The Next Day Blues

Friday.  The land of milk and honey.  The end of the week.  Hours filled with sleep and drinking and then more sleep.  Time to clean the house and time to clean our hearts.  It is the weekend, and it's fast approaching. 

BUT, it's not quite here.  I'm stuck in the middle of the Thursday -- and I can tell that it's going to be one hell of a long day.  You have to figure -- I've been at work for only three hours so far.  That means that I have no less than six to go.  And GMoney said that he would be done today at five, but I know that man's a down and out liar.  He'll be pegging away on his keyboard til the wee hours of the night.  There will be no time left for cocktails.  No time left for recooperation.  That boy is a workaholic, in spite of my various attempts to innocently derail his productivity.  Plus, he's my ride home, so I can't leave work until he's ready to go.  OH, suuuure.  I could walk over and catch the 5:20 bus, but that fucker doesn't get me home until 6:30.  I may as well sit around here until 7 so that we can all go and get a burger and some beer after work.  

After that, who knows? 

It is Thursday night -- the most anticipated night in television programming.  Unfortunately all the classics have laid up their gloves and it's summer.  There's never any good programming on during the  summer months.  The Family Guy is on tonight, with a special introduction by the creator himself, Seth McFarlane.  That dude is frickin hilarious.  It's a bit better when you're on some good drugs, so I'm definitely going to try and hold off on the consumption until about 10:30.  Then we'll see how everything is looking. 

Thursday is definitely going to be a long day.  Oh well -- at least I'm alive and well enough to enjoy it.  and tomorrow is the day of reckoning, errr. . .Friday.  Say hello to the weekend (and I already feel like I'm back in college - drinking beer, chasing tail, having a good ole time.)

Oh and go free the damn hockey chicken!  I want my shit back. 

Monday, Monday
 
*Ugh*

and that about sums it up.  This weekend was particularly hard.  I had to take off work Friday so that I could get back home and to a funeral.  I abhor funerals.  I mean it's really not the whole issue with death or loss or the memento mori that situations like this supposedly brews in everybody.  The really bothersome part for me is being enshrouded with sadness -- It makes me melancholy quicker than anything.  

My Uncle Melvin died on Wednesday of last week.  I didn't even find out until Thursday evening.  My mother has this super way of failing to relay bad news to me.  When I confronted her on the issue a few years back, she just said that she didn't want to upset me, especially because I was far away with no family around to comfort me -- but seriously, I missed my Great Aunt' funeral because I didn't find out she was dead until a month afterwards!  Boy, was I pissed about that one. 

rrr...I'm getting off topic. 

Melvin Compton.  What kind of words can describe a person? a soul?  I'm not sure.  I had seen my uncle about a month before his passing.  He was telling me about his garden and how far along it had already gotten.  He had promised that if I stopped by before I left home that he would give me some of the fruits of his labors - namely a bag filled with cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, and the green onions that I love so much.  It was two weeks ago, unbeknownst to anyone but himself, that he had a minor heart attack.  He was working the land that he loved so much when he started to become weak and dizzy.  Later, after a similar spell, he recounted to the doctors that he had laid down in the row of beans for over an hour -- trying to get strength back to go into the house and rest a while.  And it was while the physicians were running tests on his heart, my uncle had a major heart attack that lead to his eventual death.  He was 78 years old. 

I really think that Melvin got to go in a way that he would have approved of.  He remained healthy and active all the way through the very end of his life.  He was never bedridden, or hooked up to the gamut of life sustaining machines in hospitals today (something that he had to watch his wife endeavor through for the last two years of her life.)  And the love of his life, Aunt Marie had gone on for nearly a year and a half now.  A father.  A brother.  A loving husband. 

I know that I shall miss him. 

. . . . . . . . .

The Bush War
 
As much as I would like to support our commander in chief, the president of the United States of America -- I don't.  And it's not because the man lied about his intentions and motivations for taking this great nation to war, and it's not because he's done nothing to further the rights and freedoms of the everyman during his four year term in office, and it's certainly not because the man is a complete and utter baffoon - Oh, wait!  Yes it is. 

I was having my morning coffee here at work, reading through a little news when I stumbled across this seemingly innocent article at CNN : Jenna Bush Sticks out Tongue.  Like I said the article is fluff, a cute account of the president's notoriously unrestrained daughter going on the campaign trail with Daddy Bush.  What I'm not interested in is the bit of banter shared between Jenna and the media.  What I am intersted in is the last line of the article, "The Bush twins recently joined their dad on the stump for his last political campaign." (my italics)  I'm sure the author meant to say that this would be the final bout of campaigning in this election year.  However, he does not quite accomplish that feat.  What the AP writer does do is he unintentionally predicts the outcome of the election -- a full four months in advance!!! 

Now, I don't care if the Kerry/Edwards ticket gets the nod, or if by some act of God, Ralph Nader is put into the White House -- I'm just hoping the man up stairs reads the news. 

A road of destruction called happiness
 
I went to the Evanesense concert on Friday night, and I would like to say that it was the highlight of this week end.  It wasn't.  Me fighting through tears of desperation in a restaurant two hours prior to the concert was pretty awesome though. . .
 
note the sarcasm. 
 
My best friend and I have been fighting for the last month.  It's bad when she and I fight - the worst kind, where no one really says anything and we just continue down a path of destruction and distancing.  Well, we had at one another on Friday.  That is to say, she had it out with me and like an ass I sat there and took all the hateful and inconsiderate comments she threw.  They were all true, don't get me wrong -- true, but misconstrued. 
 
And I don't even know where to go from here.  I can't seem to find the truth in the situation. 
 
Ok, ok -- so, I'm more than a little in love with her.  I have been for the entire three years that we've known each other.  This is no big surprise to her, as I have professed my love for her for the entire three years that we've known one another.  And now she's going back into this I hate myself and so I'm going down a road of destruction called 'happiness, forsaking all that really matters in my life.'  
 
We've been through this little diatribe several times throughout the course of our stinted relationship.  THREE TIMES!  But what can I do?  She thinks that I'm being jealous, when in all reality the only thing that I'm trying to do is give her some space and let her make her own decisions (albeit the wrong decisions.)  I don't try to cover the fact that I'm not going to be supportive of a new (albeit rehashed) relationshiop with an abusive partener.  I straight up tell her -- like a good friend that I'm supposed to be. 
 
Well, she comes off telling me that maybe I'm not the person that she thought she knew, and that maybe she should have been giving a lot less consideration to my opinion all along. 
 
How the fuck is someone supposed to respond to an insult like that?  You don't respect my opinion?!?  Then don't fucking ask. 
 
So, I step up -- I say fine, then maybe we should just say goodbye -- shit, friendships only last so long, right?  Love can only do so much.  And I'm spent. 
 
And then she has the nerve to apologize.  And I have to forgive her -- I mean, that's what I do. 
 
I'm a dumbass.  I frickin bigole dumbass.  And that's the way it goes. .

This Week/Weak

Ah, this has been toilsome. My mind is still intact, and that I am thankful for. The peace waivers, but I suppose that's about all that I can ask for. The moments that are wrapped up in those silver shivers tend to be brief and usually only happen when I am too wrapped up in myself -- it's a bad place to be, inside me.

I often wonder if it is the lack of sleep that makes me this way, or if it is really my current state that offers me no respite in the wee hours. Chica and I have been at ends with one another, and it is a force to be reckoned with. Hell hath no fury and whatnot. Well, there is purpose in everything, especially those things that we don't quite understand. and I guess, that somehow, all of this draws me back into the absurd. It is a comfort, being a witness to irrationality.

I find the voice of God in every direction I turn. The thought that frightens me the most is that I'm not sure if I'm seeking that direction, or if I am constantly running away from it. I think probably the latter, and that is upsetting. I guess there is some solace in the fact that my fleeing has been exceptionally miscarried -- He does not seem to want to leave me lieing here, face down in the mud.

Abandon

Lieing,
wrapped in delirious sweat,
my dreams are supplanted
by darkness.

My Fever,
pitched in this convulsive scream,
and silence steals over me.

I weep.
No words were found.

I plead.
The night is far from tender.

I turn.
Your still visige finds me there.

I am siezed by my own waking life,
ensnared in this,
a tempestuous cloud of thought and emotion.

I am lackidaisical.
My pursuits are lost;
my brain addled.

The morn is nigh.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This just flowed out of me today. It pretty much describes the night of sleep (or lack thereof) that I had last night.

enjoy!

A Wedding. . .and a Weekend from Hell

Well, Jay and Kristen got married this weekend, and it was a beautiful service. I really think that a lot of people were shocked by the layout of the wedding. I mean, if Jay and Kristen are decisively not anything it's traditional. But it was classy, and I think that makes all the difference.

The wedding was outdoors (at Goodale Park) and thankfully the rain held off all night long. The reception was held at a banquet hall downtown were we all converged to eat and dance and drink until we could stand it no longer (or until they kicked us out at midnight that is.) And then there was the after party. heheh. The groom's men had rented several suites in the suburbs and invited a few select to come back and finish off what liquor and beer was left from the bachelor's party. There was much hibbety-bibbety going on all around. Needless to say, nearly everyone had a good time.

I got home at seven in the morning Sunday, and was expected to be at the newlywed's house at 1pm for lunch and hangout time with all our friends that had traveled from out of town. I made it there around five-ish. And I think that I was still drunk. heh.

All in all, it was a good time. A great celebration of a true love uniting.

. . .

I'll tell ya'll about the hell part another time. or i won't.

The Bachelor's Party

I went to my first bachelor party last night; my good friend JS is getting married on Saturday, so naturally us boys had to get together and see how much alcohol we could consume in an evening.

We had quite a lot of fun, just cruising around the city in our limousine. We first stopped at a restaraunt for dinner -- a restaraunt with topless dancers I might add. I've never really had a good time in a titty bar -- I always end up feeling ackward and more than a little embarrassed -- but last night I had a blast, spent way too much money and drank way too much liquor. It was different, standing there in an almost empty house clutching my wad of ones and fives. The sights were nice.

But all good things. . .

And now I'm at work again, nursing what is quite possibly the worst hangover that I've ever had. You might ask -- was it all worth it? What do you think? heheh. . .

I wrote this poem not too long ago, started with a line that I first shared here. I thought it only appropriate that ya'll should get a chance to take a glimpse at the final product. This is my craft, so please, if you have any comments (constructive, destructive, asnine, whatever) feel free to make them.

Thanks

-d.

untitled V
When I open the door of this cell
I am greeted with an aroma,
Lilies.

When I first awake on this morn
I am tossed back in the realization:
I am.

When I first cried out your name
You rightly answered, calling,
“Yes, love?”

But we fall,
We fall to meet our shadows.
And a new tomorrow shall not come.

Your face lingers in the stirrings of my heart
Your voice sings to me, deeply, sadly.
Your love burns inside my drumming veins,
And I am swept away.

The morrow shall not come.

All is left to nothing;
The dancing light,
Extinguished.

Just checking in. . .

I would like to spend a little more time here, developing thoughts, perhaps even coming to a few conclusions. Who knows what can happen when you put a little time and energy into a thing.

Yesterday afternoon I spent some time compiling a summer reading list for both my thirteen year old brother and my eleven year old sister. I gave them both some options to look at, some challenging and some not so, but all in all I hope that they will find a fun world of entertainment in literature. Plus I think that it would be fun to have something that we could all share together. (as we all grow older, it seems more likely that we all grow apart.)

Now, just two more cents: children's literature is for everyone. I think that if you take a minute and reread one of these books, you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised.

The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. This book is really fantastic and it has a lot of really great illustrations in it. It was originally written in the french language, titled Le Petit Prince. I'm sure that you can find a copy of it in english.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, or James and the Giant Peach, by Roald Dahl. Roald Dahl was one of my favorite
authors when I was younger. He has a lot of really fantastic stories and with either one of these books you should already know the basic story line (I think that movies have been produced from adaptations from both of these books.) In the book, you get a lot of really neat stories that aren't able to be included in the movies.

The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams. I can't remember the last time I read this book, but I do know that it was always one of my favorites and a story that has stuck with me far into my adolescence and adulthood.

Ella Enchanted, by Gail Carson Levine. I haven't read this book at all, but it comes highly recommended from a few friends of mine. The storyline is something of a Cinderella story.

The next selections are all by a favorite author of mine, Shel Silverstein. The Giving Tree is more of a story than a book of poems. Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light in the Attic are two books of poetry that Shel Silverstien put out. These two books were my first introduction to poetry, and like I said, they are really really funny. You should definitely check these books out, even if you don't read much of them, as they are a hoot.

A Wrinkle in Time, A Swiftly Tilting Planet, and A Wind in the Door are all books by Madeline L'Engle. These books are a small series and are of the science fiction genre, but the author is a Christian woman and so she presents some themes dealing with God and the afterlife too (from a scientific prospective.) I first read this series when I was in fifth grade, and the series is still one of my favorites. L'Engle is a great writer.

The Chronicles of Narnia is a series of seven books written by C.S. Lewis. Lewis is another author who writes a lot of non-fiction about Christianity and God and the afterlife. This series is fantasy based (wizard and the like.) Although, there are seven books in the series, it's finished so you won't have to wait for the next book to come out, EVER. The books go in the order: The Magician's Nephew; The Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe; The Horse and His Boy; Prince Caspian; The Voyage of the Dawn Treader; The Silver Chair; and The Last Battle. I think that you would really enjoy this series.

No Promises in the Wind, by Irene Hunt is a book that I first read in the eighth grade. I think that I read it for language arts class, but ended up using it as the basis for a project in social studies. The story takes place in the Great Depression Era and follows two brothers as they strike out to try and make it on their own. This is one of my favorite books of all time.

The last that I'm going to give to you is The Hatchet, by Gary Paulson. You could probably pick up anything by Paulson and it would be pretty good -- he's been a young adult author since before I was in school and he's still writing new books. This is the one that I remember the most out of four or five of his that I read when I was your age. The story's about this boy who gets stranded out in the woods with nothing more than a hatchet and his trials as he attempts survival in the woods alone.

Well, that's my summer reading recommendations for the summer. Maybe next time I'll post more adult selections for the more mature (stuffy) crowd.

later,
-d.

Where am I at now?

It's a new month. The Independance Day celebrations have taken their toll. And all in all, things are going well.

I can't say that I'm entirely on track. There's so much that I would like to accomplish that I am often overwhelmed within my own aspirations. Is it better to be lost in a dream rather than not dream at all? I'm not sure.

The whole thing somewhat reminds me of the movie Waking Life by Richard Linklater. The enigma of life -- the truth that is apparent only in our dreams. When one swirls it all around, the picture becomes nothing more than mud -- and I have often woke to find myself sleeping in a puddle.

Life moves on -- or so they say.