thoughts, and where they lead...

I want a moment with my ex like the ending of the first episode of “The Newsroom”. I know it’s not going to happen, but, I’d still like that moment.

“What are your plans for my Emily?” her uncle said to me in Colorado.

“I don’t have any plans for her. I’m just trying to be there for her,” was my answer.

He grabbed my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. “Just don’t hurt her,” he said.

“Never,” I said with a smile.

She never heard that conversation. I never told her about it.

And I hadn’t really thought about it until right now. Especially the ending part.

And now I wish I hadn’t thought about it at all.

I want so much to believe in the Hollywood ending. The epiphany will come. Even if it takes years. But life isn’t like that for most of us. We bounce into people’s lives and it works or it doesn’t. For whatever reason, some get it right the first time. Some get it right after 100 tries. Some never do.

I hope that I’m not one of the latter. I’d hate to think that really, she was the one, and I let her go. Or she let me go.

The old cliché that if you let someone go, if they come back blah, blah, blah.

Fuck that shit. And fuck the keep trying. Fuck it. It’s all lies. We all fuck each other over. Some can just deal with it better than others.

And fuck that. I don’t want to be so God damn bitter. But I am. And I only have myself to blame. And damn you The Darkness for making that phrase always be in Justin Hawkins’ voice. No matter what the context. Welcome to my fucked up mind.

But that holds true for it all. You are what you perceive. Your reality is only what you perceive it to be. It’s so damn simple, and I’d guess so damn true.

I was thinking of writing about my father’s Members Only jacket tonight. About maybe putting it one after he dies. But I don’t want to think about my dad being dead. As much as we’ve fucking hated each other over the years – and dammit, I think he’s hated me at times too – I still love that fucking drunk bastard. I still want so much to make him proud of me. And I know my time is limited on that front. His health is bad, but damn, he keeps drinking. He keeps being bitter about things. And every day I see how much like him I really am. No matter how much I tried not to be. It’s impossible. Yeah, I don’t berate the one’s I love like he did. But I hide from them as much. And nowadays, they run away when you do that. They don’t stick around.

I wonder often what would have happened if my mom had had the guts to leave. She should have. He was a fucking prick most of the time. At least what I remember. And I don’t remember much, so for it to have made that much of an impression, it must have been a lot.

I still want to incorporate my mom taking that fucking marlin off the wall, hauling it to the front door and chucking it into the bushes into a story one day. Into a screen play. I was on the stairs, peering down through the white wood railings that lead upstairs. Me, a confused and scared little kid wondering why my parents fought so damn much. I know now why. And I always tried to say I’d never do the same things my dad did. Switch jobs for a woman. Give up on my dreams for hers. But, you know what. I always did the exact same thing. Even when I thought I wasn’t. It’s a fucked up world out there. And we’re all a part of it. And no matter, I made the decisions I made. Which either directly or indirectly led to the demise of great things in my life. And as Justin Hawkins will keep singing in my head all night “I’ve only got myself to blame…”

I see it now too. I want so badly to move to Raleigh and just get a job digging ditches or mowing lawns. But, I don’t want to give up on the “life.” Not that the “life” has ever given anything back to me but a couple of plagues on my floor – yeah, I don’t hang them – and a lot of pain – laid off, unrespected, angst-ridden.

I guess that’s why all the old guys were all single. Or divorced in the business. The smart ones got out. The ones that wanted families and lives and happiness. The rest of us, we got old and crusty and bitter.

And our teeth fell out.

Not yet, though.

Hurricane Ephiphany

I’ve never used Skype. I’ve been asked to a couple of times, but haven’t.

But the thing really makes me wonder. Wonder about how much different things may have been had I had it.

Long distance relationships live and die due to communication. I’ve been through two of them. Both of the died.

Both of them came before I had a cell phone. I can’t say they came before cell phones, because they didn’t But they came before I had one.

So what did that mean? I meant lots of big-ass phone bills. Ones that I couldn’t afford to pay. So what did I do? I used my credit cards. To make phone calls. If you thought using long distance was expensive, try using your credit card.

The most difficult time was when I was living on a couch of two friends of mine. I couldn’t use their phone, b/c I couldn’t afford to pay them for using it. What a fucking awful time that was.

Then came the calling cards of the other relationship. The dreaded “you have one minute remaining” voice that always seemed to come at the wrong time.

Of course, I never communicated how awful it was for me financially. I was a “man” and had to do things on my “own.” What a fucking joke that is now as I sit here waiting for a hurricane named Earl to come and wash away all the scum and villainy. Ha.

Communicating is hard. I remember the first time I told my parents I loved them. I was in my 20s. Yeah, I wrote it down in cards and letters and such. But out loud? Not until then. One of those girlfriends, the exes, gets credit for teaching me how to do that.

I also remember the last time I saw my grandfather. He was in a hospital bed. Dying. He was barely there, but he was a fighter, and I knew he’d be around for a long while yet.

As I was leaving the hospital, I turned back around and looked him in the eyes. He looked at me. I told him “Hey, Oompa. I love you.” He squeezed my hand and looked at me with a look I’d never seen before. He couldn’t talk, but his eyes did.

I knew I’d see him again at that time.

Eventually, he left the hospital and tried to get better. From what I heard, he actually did for a bit.

But then, he quit. Got tired. Whatever.

I was supposed to go see him one weekend with my sister. She went. I didn’t. Why? I had to work. Don’t even remember what stupid freaking game or whatever I stayed for. It may have just been because I was scared to leave two green reporters alone. Control freak.

He died soon after.

At least I told him I loved him.

That, I owe to another of my exes. She taught me to go back and say things when they pop into your mind.

That’s why I drove oh so far to say something to her after. She wouldn’t listen, though. I guess it was for the better.

Touching that warm car engine that day, I knew she was there. I didn’t make a scene. Maybe I should have. Take my fist and pound on the door. Cry my eyes out.

Instead, I sat in my car -- the one she gave me just a couple months earlier to make it easier for me to drive down to see her -- and cried. I an only imagine her watching me sitting there, confused. A complete wreck.

The more I think about it, the more I realize she didn’t care for me enough to want to help me. She just wanted to abandon me. But I didn’t come to this epiphany while sitting there. I didn’t come to it while in therapy two years later. Or while another girl smashed my heart and got me to throw away all the things that really were important to me -- my writings.

No, I realized it while I was typing this. While looking at how quiet, how calm it is outside. The crickets aren’t very noisy. They know what’s up. A storm’s a comin’. And it may just be a good cleansing thing. Like writing shit down in a notepad, typing it on a computer or scribbling it on a napkin or receipt. You never really know it’s coming, even with the weather channel.

See ya.