Just Blah

I wish I had something better to begin with. I wish everything didn’t feel so… dead. As the old saying goes, “if wishes were horses…”

So my self-imposed exile to Sabbatical-land is done and it looks like there’s nothing left. Like I got swallowed and spat out into the desert with one of those old, thin suitcases from the days when you only spent a few days at wherever you were going because you’d be home soon. I hold one of those, a light blue not much wider than my fist, and stare across the dry desert heat of… nowhere. I don’t even know where the hell I’m at. Guess I gotta start walkin’…

It’s difficult to get back into writing. Not that I’ve lost any certain sense or touch to it; just the want to do it. It’s like “Why go through the trouble?” My burnout feels like it barreled me out.

And maybe it’s not just me. It’s been difficult for a lot of people to write. It’s summertime and the only time it feels like we can justifiably hang out with anyone else. Problem for me is not having a girlfriend/wife and not having kids everyone else goes on about their families and I’m sitting in the corner or standing and listening and trying to be happy about the possible futures of others while not cussing myself over the things I learned the hard way and the problems I’ve encountered that I couldn’t foresee. Or maybe I was blinded by pride. Or I believed in the brochure of life too much.

I don’t know why I’m in a funk.

After schedule “workings out” I had a date with a girl at Ramsi’s. Ramsi’s is a nice little restaurant with that “local flavor” to it being good food in a place that feels cobbled together by someone whose interior decorating skills are set between whimsical and rustic. Not trying to belittle the place –they have an indoor and outdoor eating area (she chose outdoor). She ordered a glass of wine and I had some tea; she had a salad and I opted for the coconut scallions with spinach alfredo sauce and a side of plantains. We talked about various things and it was nice.

Every time I go out with someone there’s a different reception. In those instances when I’m at ground zero (so to speak) what happens varies. One girl in California had the “just in case” cellphone call. One girl was interested in me but I wasn’t so much in her; after I didn’t travel with her down to Nashville to see the Nutcracker Suite that was all I heard. One girl I recently went out with I could read in her eyes the fact that I wasn’t for her. We went out to eat at a Greek restaurant (with “American flavor”) and I watched some people over the age of fifty go through country songs I have never heard before. Kudos for the woman who DID sing one I knew: “Somebody’s Knocking,” by Terri Gibbs.

I haven’t talked with her since then. Incidentally I got sick that week and wasn’t able to talk until the weekend and probably need to send her a message or something. Too hot for smoke signals or carrier pigeons. As I was saying earlier I finally have an evening out where I’m not at odds, I have no expectations (other than the other person showing up), and I have no plans. And it’s nice. Maybe it sounds a little depressing not expecting or asking of anything. Okay well good, intelligent, pleasant conversation.

And now I become a quandary because… I suck at dating. Having fun on a date? Yes. Being someone to talk with on a date? Check there, too. The subtleties, the hidden meanings, the body language, the quid-pro-quo of it all? Epic fail. Sometimes someone wonders why I don’t do something and then why I do do something and the answer is: I don’t have the rulebook. I seriously do NOT know. I would have a date and somehow along the way I sucked, did something wrong, or the person became uninterested in me and that’s that. I go back to whatever I’m working on (story, screenplay, or just plain trying to make ends meet) and there’s a solid two years of nothing. Nobody. I’m so used to being lonely that being around people is slowly becoming unnerving. God help me.

And I’m finding myself afraid. It was easier in the past because I could just say “They don’t like me because I’m next-to-worthless” and go about being depressed which works for a good, long time and no one will tell you anything good about yourself and you can’t find anything good about yourself. You are lonely not so much because it’s easier or better, but because it’s simpler. No people games, no setups for disappointment, no having to prove anything to anybody else.

And I can’t tell you how fucking hard, how fucking difficult, it is to KILL this part of myself. Part of me is afraid to lose this connection, this part of myself because everything else feels so illusory but hurt feels real. And the other part of me is afraid that I’ve finally connected with someone and I really like her and this moment, this place in time I’ll never have a chance to have again. That the rug will be pulled and I’m going to fall and crack my head against concrete flooring instead of wood and I’ll lay there and bleed.

Just lonely. Tired. Afraid. Happy. Sad. Alone.