Checking In

So, I had started updating this blog again with some semblance of regularity; I even had started my longish ballot post on Election Night. I didn't get to finish it right away because I was pretty busy.

And it's not like I haven't had the time or desire to post; I've had things on my mind and plenty of opportunity to opine.

The problem was, three weeks ago I dislocated my shoulder. I was at the OU/BG football game and did the giant hamster ball race at halftime. I fell during the race, and that was that. I knew immediately my joint was not where it was supposed to be. But hey, if you're gonna injure yourself, do it in front of 15,000 people, right?

I was taken out of Peden in an ambulance. If you're keeping score, I've been escorted out of The Convo by police and taken out of Peden in an ambulance. I think I'm the only person that can claim that. Now that I think about it, how many people on this Earth can even claim similar, um, achievements?

Anyway, I've been out of my sling for less than a week. I couldn't work, and typing with one hand just isn't worth it. I'm rehabbing the shoulder and trying to catch up. I also have to get going with my MAC Report Online writing; that had to be put on hold as well.

So I'll get some posts thrown up here, just not at the speed I would like, most likely. The suckiest part is that I'm in Twinsburg again for the holiday season, and my laptop's wireless modem sucks so bad it can't pick anything up at anything but close distances. We'll see how this goes.

El Mago

I have a long-standing fascination with illusions. There's just something alluring about seeing something that isn't really there, or something that distorts reality. I'm not talking about Magic Eyes; those things are stupid. But classic optical illusions? I'm all over it. I'll stare at them for an hour. One of my favorite characters I played in Dungeons & Dragons was a wizard that specialized in illusions. Illusions are powerful; they can change reality itself.

These days, I wonder how much of my life is an illusion and how much of it I've created. Pursuant to the same point, how much of it do I believe? I'm coming to think that quite often I fool myself into believing things are a lot better than they really are. If reality isn't up to snuff, I'll change it to suit my needs. It's fun, but behind the veil, the glamer doesn't exist and the world doesn't react to it. In time, the illusion fails and I'm left seeing a bleaker picture than I thought possible. One that is all too real.

How much of it do I create myself? And if I do, how do I stop it? Do I want to stop it? Is reality that bad, or am I imagining what is false to justify a different kind of fiction? Does this even make sense anymore?

I look around and see everyone else with their roots in strong truth, no need to invent a grinning mask. At the same time, what is my truth? Life itself seems to throw various illusions my way; what I thought was one thing turned out to be something else entirely. Perhaps reality and I have an adversarial relationship. But I don't feel like anyone else has this problem, so who do I talk to about this? All too often, I say, "This would only happen to me." And it seems that too many people agree. Maybe it's all a lie. Maybe I don't know what to believe anymore.

But I have been driving around with the windows down, and I kept one rolled down even though I'm not driving it. It's getting warmer, and that's no illusion.

----------------
Now playing: Messiah - You're Going Insane
via FoxyTunes

I Feel Helpless

There is a guy who comes into CVS more days than not and buys multiple 40-ounce bottles of King Cobra. I'm pretty sure he's homeless.

Today, he bought a can of soup and he wanted to pay for it with his food stamps. He tried to use the card machine, but was too... something (drunk?) to understand my instructions. I had to do it for him. He couldn't read the screen, saying his glasses are broken. Then I saw him using the touch screen, and his fingernails were so brittle one literally crusted off on the screen as he was using it.

I could smell the alcohol on him from a distance. He shows multiple signs of his liver being shot, almost assuredly because of his alcoholism. I wonder how much longer before his organs start to shut down on him. I don't think it's long.

What, exactly, can I do about this?

I Haven't Written Since June? Whoops.

Facebook must not have a lot of faith in me. I keep seeing this flyer for "How to Meet Chicks." Apparently it wants to teach me how to meet and talk to girls. Maybe tomorrow it can give me dietary advice.

So, the summer came and went. I worked on third shift a lot. I made a lot of money. I made friends. I didn't play much tennis. I didn't see Tim much. I did, of course, attend his wedding, being a groomsman and all. I have to say... drunken bridesmaids are not my friend. This random girl pulled me out on the dance floor suddenly, then said, "you failed" and walked off, leaving me wondering what in the world just happened. To affirm me, the maid of honor assured me that I did indeed fail. Thanks. The same drunk girl later grabbed me again, yelling "Let's take a picture!" So we did, and then she started spinning. Now, we were able of equal weight, so there was no way I was going to be able to stop her. I thought I did well just to keep her head from bouncing off the ground. Not everyone agreed.

So, once again, I am in Athens for the school year. Mercifully, I'm not living in the dorms. I've bunkered down with TR in an apartment a mile or so from campus. It's so much better than dorm life that I'm kicking myself for waiting so long to make this move. However, I have no furniture. I'm sitting on the floor as I write this. Saturday is the first home game of the year for the football team, with volleyball debuting next week. I'm excited.

I'm getting close to filling up another poetry notebook. I'll have to buy a new one. Do they still make the Five-Star notebooks? I like those. Sometimes, I wonder if I'll become famous posthumously, like Dickinson. That would be kind of cool, wouldn't it? Following in the footsteps of my favorite wordsmith? No? OK.

It's about time I admit this: I have a crush on a girl. It's the first one since Hurricane Carolyn, so it's kind of weird. I worked with her over the summer. The first time I saw her, I thought, "Wow, she's beautiful." What's that? That's hackneyed? Well, that's literally what I thought, so shut up. I can't control what goes on up here. And she is. Anyway, I didn't really work with her a whole lot at first. But we did a bit, so we got to talking. I found her to be pretty funny and smart. And, you know, I liked looking at her. As the summer went on, I started thinking that maybe I might like her. And honestly, I really fought those thoughts. I didn't want to like her. I didn't want to like anyone. I wanted to be alone, shut up in my little castle, protected and aloof. By the end of August, though, I couldn't kid myself anymore. I really did like her.

Naturally, the next course of action was to avoid these feelings as much as possible. With the summer ending, our paths were going to part soon. So I thought that I would just go the last couple days of work, come back here, and that would be the end of it. Sort of a flirt-and-run? But I think I subconsciously sabotaged my attempts to consciously sabotage myself (did your brain just explode?), because I told her that she should come visit me down here. I didn't even think about it, I just said it. Then she asked what we would do, so I rattled off a few things. At one point, she said it sounds romantic. Yeah, I said, it can be.

And then: Do you want romance? Well, I said, who doesn't? No, she said, with me. Cue panic. Go with sarcastic, evasive answer. She's having none of it. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, I tell her. I tell her that I think she's smart, funny, fun to talk to, and very attractive. Ditto, she says.

Well, crap. My plans just went up in smoke. I just went and said what I told myself I wasn't going to say. Now I have to do something about this, don't I? Yes, you moron, you do. Why don't you ever listen to me? She was off not long after that conversation. But- and I didn't think about this at the time, but I guess it's important- we were totally giving each other the eyes for like a minute.

Because I am nothing if not dedicated to failure, I went back to the drawing board. OK, she mentioned she's still sort of trying to patch things up with her old boyfriend. As long as she's sticking to that, we're in the clear. Naturally, a few days later, I get a message from her: It's over with them. Now what? I got nothing. Might as well see where this goes. So we've had a couple of those all-night conversations where you just talk about all manner of things. And the more I've talked to her and gotten to know her, the more I like her.

By the way, she's planning on driving down here to visit me Saturday. I mention this- and the entire story that preceded it- because this probably constitutes a significant step in the process of... whatever it is we're doing.

I don't know for sure where this is going (though I have a pretty good idea of where we're headed at this point), but... I don't know. There's still that part of me screaming get out, get out now!, the part is terrified I'll just get hurt again. The difference this time, I think, is that I harbor no illusions here. Previous girls seemed... almost perfect. She isn't. I see her flaws, her problems. I almost take comfort in that. I don't have to feel like I need to live up to some standard so I can keep up, like I did with Kat. Maybe it will make me more willing to be vulnerable with her. There are other problems which are, well, problems. But those bridges will be crossed when we get to them. At the same time, it's nice to actually go through this again, to care about someone and seem to have them return that. I had forgotten that simple joy, absentmindedly thinking of sharing a moment with that person, being excited to talk to her again, see her again.

Like I said, the waters are far from calm, for both of us. Right now, though, I'm still trying to get my bearings and figure out what's going on. I've sort of stayed mum about this. Previously, I've just yapped about girls to anyone and everyone. I thought a different approach couldn't hurt. I also don't feel like I'm rushing into anything, which is a huge relief to me. If something is to happen, it should happen in its proper time.

That said, I have no idea what is going to happen Saturday. Of course, this scares the daylights out of me. And if you noticed, gentle friend, I have really not told you anything about her. See? I'm not yapping this time.

I guess Blogger has integrated FoxyTunes now, so I can plug my current song in. Wee.

----------------
Now playing: Daft Punk - Too Long
via FoxyTunes

Chest Crusher

I think it's safe to say I am not a person on an even keel. When I'm up, I'm up. And when I'm down, I'm down. Especially when I'm left alone when I'm done, I can fold in on myself and make things much worse than they need to be. This is what I did this weekend.

I did a lot of writing on Friday; I wrote here, I wrote on Newsvine (go look if you haven't already, thewhirlingdervish.newsvine.com), and I wrote a few poems. The guy who messed with Carolyn got kicked out of the building, which made me happy. She and I were talking late Friday night and she asked me what I had done with the evening. I told her about the writing. She asked to see the poems I wrote, and I gave them to her. Now, this is where I made the tactical error. I write my poems about a variety of things, but she doesn't like to read the ones about her because of our situation. It's a long story. But because my brain completely left me for a moment, I didn't tell her which ones she should and should not read, so she read them all. Whoops.

Upon realizing this, I go into mini-panic mode. I had told myself that because of what she was going through, I wasn't going to complicate things. I wasn't going to be in the way. The last thing she needed was me doing something, So then I go and do that... I wasn't happy with myself. I don't like when people I care about are mad at me. I don't deal with it well.

So Saturday, I was watching the OU-Kent football game. The Bobs won and took control of the MAC East with the victory. I should've been thrilled, I should've been celebrating it, but I couldn't. I saw Carolyn walk by my door a few times without saying a word to me or even acknowledging me. Each time, my mood worsened. As the day went on, people went out and had fun. I stayed in my room and stewed at myself. Nobody dropped by the room or talked to me, which didn't help matters. Everyone had a great time but me, he who allows himself to spin out of control too easily.

Sunday was easier, as I left Athens for Oxford and the OU-Miami volleyball match. We swept them; I nearly got kicked out. One of the Miami coaches really doesn't like me.

But today didn't go well at all. My roommate turned my alarm off, so I slept through my classes. The great part of bipolar is that it can overtake you without any warning or control, which is pretty much what happened today. I ceased to function. I couldn't do anything. I spent the whole day sitting around, my chest feeling like someone was trying to squeeze it to dust. Finally, I was able to speak to Carolyn. I laid it all out, my mistake, my guilt, the depression part of it... I told her how I feel like sometimes I'm unwanted, like I'm a poison to those around me (I even told her about the worst thing I ever did, the thing that nearly blew up my friendship with Tim), the depression, all that. It turns out she wasn't as mad as I thought she was, and she said nobody wanted to talk to me because I looked angry the entire weekend. Go figure.

She told me I needed to engage myself. She told me nobody feels the way I do when I said I feel like the guy that always hangs around but nobody wants. But it's hard to do that when all of myself wants to just sit and stare at the walls, when I feel like I'm nothing more than a burden to others. It's things like this that cause me to say I hate myself, cause me to not eat for a week, cause me to withdraw from the world completely. I don't like it. But I exist on a permanent slippery slope.

And I know it's completely silly, but I feel like I'm losing Carolyn, that she's going to decide that in the end, she doesn't want to be with me. I just don't have any confidence right now. And frankly, I don't think I'm equipped to deal with it if it happens. The thing about it all is, what I've had with her is completely unlike anything else. I write the stupid, sappy poems about love and I talk about relationships, but I never had a real one before. Kat wasn't real. Before Kat was just high school. But with Carolyn... I saw it for the first time. I felt it for the first time. I understood the limitless potential for what could be, for what it already was. Everything with us just fit together. We instinctively acted together, made each other laugh, leaned on each other for support.
One time before we went somewhere (I don't remember where), Tim and I were getting ready. Girls were going to be involved, so we were talking about it. I asked him for advice. He said, "Don't think. You get into trouble when you think." I laughed at the time, but I realize now he knew me better than I knew myself. Before with Carolyn, I never had to think. I just acted, and it all worked. Now, I'm thinking all the time and tripping over myself and freaking out about it all. I need to learn not to think again. More than anything else, I need her. And now, I'm terrified she's going to look at me and the mistakes I've made recently and determine I'm not good for her.

Right now, I just feel like I have a reverse Midas touch, that everything I lay a finger on turns to dust. So, really, I'm most likely exaggerating these things like I always do. But it's impossible for me not to. I feel like I'm buried 20 feet underground. I need someone to tell me this has just been a weird, rough stretch of time. I need someone to tell me things are OK. Most importantly, I need to believe it myself.