It's in the Suit That I Wear

Sunday? Check. Coffeshop? Check. Writing my life away? Check.

It's been fast and furious and tumultuous over on my end of life. I would ask to someone to wake me up when September ends but it's already gone. Done. I remember going to see “Machete” Labor Day weekend. I remember looking at the computer's toolbar date/time and seeing that it's October. I don't know what happened.

I'm at a stop point -that moment where the world's axis has slowed and I'm seeing what's leftover. Is it time for reclamation? Is it time for redemption? Is there anything left to salvage of a 900mph life?

“And you may ask yourself, 'Well, how did I get here?'”

Maybe I'm living life and fucking up on my own terms. Maybe I'm just learning. But then again do any of us really know or understand the consequences?

I'll stave the rest of my cryptic ramblings because I'm rambling. Because I am as hypocritically human as the next person and I want to save you the effort of breaking out the “Get to the Fucking Point” card.

I did some things that I'm not necessarily proud of. First off I wrote an article where I lambasted LouisvilleMojo for changing what they were doing, for not having the wherewithal to be progressive enough to continue what they were doing and garner the support of a community of people that for a minute could've believed in what was trying to be done. I was at a bad place, pissed-off, and detonated a literary nuclear device as opposed to just launching an angst-ridden SCUD missile. I don't regret what as I said so much as how I said it and the opinions contained therein. And I can't get that moment back. I blew up a bridge instead of burning it. The reward? It became my highest-read article on the site it got uploaded on. The cost? Feeling so alone and out in the cold I don't even think Alec Leamus would talk with me (literary ref if you don't know the name...) as well as my best friend saying that he was disappointed with me. That sucks. It really does.

And what I do, what I say, what you are sitting here and reading... there's a danger to it. Maybe it's always been that way. I can't say. I've experienced the highs and lows of it all. On the upper part of the mountain I've traveled across the U.S. writing and uploading (blogging) at nearly every stop. I've blogged “live” during the first Louisville International Festival of Film. There's nothing like it. In the mountain's valley there are those who get upset by what is written, who call you on your professionalism, who feel betrayed when they find themselves in your work (which itself is a double-edged sword, let me tell ya). The punches that come from those instances make or break you and the realization that no matter how carefully you pick your battles not all skirmishes are in your favor so you gotta pick a side and stick with it. Middle of the road opens you up to being hit on both sides...

And maybe that's something else I'm fighting: being passive-aggressive. I can't remember what exactly I was thinking but I called a friend of mine one Saturday morning. She called me back during lunch and told me that maybe I have passive-aggressive disorder. I've been cited on the fact that I generally try being “cool” and “non-confrontational” and she suggested to me a group called Emotions Anonymous. I'm considering checking in on the group and as another friend of mine states, “You can't make everyone love or like you.” Which is true. Maybe I'm just trying to find someone to make me believe I'm worth more than I think I am. Maybe I'm just looking for someone to tell me that they appreciate me.

Yeah. I know. That's probably the extent of any leaning-on that I have in this episode of the blog. Nut up or shutup. Pull up your boots. Man up. Remember to breathe.

In a moment I found part of something I was looking for: someone to listen to me. I've been talking with her about life, problems, etc. for the past week averaging at least 2 hours per conversation. Through her I found the core of my faults; the things I couldn't see. Or maybe I saw them before and wasn't paying attention. But in her I find a friend and we listen to each other and the realization hits that maybe there is something to the passive-aggressive thing and that I couldn't face Jennifer or Lisa. There's something inside that prevents me from “going off” or saying what I really think/feel in regards to a woman. I'm working on it...

Which again is interesting (I'm hating that word. Honestly) because as another friend points out I have no problem articulating what I think or feel for others to read. In person I clam up, try not saying anything, keep the peace, etc. And I'm sorry about that. Real fucking sorry. The other person gets pissed/disappointed with me, I get pissed-off at myself for not being able to communicate, etc. Jennifer and I had a joke once where we when we realized we couldn't answer a question or feared the other person would become upset by what the answer would be there was a “fake” answer. “Abraham Lincoln's beard.” It's fun for a while in order to bypass the things that need to be talked about but being at the end of relationships it's not cool. It's not respectable. I wished to hell that we had talked but I didn't know what the fuck I was doing -it was my first relationship in a period of time so long that love's search party had nearly abandoned the search. There's one helluva emotional trust issue that I have and I'm not sure on how to get past it.

So again I'm sitting here letting my body imbibe itself with the “coffeeshop smell.” The trees around are changing color and I'm gearing up to take some photos next weekend. I have at least two phone calls to make one of which is an apology and the ethereal dice roll on that is not showing me any results. And I just have to deal with what may come.