Akimbo

I planned a vlog for tonight, talking about how America is important to understand as a land of everything. But I picked up the car from Bethany and now I’m a mess again.

Well, a mess for the first time since she left two weeks ago.

Two days ago, during my time with my father (waitress and all), he told me it’d be a long time until I could bring another woman into my apartment. He referred to the state of affairs (it’s messy). All I could think of was… well fuck yes, man. You walked on one of her socks on the way in. You’re damn right it’ll be a long time.

I wanted to throttle him. I grew up in a family where my mom was a nutcase and my dad was a soldier. Scratch that. Guardian. Mom was an emotional roller coaster, dad was a tactician. Rise above it. Whatever it is. All of it. Rise above it. Control what you can, let go what you can’t. like some mantra. Live to fight another day. But, the end of his argument was, never fight. Anything. You’re above violence, and above frustration. Don’t let things (her) get to you.

I’m a really, really goofy guy. Funloving. Stupid as shit. Nerdy. Dorky. Jocky. Sarcastic. The reformed jester. Kernels of depth hidden beneath miles of sarcasm and laughter. Naturally. Without his input, training, whatever.

Now I sit here and stare at my screen and say… I have nobody to talk to about her and I. Except her. I have no close friends that understand it, and are okay with tears and self-facing anger. I can screw around with my brother Brian. He’s more like the jocks than I’ll ever let on. A real guy. Like. Hard surface, soft inside. A man’s man, actually. I’ve never thought about it, but he’s pretty damned stoic. I can’t talk to dad because his end result is a shrug, and a, "Yeah. Such is life. Move on. You did the right thing, so you have nothing to feel bad about." But I DO. And mom’s just an angry person. She hates the situation. The moment I start venting to her is the moment she starts telling me how hard she had it in her life, finding comparisons with whatever I’m going through to whatever slight she had when growing up.

So when I see her, I don’t want to talk to her. When I see her, simultaneously, I want to bawl my eyes out. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. And it’s not even, "Why did you leeeeave me!?" stuff. It’s just, "this day sucked. I don’t get how I’m supposed to handle this. I don’t get what to do. I am a shell."

She says I’m her best friend. I want to punch her in the face. Best friends don’t DO this! And even when they do, best friends are THERE for their friends!

And she is, as much as she can. I just have a hard time drumming up sympathy for her when she talks about how much she loves being alone, then says how her parents, her brother, are all looking for jobs for her, and oh yeah, she has a degree so she can travel anywhere in the world to teach. Blah. I want a friend. Here. To watch stupid shows and eat popcorn and whatever. Dudes included. If Marty lived in St. Louis, I’d be trying to hang out with him every second I had.

Damn.

Anyway.

Good news. I spoke with a friend I met through Emily (she called him Beatnik for a long time. Her early ideas of Me were based off him, as a person, given she’d ne’er met me before). He has bipolar disorder, which for him is more on the manic side. He feels two emotions simultaneously, when he’s excited. So, for example, a long time ago he showed me an entry about how he had a crush on a girl at his work. He saw her, liked her, and felt a euphoric high toward that whole… interest thing. Then, almost as quickly, he felt such a gutwrenching, painful low at the idea that he’d probably never get with her, she was out his league, etc.

He’s also a writer.

Interesting person, that. We talked for a while the other day. I realized he never once, ever, says, "I like this," or, "I don’t like this." Even if I say, "is she any good of a singer?" he says, "see for yourself." and posts a link. Like A Beautiful Mind, he exists on a mental diet. If ever he feels passionately about something, he explains all the quantifiable aspects: camera style, use, content, topics covered, tropes, color, story, plot, characterization, etc. He comes across as almost Vulcan, he’s so dedicated and precise in his language. I enjoyed talking with him, but I always find it a little difficult to interact. We don’t talk about emotional subjects. We simply discuss our roles as writers. He’s my only "Writer" friend, too, but he’s intimidating, so I don’t know exactly how to handle it all. He understands the fundamentals of writing so thoroughly, I daresay he trumps me just about every time while talking about it.

He reminds me a lot of my brother, Brian, in this way. He says, "this is how it is because of this. Period. Yes, there is wiggle room in this area, and this area, but in THAT direction, it’s a singular, direct thing."

He talks about writing the way Brian talks about mom, or science fiction, or philosophy. I wish I could bring half of what my friend says to the table when I talk to Brian, only because I want to bounce the same ideas off him. I find my opinions on most of these things too lax. I don’t care so much. I’m a critic, I’m stingy as hell (I guess?) to the average joe, but when it comes to academia, my friend has it in spades.

I NEED MORE ACADEMICS IN MY LIFE!!!

That being said, I have a friend opening. Okay. Several. Requirements: like humor, love a good debate and possibly an argument or two, love research and understanding everything. Or anything, really. It doesn’t have to be everything.

I need it. I’m thirsty for it. Input. Inspiration. I want a goddamned debate. Over a beer. While watching baseball. Underwater, covered in cheese.

…Not the last part.

I just got chinese, and the guy saw my face. His eyes widened and asked, "You alright?" I said, "Yeah. You want four bucks for delivery?" "Yeah!" In my head, though? I thought, "Shut the FUCK up, douchebag! I PEE ON YOU!"

Guns ablazing. I love Colbert Report, Daily Show, Dan Simmons, and Neil Stephenson. Right now, anyway, on the Stephenson front.