house where I stayed for the night. We got along well. The next morning I showered and wore my yesterday clothes to work after she drove me to my car. The work of shame.

So, shit was good. She was mature. She was thin. She had good hair. She smelled nice. She adored me. I could feel it. She walked around in a silk robe in the morning and just glided around her room while I was slowly waking up and grabbing glimpses in between fighting seizing the day and ceasing the day.

The next time we hung out was at home with some of my friends. It started at a Mexican restaurant with a group of my friends where we created a temporary shortage of margaritas for the country of Mexico. I heard NAFTA had to change some tariff regulations to get it back to acceptable levels. We went to my home bar where I have CDs in the jukebox. We drank cocktails. I ingested horny goat weed from the vending machine in the ladies restroom and then we headed back to my apartment with everyone. It was a vortex of chaos.

At some point, I said something to her and she got pissed and walked out of the apartment. I looked at Pappy with my back to the front door and said "Fuck it, dude. That shit wasn't working out anyway. Let her fucking go."

Pappy was making a weird face. I thought he was going to puke. I turned around and she was standing behind me. She still stayed the night and we slept together, but any respect was gone for the way she let me talk about her. The whole act was more instinctual than passionate. It was almost a fucking reflex.

The last time we hung out was after the Super Bowl one year. It was pre-DUI so like an idiot, I drove to her place after the game. On the way there, my best friend since I was eight years old called me to tell me that he asked his girlfriend to marry him. I'm on a booty call and he's getting engaged to be married. Talk about fucking parallel, but fuck it. I got married first. Got divorced, too. A fucking relationship pioneer. Or, the Lewis & Clark of disappointment, perhaps.

Again, that night was reflexive. I felt empty the next morning, but still made out with her on the couch on my way out the door. I think she was really trying to make it work, too. I mean she shaved before every time we ever hung out. That says a lot to me. I knew in my heart, though, that this would never be it. I needed someone that would punch back and I was just going to leave footprints on her back if we tried to progress any further on this.

After that night, I dropped off her map. I got three drunk phone calls over the next week with her telling me, "You blew it. I was the best thing you will ever have. You have no idea what you are missing out on." I wished her well in all her endeavors and already had a short list of the best things I had ever had. She wasn't on there. She was merely my ticket to what I thought was normalcy. She was settling. I got defriended on facebook the next day. I now have three defriends. At this rate, hatebook could become a reality.

So, the list makes me reflect on shit like that. It's kind of good. It's kind of bad. In that situation I did the right thing, but feel bad for delivering the bitter pill to her. I tried to be as gentle as possible and would totally be comfortable if I bumped into her, but she is one of the few that carries ill will as an aftermath of us crashing into each other. I still carry feelings for about 60% of anyone that I've ever dated and even carry some feelings for a few of the one night stands. A few of those are still jump in front of a train for them strong. I don't know what that says about me. Fall too easy? Fall too fast? Or, is it all not even real and I just perceive it as falling. This is the stuff that keeps me up at night. The perils of honesty and wearing your heart on your sleeve. You get burned a lot, but you get to dance in the fire just as much. It's great in small bursts.

Hardly Gras

Just went and did the company picnic thing. It was on a Wednesday and they rolled it into the years of service ceremony and cancelled the cakewalk and the beer. There was still the three legged race and a guess how many Bellyflops in a jar contest, but it was just more depressing than morale inducing. Oh, I participated in the guess how many. I entered "7" as my guess and the lady looked at me like I was being a dick. I was.

It was a mardi gras theme and there was decent food, but not even a fuckin' free soda? They had kool-aid and ice water, seriously. It sparked memories of growing up Mormon and also evoked images of Jim Jones. Suddenly, I thought we were all going to die. I went with the ice water.

I looked around the picnic at all my co-workers and realized I didn't know most of them and wasn't friends with any of them except for a few. Aren't these things supposed to be happy? It was like going to an old Chuck E. Cheese with piss soaked carpet for your 21st birthday. Just disappointing. There is no morale at this point. I went with my cube mate and we were both having one of those days. Mine was because I got defriended on facebook by someone and the beat just goes on on that thing. I'm exasperated with it. Hers was with life in general. It was a lot of fuel for our pity fire.

This dude is making this long speech about a guy that has been with the department for 40 years and was "the mayor of this city that we have built." I had to comment on that to my lunchmates by saying, "And what did we build this city on? Rock and Roll, of course." Then, I looked at another co-worker who is just crazy and told one of the Directors beside me that someone should GPS her before she gets lost. Honestly, Island of Misfit Toys.

So, yeah, did my part and went to the picnic, but left real disappointed and wanted to be at a different place where I would like something like that. I hate feeling like this at work and used to try really hard to not get sucked into it, but this place is a stimulation dead zone. They should really do something about it. It's like a bad marriage at this point. I've been at places where it wasn't like that. Where I'd go to lunch with co-workers. Where we'd hang out afterwards. It really helps. I'm starting to really miss it and feel ground down.

Shall Not Covet Your Neighbor

Sunday morning came too early this weekend. I'm still not sleeping and woke up at 7:00 AM after going to bed around 2:00 AM after hanging out with friends from the soccer team. I had already been drinking a beerzooka with another group of friends that afternoon. It was all good, though. I went AWOL at some point in the night and took a cab home and threw a cooler off of my patio into the bushes. I'm starting to draw some lines in the sand with the neighbors and expressly said to not put the cooler on my porch ever again.

In the morning I was trying to go back to sleep by holding the pillow over my head, but it wasn't working and didn't matter as there was a knock on my door. Pappy and Warner were at my place. We kicked it and I showed Warner a list I was making of every person that I've ever slept with. I told him that there is this period where I can't remember anyone's name and so they have names like "Mexican Bo Peep," "Ginger Bo Peep," "Leather Pants Vampire" and "Four Piercings Below The Belt (but may have been named Arlene)." Then Warner gave me a ride to my car. I got the car home and all was well in the world. Watched Liverpool lose while trying to fall back asleep on the couch. Wasn't going to happen.

Around 2:00 PM I decided to be Johnny Palmerseed and go spread the love for the wondrous elixir that is a Robert Palmer. The Robert Palmer is an Arnold Palmer + Vodka + Peach Schnapps. Apparently, people are really ordering them now. It's become a totally legitimate order since being invented at the Portland airport by myself in honor of the love addicted British rocker, Robert Palmer. Sadly, it's only recognized by the few bartenders that I drink with, but it should make the Applebee's menu in about 6 months. It's delicious.

I bargained my way into a sixth on Sunday and introduced a cougar to them. She was a huge fan and thanked me for inventing it. They never thank you the day after, though. So, yeah, after six, I was a little trashed and ready to head home.

I biked home with the plan to order a pizza, watch a movie, and go to bed. It was a pretty solid Sunday plan. The pizza gets there. Life is good and my phone blows up. I'm expecting it to be one of the two people that I've been texting all afternoon, but it's some weird number. The text says: "So...how did you feel about talking?" I texted back "What?!?"

The next text said, "what do you mean by that? I'm asking if you want to talk."

I texted back "I don't know who this is?"

I googled the area code and got up and walked next door. I knocked on the neighbor's door and said "Is this you?"

She said, "No" and I turned around and then she said, "Just kidding, but you deleted me out of your phone?"

We talked for a bit. I told her the silent treatment/ignoring thing was a bullshit move and uncalled for and that I deserved more than that. At the very least she needed to treat me like a fucking person as I had been super cool to her and this is not how you return favors.

She countered by saying she wasn't avoiding me and that she had just been busy helping her friend buy a car and some other bullshit. She actually looked like she might be able to convince herself that that was true. I told her that that was complete bullshit and I didn't care about any of the whys or hows anyway. It just had to stop. Honestly, she hopped the fence onto her patio once last week. It was a little transparent. How am I feeling like the crazy one when stuff like this is happening?

She knew a bunch of stuff I did this past week, too, and knew my routine pretty well. That was creepy. She said that she would occasionally look for me out of her peephole in her door. I mean it's one thing noticing if your neighbor's car is not in the parking lot, but checking the peephole before you leave your apartment? That's a prison.

So, the goal was to end the neighbor feud and I think we got there in about an hour. I then gave her half of my pizza and went home. Mission Accomplished.

Where does this leave things? No more bike rides. No dinners. No sleepovers. No middle of the night comfort calls. No more after work hangouts. No more Rock Band. No more feeling like a stalker in my own apartment. Now, however, we can at least just coexist. A life less complicated is my windmill to chase. I, honestly, don't believe I'm destined for a normal life, but it doesn't mean that I won't try.

Home Is Where The Hard Is

Stuff is starting to fall back together. It's not great or anything, but it's totally manageable. The routine has just been altered a little bit. At this point, it's all about me. I'm the one with the problems and I'm the only one that can help myself. The help from others greatly diminishes the difficulty, but ultimately, I'm the only one that can flick the heavy switch back to "normal."

Starting to sleep again. D sent an itunes playlist of whitenoise that I didn't get fully downloaded by my new 9:00 PM bedtime, but I did something else I had read about and it kind of worked. I just laid in bed and breathed in and counted to 5 and then breathed out and counted to 5. The point being that the oxygen lets your body know that you are not under duress and the rest of you follows suit. The result? I no longer was playing six degrees of your stressors as I slept and also woke up dreaming about Ms. Pac-Man after 4 hours of sleep and then snuck in a couple of more hours after that and still woke up with the alarm clock rather than before it.

I think I may have been wrong about my subconscious being evil and plotting against me. It's taking everything it can and filing it away in the most efficient way it can so that my conscious doesn't have to deal with it during the day. It's why it feels like my brain is spinning the whole night while I try to sleep. It's really just inconvenient timing and I suppose it's the cognitive equivalent of moving furniture for the carpet cleaners. After it's all done, it will be a much better place to hang out. I still have a stock GABA chemical and receptor system, but am a little jealous of those that get to use benzodiazipenes to throw a muzzle on that whole system. It's cheating. "It's the rules of the game and the rules are the first go," sadly.

I was playing the stupid self-imposed curfew game with the blinds closed last night, but realized how stupid that was. I just need to go back to doing what I was doing and not worry about the drama moat that is around my apartment. The moat is what I make it.

Also, had a huge breakthrough with self-medicating again. I had a couple of beers after work to take the edge off. Honestly, just to take the edge off. I took a short nap after that and woke up a little later. The news is like the best thing to fall asleep to in the world next to golf. I got up groggily and thought about another beer. That would be stupid. So, I got up and jumped in the car and went and got a salad from the grocery store and ate. Never got to a third beer. That's a win.

So, tonight, might suck it up and go to a cougar nest in Los Altos to people watch with a girl that I met awhile ago. Going in real softly to that one and will go home early. Or, may just see if we can reschedule until I'm a little bit more together.

The two things I think are the major things to deal with right now are loneliness and believing that I deserve for good things to happen to me and quit self-punishing myself. See? It's all me.

Deprivation Nation

All right. Going to wrap this one up, put a bow on it and give it away.

I was waiting for my sister to meet me for dinner yesterday and my other neighbor goes, "Hey, you want to talk about it?"

I said, "Talk about what?"

He replied, "You and the neighbor over here."

I said, "You know there's been this gray cloud over this whole complex since I got back on Sunday. I don't know that there is anything to talk about, but did something weird go down this weekend besides the obvious? I wasn't even around and we are no longer on speaking terms. That's weird."

He laid it all out for me. It was a typical night of recklessness that I was not above in my formidable years, but I've also learned that nothing good happens on one of those nights and try to not do it anymore. So, newsflash, nothing good happened and it goes way beyond me and has turned the complex that was Melrose Place to Hellrose place.

One neighbor wants to fight the other for cockblocking him by hanging out in a Speedo until 6:00 AM. One neighbor is not talking to me because she is "sick of this shit." Me, I'm just disillusioned by everything. How one man could be so wrong is the part that I'm having a hard part dealing with, but it's pretty resolved. I feel chumpy and stupid, but that's my own deal and is pretty easily resolved. I'm not chumpy. I'm not stupid and I'm shaking this and getting back to being good. Bored, but good.

I had two beers while I talked to the other neighbor and he ran down the events of the weekend for me. He was super angry and I just kept explaining to him that anger was way more hurtful to one's self than the hatee. I learned that a long time ago. I just told him to find his center and get some balance and zen the fuck out. He kept looking to me to get angry about the stuff that I was dealing with as a fallout from the weekend. I'm not angry. I wasn't even in the same area code and had nothing to do with any of it. If anything, I'm just disappointed that what was in my head was better than the real thing, but it's generally the case. Beyond that, I had a where the fuck am I living moment. My sister showed up and "I'm better than all this" was chiseled into my brain. I felt pretty good about stuff. She just looked at me and said, "You need to get the fuck out of here."

To drive that point further home, I got this text while we were at dinner and showed it to her, "Don't 4get my smokes. Thanks dude. Ur so fuck'n young n got so much goin 4 ya can't believe you get upset about this shit. Pussy."

I went to bed after dinner, though, and something weird happened. Everything felt normal and then my pulse started racing. I had it at 120 BPM as I laid there at 9:30. I tried breathing to slow it down and then figured out that I had been thinking about the situation so much that it was all I could think about. I never really thought about it, but what do you think of to fall asleep? Shortly after my separation, sleep dwindled to almost nothing. I could visualize myself in a giant field under a blue sky just floating and it would help sometimes. With deep breathing it works. That still doesn't get away from what I think about when I go to bed under normal circumstances. I'm totally at a loss.

So, I finally fell asleep at about 10:30 and then snapped awake at 11:30. My subconscious was finding all these ways to relate the random things of REM sleep to the neighbor. The funniest one that it pulled off was a melody that was stuck in my head. I couldn't remember what song it was and it ended up being "The Neighbor" by Jason Falkner. I hate my brain for shit like that, but it was pretty brilliant on its part. I'm starting to believe she is a symbol of something else. It's not actually her. It's what she represents. I've read enough of Jung to know that she could be a symbol of something unresolved in my subconscious that I can bury when I'm awake and can turn on some defenses, but there is a shadow lurking in there that needs to be resolved. Sadly, again, there isn't a real clear answer or solution on this one. I'm just being alerted that I need to resolve something by the most innerworkings of myself and she was a reminder of that.

So, anyway, woke up at 3:15, 4:11 and then 5:00 and just laid there until the alarm clock went off. It wasn't a clean night of sleep, but it was unmedicated. I'll take that as a win.

As far as the neighbor situation thing goes. She made a few things a lot easier to deal with down the line by drawing a line in the sand like this. Yeah, it's a bitter pill, but you've got to take it. I'm staying above the whole thing. If she doesn't want to talk then we shouldn't talk. I'm not losing out on anything. She never gave as much as she took and I just plan on playing the ball as it lies. It's the rules, dude. I'm better than this.

Valerdictorian

I'm having a bit of anxiety today due to recent events. Not just the neighbor. The dad. My little brother. Work, etc. I was cyberdiagnosing my condition looking for a first line of defense against the anxiety just to kind of take the edge off and found Valerian root as a natural remedy. I was reading about it and found this weird side effect that it has. It attracts cats and rats. Perfect.

I'm just imagining me sitting there thinking to myself, "Shit. This really works. I feel okay" and then looking around at a bunch of cats surrounding me preparing to steal my soul or my breath while I sleep.

I mean. I've got a full bottle of Welbutrin on my coffee table, but the therapist says not to take it. I could probably get a Xanax prescription today if the doctor checked my pulse and blood pressure or just looked at my hands shake, but there was actually a better answer out there. The answer was friends. They work.

A friend checked in on me this morning just to see how I was hanging and it meant a lot. Another friend who had shared a particularly harrowing experience with me this weekend also exchanged some IMs with me. We talked about the weekend and about things moving forward and the neighbor and me and her, of course. It alleviated some of the stress and pressure from the whole thing. I learned this morning that it was way easier to help someone than it was to be helped, but she was good at it. It's my whole easier to give than receive condition that I have.

She put a lot into perspective both in general terms regarding myself and specific terms regarding the neighbor situation. She told me that if the neighbor wanted to talk it out she would come over and talk it out. If she is hooking up it doesn't mean she doesn't care. Sounds crazy, but it's true. If she doesn't want to talk it out, we won't talk it out and it wouldn't matter at that point anyway. It also made me realize that there were people who cared and there is something so comforting about being missed by someone. Never get to the point where you honestly believe that you are alone and that no one cares about you. Someone does. It's a sneaky feeling, though, you've got to be careful not to let it in. It's pretty much the hot shoes and bikini of the feelings world. You'll let it in too easily sometimes.

When you get your head all bashed in sometimes it makes it possible to absorb some things that you had lost sight of because you weren't paying attention to the big picture. It takes some affirmation that you are a good person and makes it worth fighting again and not giving up. Also, if you're not careful, you just might learn something.

In the past, I would internalize everything and wouldn't reach out for help. That would be followed with drowning whatever ailed me with booze. It's funny, nowadays if I'm feeling bummed, the last thing I'm going to do is booze. The eating? Still an issue, but seriously, it feels like I've got a nest of butterflies in my stomach. They're not pretty when they are inside you. They are what they are. I still get them before soccer games. It shouldn't be such a big deal.

So, someone asked me how I was at work today and rather than say fine, I replied, "You know what? Sometimes things just drop in your lap and you have to look at them and analyze them for what they are and then work with them. It doesn't really matter if they are good or bad. They are your things in your lap." They looked back at me like I was crazy, but I felt like the better man for not lying to them and telling them that I was great. The world won't wait for you and sometimes you've got to pick up your things and keep moving or you will fall behind.

Also, one last point. If a spider spins a web and a fly flies into it, can you really be mad at the spider? It's just doing what it knows to do. The fly is the idiot for flying into it.

Punched By A Ten Year Old

What's it feel like to be punched in the face by a ten year old? I have the answer as of yesterday.

It wasn't really a physical punch from him, but more like a bitchslap of reality.

I got home from some time in Napa. I had gotten a text from the neighbor on Friday assuring me that it's good if we spend the weekend apart and deal with the fact that we are "just neighbors" and that's all. Whatevs. Drank irresponsibly with friends and performed one stunt jumping into the pool from way too high of an elevation on a rockwall. Proceeded to drink myself into a mess with them and gave myself a much deserved panic attack for all of Sunday.

I made the drive home and felt that burning in my stomach paired with a tightness in my chest as I got closer and closer to home as if I knew the shit was going to go down. We talked briefly after work on Friday and she had that look that my ex gave me the morning after my birthday so long ago when she was finally done. It's a look that hits a wall ten feet behind you with an absolute steel quality in the eyes. This is the point when an individual has switched you off. It's a look that I will never forget for the rest of my life.

I got into my apartment and tried to nap, but it wouldn't happen so watched "Enter the Ninja" and did some laundry. The neighbor kids were running around all giddily and started rapping the neighbor's wall knocker repeatedly. I peeked my head out of the apartment and said, "Hey man. If they don't answer after three, they aren't going to answer. Leave her alone, T-Biz."

He then came up and whispered "Go look in the window at her couch."

I replied, "That's creepy and weird. You shouldn't look into people's windows, dude."

He then said back, "They are having sex on the couch?"

He followed this up with "Are you and her dating?"

I told him, "No, man. We're just neighbors."

He took off and I finished my laundry. Normally, at times like these in the past, I would just booze myself to sleep. Not this time. I went inside and laid down for a little bit and just tried to accept and process everything.

The neighbor is in the right on this and has every right to pursue whatever she wants to pursue. I firmly believe that there is some kind of plan of sorts and just need to accept it. There is no talk needed. There was nothing really besides two people having a nice time together briefly. I wasn't being nice to her expecting something in return for it and this is all fine. Yes, if you are falling for someone, it's nice if they fall back, but that's not always the case. Of course, with any fall, there is some time required for a recovery. You've got to fall every once in a while, though. It's how you learn to stop falling.

I exchanged texts with some friends and didn't feel alone in it anymore. I didn't necessarily feel good, still don't, but I definitely felt better. I mean, my hands are still shaking a bit, it's hard to eat and I'm a bit dizzy, but it's all part of the process.

I went to bed at 9:00 and tried to do it natch, but eventually got up and took a Tylenol PM. Only one because I kept almost falling asleep and then some subconscious lightning bolt would jerk me awake. It was horrible. I would lay there and it's like my brain was fighting with itself. One side was doing the right thing and accepting the whole situation and the other one was jumping to conclusions and creating all of those hurtful scenarios in very vivid imagery which would result in me waking up again. So, I got into a two hours on and one off sleeping pattern even with the Tylenol PM which just made me feel like I couldn't move when I did wake up.

The dreams were speaking volumes about what was going on. First, I was in Orlando (hate Orlando) and had forgotten to pack any clothes. Then, my bike was stolen and my phone got run over by a car. Add a lost laptop and then waking up at 5:30 AM unable to go back to sleep and there you have it. Fear of loss.

I swear I swear I swear I'm cool with it, but I do feel just numb. I feel like I'm wearing my body like a suit today and just trying to act like everything's cool, but I'll get into a conversation and just feel my mind slipping away from it. It's hard to concentrate.

The plan: put myself back together and just move forward. It's a little tough at first and blows my mind that this could happen this quickly, but it's doable. Who knew a ten year old could pack such a punch?

How To Save Money On Therapy

"I'll save you money on therapy, Hugh. Life's a bitch." - Hugh Voltage, SR.

So, he finally called me back from my message on Father's Day and made one statement that made every pint of blood drain from my heart and eyes well up. You fucking miserable asshole. He told me I should take all of that money and just buy a nice car and that would make me feel better. He followed that up with news that one of my younger brothers was abusing pills and just fucking up everything. Then he said he would have to call me back. I just kind of sat there in the area in the back of my work where I smoke in awe of what had just happened. I'll admit that he is a particularly powerful man when it comes to words. He crushed me with one sentence in less than five minutes.

This is why we don't talk. This is why I avoid him. This is why I've mentally destroyed all family bonds in my head. I'd like to see what Norman Rockwell would paint of that interaction. Fuck, even Charles Shultz would never do that Charlie Brown. The dad would just say "Bah Bwah Bwah Bwah. Bwah Bwah. Bwah BuhBuh Bwaw." I'd prefer that.

This was after a fairly horrific therapy session yesterday where it came up that I remember the day he left when I was five and the therapist asked me to go over it with him. I woke up and realized he was gone and pinned a note to my mom's bed to let her know. It was the day I gave up on childhood and just wanted to take care of my mom and my sister. It was the day that I developed a crippling fear of abandonment, which is also why I fear giving myself to the neighbor and want to pull away so as to avoid being abandoned, AGAIN.

So there it is. Happy Friday. I can beat this. I can handle this, but fuck it hurts. One day Lucy is going to not pull the football away and I plan on crushing it.

A,E, I, O, U and Sometimes Y is Not the Answer

I don't know what it is, but a wave a melancholy overtook me last night as I had my last smoke before bed.

I had just walked from my neighbor's apartment where I had fixed her Internet after helping her learn Mary Had a Little Lamb on guitar and then laid on the floor with her listening to Jeff Buckley. She's really gay for Jeff Buckley at this point. I laid next to her and rubbed her back as she started to fall asleep. The whole time a film strip of her pictures was flickering on her laptop. There were pictures of her, of her with friends, of her with family and of her with boyfriends. I thought to myself, "You know somewhere down the line, you are going to have to deal with this." I then got her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek and went home.

She has pointed out that there is no way that we will ever be together and I'm starting to believe it, really. I mean, it makes no sense, we like each other, but the only time she really shows it is after a few drinks. That's not real to me. She does, however, share some real moments with me when not drinking. That's the conflict. It doesn't, however, solve the problem of what I need from a person to make me feel secure and trust them.

She's already breached my defenses more than anyone in a severely long time and I don't know if it's her or because therapy has opened up some of those avenues for people to break and enter into. Regardless, why can't I accept the possibility that she could really like me, that it's not some kind of inside joke that is being set up from the get up by the entire world around me?

On top of that, what if she doesn't? I know that I'm okay alone and might possibly even be better alone, but that's the kind of bullshit that we all tell ourselves as an excuse of not getting what we want. We all want to belong and be loved. We all want to be adored and anyone that tells themselves or others that they'd rather be alone are full of bullshit. It's the one thing that we all collectively pursue. It's the reason behind everything. Yeah, I'll say I don't want you to like me or I don't care if you like me, but it's a boldfaced lie. Cheap Trick said it first. They wanted you to want them. I agree. I want you to want me and need me.

Now, I know that even in the short time that the neighbor and I have known each other, her life and my life have been better for it and without each other our lives would be a little less awesome, but there is just so much on the line for me. So much. And, sadly, the horse is so far from the stable at this point that I could never get it back in there easily.

So, she hasn't even done anything to hurt me in real life, but I've gone over about a hundred scenarios of how it is going to happen in preparation for what my mind has turned into the inevitable. Still trying to not put my finger near the eject button, though. I can do this without copping out. I'm just going to try to enjoy it while it lasts. Knowing why I'm feeling the way I'm feeling is not going to really help. An answer in this case would be completely worthless.

Jesus. I should just print this out and hand it to the therapist after work.

The One-Winged, Caged Bird Sings, Too.

This is a tough one, but I really need to write. For some reason, probably lack of sleep, everything just feels real heavy right now.

Friday night I went to Judas Priest and Whitesnake. It was pretty rad. I drank responsibly and headed home afterwards and my neighbor was still up. I went to her place and had a beer with her and listened to some music while I gave her arm tickles until she fell asleep on the floor. As soon as she was out, I left her apartment and locked the door behind me.

I got up at 8:00 AM and made some coffee and worked until about 2:00. The neighbor got up and I Irished up my coffee and gave her one as I completed my last action item. She said she wanted to hang out and be a bum and I told her that I would welcome that. We ended up doing the pool for a bit and then a movie and pizza. It was really domestic. I'm not sure what transpired next, but we got into it again. This time there was door slamming and name calling. I went to bed really pissed off having said some harsh things back. In hindsight, there were some things at play that I was unaware of.

Had breakfast the next morning while I waited for my mom to meet me for breakfast. She showed up right as they took it away and I switched to mimosas while we hung out and talked. I told her right off the bat that I was pretty pissed off from the night before and she reassured me that the neighbor was just going sideways and she would apologize and that if it was going to work out, it would work out. I told her I hoped so because I was falling madly in love with her. I've gone over it and over it and it's the only explanation that I've got. Right after that, I had an "I'm sorry" text show up.

So, we wrapped it up and I stopped at a bar on the way home to have a Robert Palmer to take the edge off. Later I found out that there are Federal, State, and Municipal regulations that state I am to be capped at 5 Robert Palmers in one sitting. Yeah, I got Palmered. It was actually a really fun afternoon of day drinking. The HughVoltage show switch got flipped.

The neighbor texted me to see if I was home and I told her that I was heading home, but was not "talk" worthy for some of the stuff we needed to talk about it. This is where I get fucked. If you would like to know anything about me, put me on a stool and fill me with cocktails. I will be stripped of all secrets if you want them. Nothing is off the table. I would never be a victim of waterboarding. Wait. Maybe they should use my method to get information from terrorists. I might be onto something. When you sum it all up, I think getting my secrets would go over way better in the press.

Long story short, the neighbor invited me in Sunday night when I got home and every card from my hand has been put on the table. She knows that I think I'm madly in love with her.

So, on a rough Monday due to a rough Sunday, she dropped by my work for lunch on her bike and we had lunch and talked about stuff. She pointed out all of the things that I didn't remember telling her. I told her that I may not remember it, but I can tell her that it was all true. She said that I made her laugh. It was a solid recovery. I'm not real mean anymore.

She biked around and met me after work and we went and grabbed a quick bite. I introduced her to fried dill pickle chips and sweet potato fries. I got a random text from a dude I had met the previous day. He thought I was entertaining and wanted to see if I was hanging out for a drink. It wasn't a gay thing. We went over and talked to him for a bit after turning down his offer of a drink. He seemed like good people.

We headed home and I played guitar and sang to her for a little bit, which is really alien to me. I've never done it before, but she's got me pretty good and to be completely honest, I enjoy her as an audience. She just lays on the couch with her eyes closed and listens to me do my thing. It's really awesome and sweet and there will probably never be a moment in our near future to compare to when I was playing "Lilac Wine" by Jeff Buckley to her while she laid on the couch. She looked so peaceful and it was completely contagious. Of course, a ten year old neighbor smashed into the sliding glass door like a lost bird at some point. He's got a mean crush on her, too, and was peeking through the blinds.

She went home after listening to some music for a bit and I went to bed. I wasn't really sleeping. I was mostly just laying there and my phone rang so I grabbed it. It was her and she was crying. We talked for a bit about stuff and I tried to calm her down and then she had to make another call and I went to bed again. Couldn't sleep at all at that point. She called again and I just told her that I would come over.

I went over to her place and she just looked really sad, so I gave her a hug and tried to reassure her about everything from here to there while we listened to "Happy" by Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins on repeat. She eventually looked at me in my Adidas sweatsuit that I had on and said, "You look like a pimp." After that, she asked me to stay, so I stayed. Nothing happened. That's not what this is about. I just like to be around her. I want to protect her, take care of her, make her laugh, all of these things that I didn't know were in me anymore. It's all very dangerous, but it's not worth fighting anymore. I want to watch her while she is sleeping and at peace. I also caught her watching me sleep, too, this morning.

And The Avalanche Cascades

With the stroke of my silver tongue wagging "As soon as I walk out this door, I'm nothing, but your neighbor. Borrowed cups of sugar and maybe half and half on a Saturday morning and that's it," I've completely unraveled whatever was raveling with my neighbor. I think it's for the best.

Here's how it started.

I was on the second day of a coolout period that included cooking angel hair pasta with olive oil, hot pepper flakes, cherry tomatoes and basil leaves. It was spicy, yet delicious and cooking it was the fun part. Yesterday was the second day. I worked through lunch and headed to the driving range after work intending to whack some balls and then eat and then enjoy a glass of wine and sleep like a baby. Solitary. Confined. Okay. Three bottles of wine, a myoplex bar and two cups of coffee in 36 hours. That's your 100% RDA of bad idea.

I got home from the range and showered and cracked open a moderately priced bottle of Cabernet. Dropped the tuning on my guitar to a D and ran through a Minus the Bear song on my acoustic. Finger tapping on an acoustic is an acquired taste. I was completely into what I was doing and completely alone. Happy.

My phone rang and it was the neighbor. She had lost her keys at work and was a bit frantic. I told her to just come by when she gets home and I had a half a bottle of wine and some smokerretes for us to share while she waited for maintenance. Happiness was officially threatened.

She had had a rough day. We shared some personal/very personal thoughts. We killed the bottle of wine. We opened a bottle of Mick Fleetwood (yeah, that one) Merlot. It was a gift from a neighbor for Christmas. It tasted like Tusk.

She got tired of waiting for maintenance and thought she could pick her lock with allen wrenches that I loaned her. I watched attentively at her lock picking techniques and then pulled her screen out and popped her window off the hinges and asked her if she would like me to let her in. I let her in and then got a screw lock for her window so no one could do what I did again.

We hung out for a bit at her apartment and listened to music from my iTunes library. That part was kinda awesome. She's on my network. Another bottle got opened and we sat and listened to Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah in a dark room. Everyone should do that once or a hundred times.

We then got to some touchy subjects about us which culminated in an ultimatum. I left a neighbor while she played Hallelujah on a loop that I could hear in my apartment. I texted her to turn it off and it persisted. I then shut down the network to turn it off. Brilliant. Don't fuck with your IT guy.

So, this morning I read our text exchange where she referred to me as drunk and mean and left her a voicemail with a neighborly apology. Three bottles of wine and eleven days of acquaintance equals one apology. Not bad.

I'm letting it go, but still have a soft spot for her. How does one do that in such a short amount of time? I'm emotionally easy. That's really the reason that I questioned the whole thing. I fall too fast.

In other news, I went to the doctor today and got my ankle checked out. It's healing. While I was there I got my annual STD screening to the question of "Have you been exposed to any STDs in the last year?" with a response of "Statistically? Probably." While there I asked him about my back. I've got a beat up L5 vertebrae from soccer and it hurts persistently. I asked him whether I should just get surgery to fix it while I still have health coverage. He recommended I go to physical therapy and I started laughing. He asked what was funny and I told him about how I dated the therapist twice. He laughed right in my fuckin' face and said "That was stupid." I'm about to send her an email and warn her. I'm sure she'll bump me to another therapist so that I can feel rejection again.

Cognitive therapy this evening. Thank god. I managed to get some material pulled together for it. Just a man with a shovel at the bottom of a hole looking at everyone else asking how he got there and how to get out.

Live By The Bottle. Die By The Bottle.

I've worked at a few jobs in the past where I was consistently pondering where the coffee came from. I'd roll into work and smell it brewing and go grab a cup and feel like someone in a tv show getting to work. I even considered whistling and taking up a briefcase briefly. (Briefcase briefly? Seriously?) Did I say few? I meant once.

Not only do I know why the caged bird sings, but I fuckin' know where the coffee comes from. I also know who changes the water bottle every goddamn time it goes empty. I know who picks up the cigarette butts next to the ashtray and the stray McDonald's wrappers next to the trashcan. I know the guy who straightens crooked pictures and throws away stray butter chips from the refrigerator. It's actually gotten to the point where co-workers will walk up to my desk and ask me to make coffee or change the water bottle or fix their chair or unjam the copier.

There was one company that I worked for and the coffee pot was all the way on the other side of the building. So, I would trudge from my office to go put a pot on and then retrudge back to my office to work while it brewed. No whistling. No wanting to take up a briefcase. By the time I returned to the pot it was empty. Those motherfuckers would take it while it was brewing leaving me with nothing unless I stood next to it.

The water bottle? I went on strike here and refused to change the bottle for a week stating that you cannot help anyone unless you can help yourself. I was hoping that I would spot some initiative in the office. It sat empty for three days and everyone just switched to bottled water. I got fed up and changed the water bottle. They won. They always eventually win.

Yes, I make better coffee than them and yes, I don't spill a drop when changing the bottle out, but just because I'm good at something does not mean I should have to do it every time. Hmmm? Perhaps they would be better if they ever tried it. Perhaps they would be better if they even took interest in it. It's shit like this that is going to result in our civilization culminating in nothing but a smear on a dead planet as a legacy in the Universe.

I mean, come on. We have more referential materials at our disposal for intense amounts of information than at any point in history and we're doing what with it? Going to see movies with Katherine Hiegl in them? Status updates about what we're eating? This is what we do? I'm beating up on myself here, too. I watched ten minutes of Hell's Kitchen last night and watched three episodes of Kendra a couple of weekends ago, so I'm not off the hook either. I'll also update a facebook status 72 times in three hours.

I guess it goes beyond coffee and water bottles, but they're a start. From there we can progress to modifying the AC to come on before 4:00 PM everyday. Actually, I'd try, but the union dudes would kill me.

Try Not to Love They Neighbor

This week's therapy session is going to be about how short the road is from smitten to smited. I am quickly falling hard for my neighbor. Too quickly?

There is that undefinable quality in a person where you just know after ten minutes that you like them a lot. The first conversation I had with her there was a surge of butterflies in my stomach and a tightness in my chest. My first reaction was flight from the situation. The proximity factor was too dangerous. I fought it that first week, but we hung out a lot. This culminated in going out again last Friday night.

Let me just jump in with a childhood story. I was probably twelve years old and had done particularly well at baseball tryouts and got bumped up a division. I got put on a team with 14 year olds. I showed up to our first practice and everyone else was much bigger than me. Some probably had pubic hair for christ sakes. This was my first encounter with operating out of my league. I tried to hang, but it was very frustrating as everyone else was two years ahead of me. It was a rough year, but I eventually got through it and the next year was much easier. I feel like I'm operating out of my league with my neighbor at this point.

She is super cute, young and actually has a glowing personality. She makes me giddy. She makes me feel funny. She makes up funny words for things. She makes me drop all of my normal defenses that I employ. She scares the hell out of me and is a threat to my normal, sustainable routine. I've been here a few times and the eventual result was devastating, but when it all went down at least I didn't have to see them everyday or sit in my apartment and know that they are on the other side of the wall.

Anyway, Friday night she came over after work and we listened to music on the porch and had a few beers while she smoked these cigarettes that smelled like candy. They will forever be associated with her. She went into my apartment and grabbed my guitar and looked at me and simply said, "Play for me." I don't play for people anymore. It's something I do by myself in my apartment. I looked back at her and couldn't say no.

She had me play along with some flamenco music that she loved and then I turned it back on her and gave her a real quick lesson on some basic chords and she was killing it. She was playing along with "Ashes of American Flags" by Wilco within a half hour. We decided we needed to eat so I suggested we go downtown and grab something.

We changed and jumped into a cab and headed downtown. I showed my exceptional talent in singing traditional Indian music and impressed both her and the cab driver. He thought I was a natural. We got downtown and I jumped out of the cab and ran to an ATM to grab cash for the cab. I was so wrapped up in the moment that I left my card in the ATM. Brilliant.

We walked to the restaurant and managed to crash a table for two with no reservation. Totally crediting kismet for that and also putting absolute trust in it at that point. We had a nice dinner with the best gay waiter known to man. I thought he had a crush on her until we figured out that he had a crush on me by the end of dinner.

From there, we rolled to a club and put on a dance exhibition. The dances included Making Pancakes, Grocery Shopping, Double Dutch, Jumpshots and a variety of other completely goofy dances as the patrons just stared as us as if we were absolutely crazy. We both could fall back on being part-time mimes at any moment in our lives.

There is a definite caveat when hanging out with a super hot girl in a club environment. Every dude in the club and some of the girls want to destroy you. Even with that distraction, she never dropped her attention from me. I was probably too buzzed to really appreciate this as we devolved into a pair of hot messes. She grabbed my glasses and turned into sexy Sarah Palin before stepping on them and then managed to lose her credit card. We were killing it with recklessness. I realized we were done and pulled her from the club.

We walked past a group of homeless people and her golden heart bled. So, we ended up buying forty bucks worth of pizza for the homeless as all of the cabs sped off into the night filled with drunks. After she had distributed all of the pizza, she looked at me and said, "I'm hungry." This is where we had our first argument. We were really packing in a lot in a small amount of time. We argued in some alley and did that awkward face in face thing, but resisted making out because we were neighbors.

She saw a couple sitting on a curb and the girl looked really tore up so she grabbed me by the arm and led me over to the couple where she talked to the girl and then held her hair while she gave it up into a planter. As the couple walked away the dude looked at her and said "That dude's an asshole. You shouldn't date him again."

I looked at her and told her to hold my glasses while I went and showed him how much of an asshole I was. She grabbed me and talked me out of it as we walked back to where the cabs used to be. As we approached, a cab was going towards the throngs of displaced revelers waiting impatiently. She jumped into the street, stopping the cab short of the people waiting and yelled to me, "Get in!" She then rolled down the window and flipped off everyone waiting while she yelled "Fuckers!" at them while we drove past.

That was the point that I realized I was done. I was smitten.

We made out in the cab on the way home like the ship was going down. Both of us realizing it was totally wrong and that we shouldn't be doing it because we were neighbors.

We got home and...The next morning she was laying on my chest while I stroked her hair and we just talked about whatever before I snuck her back to her apartment next door in an effort to conceal it from any of the neighbors. It was as at peace as I've felt in a really long time and more potent than any amount of booze that I've ever tried to use to self-medicate and forget. She made me want to remember every moment we were spending together. She made me want to live and die on every word that came out of her mouth.

This is not a crush. This is an emergency.

Chile Coloradical

Yesterday my neighbor and I rode our bikes into work. It was cute. I've never done that with anyone before. I did kind of miss my me time and my iPod, but it couldn't hurt to get comfortable around other people. I have to admit that I was a little concerned when she left my office yesterday morning. Honestly, the bike that I was letting her ride was as advanced as a fixed gear with freewheel and handbrakes can get. I was waiting for a call all day from her describing some horrific, face ensnarling bike wreck that was going to be due to my shoddy bike repair skills.

Anyway, I headed home from work and got home with saddlebags under my arms from a proliferation of perspiration. I don't sweat. Things have to be pretty extreme to get me visibly sweaty. Got home and donned a wifebeater and continued working on my patio for a bit when my ex-neighbor's kid came by and asked some question of me that really didn't have an answer so I made one up. He then went and knocked on the new neighbor's door. She answered after a little bit and he let her know that if she needed help moving anything that him and his friend would help. It was actually supercute, but nothing worth waking up from a nap for.

She came over to my patio and we talked for a bit and she went back to her place as I went to soak and drink beers by the pool. I bumped into another neighbor that is kind of a trip. He rocks a Speedo and is super tan and has his nipples pierced and turns fifty in a couple of months. We always get talking about philosophy and quantum mechanics. Yesterday was Taoism and whether science will ever advance to a point that would lead into religious values completing a belief system based in logic and faith. The more we drink, the more interesting it gets. So, we have a few beers and are just talking and hanging out and he goes "Well, I met this chick on, uh..." and then he paused and I jumped in with "On match.com or something?" and he replied back, "No. It was singlenudist.com or adultfriendfinder." The dude's advanced in the online dating department for sure. I had to look up singlenudist.com today because I didn't really believe that it existed.

So, it started to get dark and he came by a little later and we just sat and smoked cigarettes, watched a little Bill Hicks, and had a few more beers. It was getting ridiculous for a Monday night. Anyway, the new neighbor came out on her way to our "State-of-the-art" apartment complex gym. I'll admit, as he pointed out later, that I got giddy when she came out. It was the booze, but regardless, the conversation turned to the neighbor after she had left. I told him that it was strictly off limits and to not speak another word of it. He just looked back at me and said "Bullshit. You've got a new toy."

She came back later and we ended up getting burritos after a conversation that went like this:

"Are you guys still open?"

"No. We close at 10:00"

"Dude. It's 9:55"

"Yeah, but we can't make anyone dinner in five minutes."

"Dude, remember that loco guy named Hugh from last Saturday in the bar being totally loud and obnoxious? This is him. Can I just get two Chile Coloradical burritos and one chile verde burrito to go."

"Oh. It's you? No problem. You love Vicente Fernandez and Lionel Richie, senor. They'll be ready in ten minutes."

"Thanks. Vicente Fernandez es mejor cantador del Sudamerica y Mexico. Duh."

So, the neighbor? Really tempting, but it would be one of the stupider things one could do. So, plan on keeping it all above the covers and it's just really cool that, so far, I've been lucky in the neighbor lottery this time. We're supposed to be biking to a Steely Dan tribute band in the park tonight, but I'm secretly hoping she flakes so that I can be breezy. Now if only something could happen with the creepy neighbor. I know that one shouldn't wish that on anyone, but it sure would make things a little cooler.

Oh and did I just listen to "This Is It" by Kenny Loggins three times on my iPod? WTF?!?!?!

Normalcy. Normal Do.

The weekend. I had therapy last Thursday and we actually changed the schedule to every other week because things have been going well and we were actually struggling to find new things to talk about. It's really cool. My ex-wife texted me in the middle of the session. It was perfect. Feeling normal or at least similar to everyone else.

I played soccer Friday night and even skipped postgame beers in lieu of going home and relaxing with ice around my ankle for ten minutes every hour. I had a couple beers by myself or at least only with Tiger Woods on xbox. Never drink alone. I went to bed relatively early for a Friday night and slept in as late as I could which is now about 7:45. Hit my routine schedule and went and got coffee at Philz and did a crossword before going to my last DUI appointment ever.

I got to the appointment and dude started sweating me by saying that he couldn't find my file. I've never missed a class for over 9 months and they can't find my file? Honestly, the whole program is an administrative nightmare, but is over. He handed me a bunch of paperwork and talked about what a shitty day he was having and how his pension sucks. I got out of there in six minutes and was done. Paperwork should clear in a week and I'm back to normal after the whole harrowing affair. I learned so much from the experience and ultimately it's proved to be incredibly positive. I'll actually miss it a little bit.

I left the appointment and drove to the music store to buy a capo. I've never owned one, but need it to play The Decemberists and Josh Ritter accurately. Plus, only ballers have a capo stuck on the neck of their acoustics. When I got to the music store, I put a toe in the water and went and looked at some of the used stuff. There was a strat that spoke to me a little, but it was only a whisper. It was no reason to tie myself to the mast. My ship was safe from the rocks.

I went to the companion store with all the new gear and looked at some strats for a bit. I saw one for $650 and took it on a test drive. The neck felt like hot butter. It was brilliant like wooden Xanax. As I was playing it, though, I caught an Ibanez RG350 out of the corner of my eye. It's a way cheaper version of one of my first guitars ever that got stolen. I got nostalgic and asked one of the dudes who works there to grab it for me. He handed me a cord and a pick and sent me to the gear room. It took ten minutes of playing for me to walk out and ask, "Does it come with a case?"

He went to go ring it up and gave me a soft case for cheap. I almost forgot the fuckin' capo I was so excited. He threw in some complimentary strings and I also grabbed a stand for my Guitar Hero controller. I felt just straight fuckin' giddy driving home. I suppose it's what it would feel like coming home from the hospital with a newborn. Or, at least my equivalent.

Got it in the apartment and tuned for 45 minutes as the gitbox got acclimated to my apartment. Dual locking tremolos are a pain in the ass, but they have whammy bars for the rock. Played it for a bit and then put it on its stand next to my other two guitars and caught myself just staring at it from time to time.

A side effect of the whole experience is that I think I've talked my neighbor into buying his a kid a Chinese B.C. Rich Warlock for his kid's tenth birthday. It was my first guitar and I know that it will inspire the kid to play forever. It looks badass enough that a kid will just want to rock it. So, it's on. Lil Trav is getting a Warlock for his birthday. Sick. Of course, it comes with me obligated to give him lessons, but that will be good for me.

So, the neighbor came by to check out the new ax and a girl walked out of the apartment that he had just moved out of. On top of that, she was cute. He started up a conversation with her and we all exchanged introductions and gave her a few tips for checking out San Francisco for the day and also about the weird neighbor.

I hung out and owned Tiger Woods and played guitar for the day completely spacing on eating. The neighbor came back over that evening and I set up his kid on Rock Band. Over the span of a half hour I decided I had to eat and told him he was in charge of my castle and I was going to jam to a Mexican restaurant for margaritas and a kick ass Chile Colorado burrito. He asked if he could go and I told him, "Shit yeah you can, but you're not paying." He always pays.

We grabbed our Lolitish fifteen year old neighbor and I set her up on my wireless to babysit in my apartment and bailed. We got there and the HughVoltage show immediately went into effect. $10 in the jukebox to play Vicente Fernandez and Lionel Richie with one MJ tribute of "PYT." Within ten minutes we had met everyone in the tiny bar and were hanging out. There was a pregnant lady drinking margaritas and it went like this:

"You're pregnant? What the hell are you doing drinking?"

"They're virgins."

"Hey, I bet you aren't."

So, we ate and drank and were merry and my neighbor was going to take off. At the same time a couple of girls who wore bigger jeans than I would were leaving, too. They asked if I'd like to go to a bar with them and I thought "What the hell" and got into a stranger's car. One of them smoked weed in the back seat and they took me to their friend's house. That was awkward. We got to the bar and I bought them a round and realized I was done. One of them ordered an Adios Motherfucker and it totally put a shot across my bow. If you see a blue drink, you should leave the vicinity immediately. Pro tip.

I snuck out and grabbed a cab and went home as I had a pending breakfast date with my mom the next morning.

The next morning I woke up and heard nothing from my mom. She pinged me at 11:30 AM and said she would try to get to my place by 4:00. I simply told her that that was a late breakfast and bailed to Der Wienerschnitzel to satisfy a dersgusting urge. It was derlicious and gave me derarrhea. Gross.

My new neighbor had mentioned that she worked at the same place that I did and I had offered her my backup bike because parking is a joke. This meant I had to put it back together and it became my Sunday afternoon project. The back tire was a little messed up so I rode it to the bike store to use their tools and got it rocking by the time I left. It's a beast and it's awesome, but a little intermediate for riding. On the way home I grabbed the Sunday paper and a FroYo. It was turning into a perfect Sunday.

Anyway, I got the bike all set up and went out with my mom. We had a really good talk. The therapy is contagious and she talked about the scarlet letter that we both wore when I was growing up because she was a 16 year old mom. We have a lot of the same things going on because of it. It was really cool. There is a lot of opening up going on. A lot.

I got home and was chillin' from a really productive weekend, I felt. My new neighbor knocked on my door and was holding two beers and came inside to hang out. We moved to the porch and she smoked flavored cigarettes while we kicked it. We ended up biking to work together this morning. Trust me. It was way too cute for my tastes and my comfort zones.

Threebird

Two nights ago I was coming off a night of no sleep and heading to bed at 8:15. It was still light out. The night before, I had gone to bed and woke up every hour on the hour with my favorite waking up being at 2:34. Numbers are fun. I was having super vivid dreams that kept waking me up and it was like a hundred degrees and didn't cool down until around 4:00 AM. I only know this because I was laying awake in bed and noticed that the temperature was more tolerable.

So, the next night, I'm exhausted and inching up to that pre-bed smoke. My neighbor knocks on my sliding glass door as I'm laying on my couch semi-lucid and points excitedly towards his apartment and is saying something that I can't hear through the glass. A couple minutes go by and he walks by with this chick towards the pool. Okay, he wanted me to see that he was with some chick. Good for him.

About a half hour later, I'm indulging that smoke I mentioned before and they are walking back from the pool laughing and holding hands. Holding hands the first time hanging out is something I'll never understand. Perhaps I should. That could have been my bad with the physical therapist. We had an invisible shield between our personal spaces that, in retrospect, may have been emanating from me.

They walk towards me and he says as he giggles, "Hey, show my buddy."

I look up and she pulls her towel back and pulls her bikini down to show me her giant fake boobs. I acknowledge and look back down politely saying "Thanks." Ten minutes later it sounds like a raping at a petting zoo in his apartment and I headed to bed.

The following day I got home from work and was purposefully avoiding going outside to avoid the play-by-play. It's always kind of gross to hear about that stuff coming from him. Avoidance never works.

Around 8:00 PM last night I decided to pick up the gitbox and practice for a little bit. It was hot as hell so I had my screen door open. My neighbor walks through my screen door into my apartment and says "Hey man, does this look okay for a job interview tomorrow?"

I reply in my head, "Yeah, if it's at Tommy Bahama," but actually say out loud to him, "Sure, but I would add a belt, tie and socks."

He then asks, "Hey, can I borrow a brown belt, brown socks, a tie and a sport coat?"

"Dude, Macy's is having a sale you should just go pick up some gear. Plus, my sport coat would require a time machine to look fashionable. It's gross and from JC Penney in like 1995." I answer back. Trying to mask my sarcasm.

He then says, "Dude. Target is always having a sale and I have a credit card there."

"Then I would do that," I say.

He leaves and I go back to my scales. I'm rusty.

Moments later he comes back in the screen door. I think I'm about to be victim of a home invasion it's so abrupt.

He sits down on th couch next to me. I haven't even stopped from playing F sharp major to F sharp minor alternately. He starts cycling through his camera of the previous night. Not only do I get a play-by-play, but I pretty much get a powerpoint presentation of it. He finally stops the slideshow at a tongue to breast picture. My brain is scarred.

Then this happens: "Dude, I was gonna come get you last night. She asked if I'd grab you because she likes to have two dudes at once. Like..." I'll paraphrase the rest. In the blue movie biz they refer to it as MFM. It's like the letter "H." He gets into some detail here that's not worth repeating. He says she is coming back from Las Vegas in a month and maybe then.

I simply reply in a monotone, "I'll keep my eye out for the evite, man. Hey, what does she do for a living? She seems like a nice girl."

He says back, "She's a masseuse."

At this point, I just start laughing and say "Is that what they call it now?"

He left and my mancave was mine again. I moved on to F sharp Dorian to F Sharp Lydian alternating. Consequently, slept like a baby except for the dream of hooking up with Dakota Fanning that woke me up. That was gross. It was an older Dakota Fanning, though, that seemed more like Tatum O'Neal in Bad News Bears. I cannot be held responsible for my dream state.

You've Got To Therapize.

I'm going to try and get this all down before it slips away. I'm on my patio with a smoke in my mouth, typing furiously like a caricature of an overrated and not really comparable Hunter S.. Let me start by saying that I had a beer before going to the therapist, which I don't think is a terrible move.

I rolled up on my bike and locked it up and started walking to his office and bumped into him on the corner playing with his kid. You could tell that he keeps his relationship very professional with patients and saves everything for the room so we didn't talk that much and I met him at his office. It was either that or he didn't want me near his kid because he thought I was batshit crazy and just wanted his $200 for the session.

We jumped right in. I told him that I was feeling pretty good since we last met and did the sadness exercise for five minutes and then one more intense version of it while playing Tiger Woods on Xbox whilst imbibing some beers and listening to my sad playlist titled "mixt8p" on my iPod. He thought it was interesting that I could turn sadness on and off like I can. I told him that I noticed when something disturbs me I start to grin. It's creepy. I've never noticed it before. I discussed how it feels like I've always got some guy sitting in the room with me who is sad now. It's just weird knowing that he is there now. He's my elephant in my room. So, still practicing the sadness exercises in short bursts. Only 29 years to let out. The word "manic" was brought up at one point, but more pointed to a manic mechanism to deal with intense pain by smothering it with intense unpain. Pain't, if you will.

We discussed the not eating. He explored whether it was a sort of self-punishment fueled by guilt versus self-destruction. I told him that I just didn't find real pleasure in eating and found it more like fueling, however could see it being some sub-conscious self-punishment. However, after talking about it more, it may be a result of DUI commitments breaking up a routine that I relied on post-divorce for structure. Trader Joe's on Monday. Laundry on Tuesday. Tacos on Thursday. Soccer on Friday. You'll never know what I did on Wednesday. These things kept me afloat while I rebuilt my personality following the divorce. The DUI commitments broke this up and I never reestablished them. This resulted in a feeling of chaos for me. This is this week's homework: Rebuild routine.

Next, we dealt with the ex-wife. He was really impressed that I still have feelings for her. Not in a loving way, but a very deep friendship and trust. This came out when I told him that I called her after my DUI because she is one of the people that I trusted the most. This is the most ironic thing that you've ever heard, but it's true. It's not like she is invited to my birthday or anything, but if we were both stranded on an island or stuck in a Wal-Mart after closing and couldn't get out, we're not going to try to strangle each other. We'd figure our way out of it and then go back to our respective lives. You can't deny all of the reasons that got two individuals to an altar. There had to be something there in most cases. People just change and grow apart. It's okay. He said that it showed that I processed everything that happened and was able to see past the loving relationship and anger and separate that from the friendship that actually was there on some level. He commented that this showed great hope for developing another strong relationship at some point in my life. That was encouraging.

We then talked about the sad clown. I feel that I have a lot to give and share. That's the "HughVoltage Show." That is why, and I apologize, that I will dominate a conversation in some instances. I just have so much fucking shit to say and feel that it has value. This, in turn, brought up the blog and the death of Dick Steele for the old timers. I use an alter ego to express all of these things that I want to share. It's funny that HughVoltage is writing this, right? I killed my last pseudonym as a way to escape him. I created a new one to feed that beast that wasn't being fed and needed to say a bunch of stuff to someone, to anyone who would read it. I asked him if I was schizo or something and he said that it was okay to have an alter ego like this. Also, it's hella easier to say you fucked the neighbor after drinking a handle of whiskey in which she asked afterwards "Do you have AIDS?" because she was from the South and thought everyone in California had AIDS, when your real name is not attached to it. Using an alter ego, you can bend truths and extrapolate on ideas and situations that may not have necessarily happened, but may entertain others. By the way, Sea World really happened and most of this stuff has, it's the arrogant and sometimes reckless opinions that can be attributed to HughVoltage. Maybe he is the one that hates cat ladies. He's definitely the one that proposed the group DAMM (Drunks Against Mad Mothers).

We talked about the girl that reads the blog briefly and he asked if I sometimes imagine what people's reactions will be when I write. Fuckin-A right, I do. There are so many times when I write something down and there is a hidden joke in the word choice that I just hope someone is going to get. In some instances, the one person that would get it. I used to communicate with my ex through my Dick Steele column on a few occasions. Those columns were my peacock feathers. There are actually a few times, too, where I hope someone spits their coffee out on their keyboard while reading. Sometimes it just cracks me up so I've got to write it down somewhere. It's my attempt at getting someone to hear awesome falling in the woods even though they are not necessarily in the woods.

We also got back to the survivor instinct that has taken over. It's most likely related to years 20 to 21 in the city, basically on my own. This is where it really blossomed. There are also a few tinges of family dysfunction in that I looked to some type of Norman Rockwell painting idea of what family should be and didn't see it and just let it go forever. Ummm, let me see, an aunt that is never mentioned anymore who was a prostitute in Oakland and was nice enough to manage to give you an adopted brother who was born addicted to heroin. Yeah, we don't talk about it at dinner, but this never happened on Growing Pains. This was brought up when I told him that I called my dad on Father's Day after dragging my feet a bit. My dad was tending to his livestock and I left a message. Still haven't heard back. He said that I called expecting disappointment and when it happened, it had absolutely no effect. He said it was okay. He said that I didn't have to feel guilty about that.

So, I think that about covers it. He said that it seems like I know what I need to do and I just need to do it. The insight and outlook all seem to be there. I'll be completely honest, I have no idea how me talking for most of the time can make me feel so much better, but I genuinely am feeling better. I smile when I'm happy now and not just when a particularly sad lyric or a particularly bad memory trigger occurs. Rewiring, really. There actually may be a happy ending to this. I believe it now. I also believe that sasquatch exists. You never really know how it's all going to unravel, but it's no reason to ravel it back up. You've just got to sit back and watch it...and be ready for anything. Anything.

Getting Overdoing It

I was going through my Loni archives and came across a document titled "Seven AM." Oh, Loni is my old computer from college. I had two computers, one was called Loni and one was called Burt. They fought consistently until I decommissioned Loni, but moved her hard drive over to Burt. Loni will forever be in the heart of Burt. I think I'm creating small chores for myself this morning as I procrastinate calling my dad on Father's Day. I'll eventually call him, I always do, but it always feels like a chore.

So, I opened the document and it was something I wrote a while back. I suppose it was the first entry in what was going to be my great work that put a veil of fiction over what was really autobiographical passages that used third person rather than first in an attempt to distance myself from the real events. So, here it is. I just read it for the first time in probably at least three years. It totally overdoes it, but I'm trying to write more and I suppose it could be a starting point.

He walked from his apartment door to the walkway to the parking lot. The fifteen steps that it took felt like he was walking on a planet of Jell-O, mounted on top of a carousel while he was wearing Doc Martens with wet socks and one boot untied. He knew that already he was an hour into the longest day of his life and it was only seven in the morning. He went to take a sip off of his coffee cup and realized that he didn’t even have it and there was no way that he could go back through that door. He hoped he would never have to, but knew that eventually he was going to.

Without coffee, frame of mind and cigarettes he dragged his ass to a 1993 Nissan Sentra that was on its last leg and he would be lucky to even make it up the hill on the way to work in third gear, but he went anyway. There was simply no other option.

The ride into work felt like it took two days and it very may well have had he known the way the sleepless nights were going to start blending into each other. Days would have no meaning anymore, weekends would be worse than weekdays as every day was just another interruption into sleep attempts filled with Tylenol PM dreams.

This day would turn into weeks, then months, then a year showing no signs of relief, but tiny short lived distractions from self-indulged pain would at least flip a switch on his brain to off temporarily.

He refused to be a victim, then refused to medicate instead choosing to endure something that he didn’t even understand he could feel at the age of twenty nine.

Someone had snuck up behind him and pulled the rug that he so depended on from beneath his feet and then as he fell, put a knife solidly in his back as they pushed him from behind down a rabbit hole. When he woke up and looked up at the dim light peeking through the top of the hole and stopping three feet from his face he would feel lonelier than he ever had before.

At this moment, he found himself sitting at his desk in an uncomfortable chair leaning forward in a posture that CAL-OSHA could never approve, staring at information simply occupying a screen and offering nothing. It was lunch time, but hunger didn’t happen anymore. Only cravings for cigarettes that never made him feel any better, but could make ten minutes disappear from his life. Plus, as a bonus, could take some time off down the line. Life had become a series of activities intended to kill time and himself in ten minute increments. That was his new purpose. Gone were the days of living his life for someone else. He would never pull a panty liner off of a pair of dirty underwear while doing someone else’s laundry. He would never again have to sit through a pilates class to please someone else. If ever diagnosed with a terminal disease, he hoped that his last days on earth would feel like this, everlasting.

Therapy, working out, doing laundry, and blacking out in exchange for feeling blue filled the nights between the days that lasted forever filled with a green tint of envy and grayness from a cloud that he knew was floating above him most of the time that was there to block out the yellow sun.

That was definitely the worst birthday ever.

Two Hundred Seventy Five Bones For 75 Minutes of The Rapy

I went to therapy yesterday. It was time. The last three or so years were spent expending a tremendous amount of energy to tread mental water in an effort to break even emotionally. I've managed to get pretty comfortable at zero on a mental number line. I don't feel sad, but I don't feel happy. I feel manageable. So, here are some highlights.

We started off just going through some aspects of who I was and got to the point where the therapist asked if I wanted to work with the divorce or my childhood. I told him that the divorce was pretty much locked down and dealt with so we moved to my background starting at the beginning. He asked me what my first childhood memory was and I told him that it was my race car blanket as a kid. It's funny because I've used that line to pick up a girl before and let him know that. The blanket thing carried on to a gray blanket that I had and finally let go of when I moved out of my apartment when I separated with my ex. It's gone. I have no blanket anymore, but my mom was nice enough to make me a new quilt. It's not a security item anymore, though.

He then asked if I've always been a sad a person. I told him that I think I actually have always been a sad person internally, but never let anyone know if I can help it. I mentioned that as a kid my mom had referred to me as Eeyore for being a sad little kid and that I often identified with Charlie Brown. It turns out that I use humor and self-deprecation as a result of an emotional trigger as soon as I feel myself getting sad. Internally, it's an unaccepted emotion that sends me into a flight mode. The way he described it is that as soon as I feel it and recognize that my toe is in a depression puddle, I jump out and away from it and try not to experience the sadness. This results in what some have seen as the "HughVoltage" show. It's almost manic, but is very entertaining externally as I'm pounding the shit out of internal sadness. This has resulted in me building layer upon layer of other feelings on top of the bad ones since I was about five. Fighting sadness for much of my life because I felt alone in the world. Total sad clown.

So, as homework, I was told to connect my mind to my sadness and to try and experience it rather than fight it. I tried it last night and it was super freaky. It went like this. I got ready for bed and tried to tap into it a little bit. I made the connection as I lay in bed in the dark. At first I could feel it trying to creep in and actually feel myself fighting it and then stopped myself after about five minutes and the sadness just completely overwhelmed me. I let it go for a little bit and then just turned it off again. It was really weird and uncomfortable, but I've seen it now and can actually feel it underneath everything now. It almost physically resides two inches behind my face while I smile at you and make jokes. The real creepy thing is that I recognize it now and it has been there forever. I just compartmentalized it and have refused to recognize it for what it is. It's hard to explain. I guess it might be like having a mole on your arm that you never really paid attention to and then you saw some news story on skin cancer and can't stop noticing it.

So, the next thing we covered is going to be a little disturbing for those close to me, but he said it, not me. I've written about the little crazy inner demon that is about five years old and takes things over occasionally before. Apparently, I was right on with that. Here's how it works and I need to preface this with a warning that no one is to blame for this, but it's there. He said that because of my dad leaving at five and having such a young mother, I never had a real childhood because I felt that I had to take care of myself. I never really felt safe or that I could trust anyone to take care of me. This separated me from those close to me including my parents. It created a part of me that wanted to be taken care of, but never believed anyone could. It's why I feel separated even among family and friends and even more so around strangers. I have a hard time accepting help or gifts from people because of this. I try to do everything on my own and have a hard time developing empathy for those that can't keep up with me because I feel that I worked so hard to get where I am and they should have to, too. I see this now. It's why I subscribe to social Darwinism so much. So, I want to be taken care of, but won't let you. I'm a wounded bird.

We then covered the "What makes you happy/when have you been happy?" question. This is pretty standard and I think about it all the time. Music, writing, soccer and being with family were the four topics. There was also a tinge of the work project successes. I genuinely love figuring out complex problems at work. This was encouraging as I thought work was the stem of all my problems. Fuse may be a better word than stem for that one. By not participating in those things as much as I'd like, I get frustrated and self-medicate with alcohol until the feelings subside. This also coincides with an internal voice that tells me that I'm not good at them anyway. Happiness is only experienced through the eyes of others acceptance. If awesome falls in the woods and no one is there to see it, did awesome really matter?

I discussed happiness in the workplace with a friend the other day. I asked him if he liked his job and he replied, "Fuck no." I then asked him why he went everyday and he said to pay his mortgage and other assorted debts. I followed that up with "What's your dream job then?" He said he didn't know. That's exactly where I am. I've been beat into submission so hard by the expectations of work and the status quo that I don't even know what would be a dream job anymore or what makes me happy. I'll say that I want a happy life, but I don't even know what that would be at this point. I want to travel. Well, fuckin' where? I want a girlfriend. Well, what would she even be like? I want things, but at this stage none of them can be defined. It's really frustrating.

The therapist followed up the happy talk with "Have you ever felt guilty for any successes or being happy in life?" Sadly, he totally hit it on the head with that one. Somehow, I've developed guilt for things that happen to me that are good. I never feel that I deserve anything good to happen to me. This explains why I have a hard time accepting relationships with the oppo sex. If a pretty girl likes me, I honestly, have no idea why. This is not good, but I think we will work on this.

We discussed my relationship with my ex-wife and what I liked about it as it lasted a long time. I told him that it was the "nothing" part of it that I loved dearly. I really loved the time that myself and the ex spent doing nothing. That was the true test. If you like someone so much that being in line with them at the DMV or sharing a crossword puzzle on a Sunday morning completely satisfies you and you never want it to end, you've won. Congratulations.

So, let me see, he complimented me on being extremely self-aware of myself and what happens to me internally. I identify things that happen internally and have learned how to control many of my self-destructive tendencies and at the very least can recognize them. It's kind of why I'm seeing him. I know that some things are not right. Sadly, this works against me in some instances because I recognize my fallibility too clearly at times and will attack myself for it.

So I think that about covers it. I go again next week. The ironic part about this whole exercise is that I've always thought boozing was my main problem, but that's actually pretty controlled at this point. It could be better, but it's been way worse as recently as a year ago. Anyway, the therapist is right across from my bar that I walk to from my apartment. So, my self-medication destination and my cry for help destination are 50 yards from each other. Brilliant.

iPhuckin Give Up

Last week, I was treating myself to a VentiNonFatVanillaLatte and a yogurt parfait from Starbucks on the way to work. I got into the fairly sparse line due to the fact that I work so early in the morning that it is almost the previous day when I get there. I say "hello" to my neighbor who gives me her complimentary pound of coffee every week and get my seventeen syllable order put together in my semi-lucid brain and try to link that to my tongue somehow with a wing and a prayer and wait patiently as I approach the barista.

I start to hear this sqeak that I assume is a glitch in the quintessential Starbucks XM feed of music. I'll say this about their music, it doesn't suck as bad as some places like dental offices, but it's not as good as the Bob Hope airport in Burbank. Anyway, it persists and it gets a little louder and worse and it feels close to me. I take a gander about the place and there is this lady that screams of feline female behind me. You can almost see the Fancy Feast cans overflowing from her purse. I look away and as I'm processing her upside down image from my eyeball to the back of my brain, I file away that she had a bird on her shoulder. I think to myself that it's just some residual effects from not being caffeinated and turn around again and sure enough she has a fucking bird on her shoulder.

Who the fuck are you, lady? Bring a fucking bird into Starbucks on your shoulder at 6:45 in the morning. I could understand if it was a seeing eye bird, but she looked like her vision was solid. The thing starts actually squawking at this point and she starts talking to it.

"Oh, baby. Don't bite mommy."

"Be quiet, baby. Mommy is trying to get a coffee."

"Calm down, baby."

Now, I could be way off here and maybe she got pregnant and gave birth to a baby bird, but Jesus Christ. There are bird people now? Bird people have just trumped cat people as my arch-nemeses. Arch-nemesists?

Also, my Motorola Razr was beginning to reboot in the middle of phone calls so I made a move and started researching phones. The counter culturalist that I like to consider myself said no iPhones. I ordered an LG Incite for free through my work and bumped up my data plan and again waited patiently for it to arrive. It showed up yesterday and I set it up for two hours and found it completely unusable as a phone. It was almost there, but not quite. Windows mobile. Sleek design. Shitty performance. Stupid stylus to navigate tiny icons. A completely unusable keyboard in conjunction with the screen. Good Try, LG. Anyway, after owning (phowning?) the phone for three hours, I found myself at the AT&T store begging for anything. I walked out with an iPhone with an oncoming Kool-Aid hangover from drinking that Apple Kool-Aid that I despise so much, but keep gulping down.

Sadly, so far, it's not that bad and I even have an application that acts as a guitar tuner, metronome and chord finder. It's really kind of awesome. So, per usual, I lay on my back and bare my neck to all of those that were subjected to my iPhone hate and I submit. I was wrong. Still, I miss my Razr a little bit.