"I'm gonna have fun in the city..."

Sitting on the deck with my roommate this morning, I regailed him about my rather whimsical day I experienced - and one I had not yet slumbered upon.

Having slept in like how a proper day should be partially spent doing, I awoke with a particularly profound ephiphany shortly thereafter -
and actually needed to vocalize said epiphany in the form of an exasperated voice message.

My heart is racing fast.

Due to the excessive amounts of soreness shooting through my body like a cold, steel pinball machine, I sat in the only area the interwebs are accessible (the kitchen table)
which, isn't the most comfortable position - what with them high rise chairs n' all.


Tonight, I'll spend my bread
Tonight, I'll lose my head
Tonight, I've got to get
Tonight



My ears perked up to these lines crackling through my radio as I sit propped up in my bed writing this.

Since one ridiculous thing thall shall not be spoken of that I use too much didn't seem to want to work yesterday, I amused myself gabbing into the phone with Fozzie Bear while sitting
outside on a step.

Up in the tall trees, the birds were ravenous with conversation - thousands of improperly spaced chirps with no real regular metrical ticks (beats.)
I wondered what the fuss was all about; I felt left out.

It's hard to focus my thoughts into my fingers at the moment - distraction is now in the form of the experimental notes permiating and penetrating
through a door into my ears: Mike is writing a song on his guitar.

I want to be verbose but I feel like I should be succinct - every moment was profound: I bounced around the city in perfect harmony - keeping to the beat of
the music flowing against my eardrums - albiet the lightning bolts in each right step; walking in town felt completely different to me.

First stop - sitting, smiling, and clapping watching the band The Red Hot Chili Pipers vibrantly perform classic and current alternative rock hits - kilted, attractive young (and old) scotsman: three bagpipers, two drummers (one of the snare persuasion), the ring leader singer.

but lest I ramble - it was an explosion of excitement. It was sold out; I had met one member of the opening band and their roadie from San Francisco as they sat next to me at a bar the previous night, and told me to show up.
I didn't know how well I'd pull it off, but with some talk and patience, I explained to the people at the door what had happened hoping for a 'long shot in the dark', I eventually stated, and as vindication that I wasn't some loon with a fake story, waited as they were busy breaking down their set.
I had missed it, tried not to be upset; the moment in time to see the interesting scotsman I'd conversed with had past.

During my patient waiting, I walked outside and talked to a young couple from Ware, when - who comes walking down the street?
Oh, you know, just Santa.

After some real life reality talk of his 40 year old career being the big jolly man took place, he asked me, "Do you still believe in Santa?"
I felt a little taken aback, attempted not to stutter, and mustered something hardy along the lines of "of course, of course I do!"

I left prematurely after asking a bagpiper - whom, was taking a break outside while the rest of the band still charged ahead on-stage inside - "If you could say one thing about America (in the five weeks that they had toured across the states) what would it be?"
It was the girls. Apparently they don't put out well back home.
"But, admittedly, they're crazy, right?"
He agreed to an extent.

To then adventure to watch some of the best comedies that always make me laugh aloud on television with three compadres in a comfy home,

visiting the chivalrous man at work - making unnoticeable funny faces at the comic book power duo of Urban Outfitters - drinking a beer, reading about the Airstream Turkey Wagon. Giving a kiss on the cheek goodbye...

and when I finally began my journey home, through my blurry near sighted eyes - spotted my best lady waving me down to cross the street. She pulled my leg to come join her with a free IPA involved, and I refereed a game of boggle between her and another friend. Little miss word genius won.

It became time for Boggle champ to go be a diner waitress - and I glued my butt to the bar, sipped coffee, read and discussed the newspaper with Kreg as he made me a cheeseburger, got hugs from friends who came in, and then finally trotted my way home.

But I drank coffee, so I sifted through past memories all night - and missed a lot of old friends... but is excitedly meeting and wanting to meet lots of new people.

It was the day I apologized to Northampton for having a love/hate relationship with her.

prickin' at the pain.

"a careless word may kindle strife; a cruel word may wreck a life;
a timely word may level stress; a loving word may heal and bless."

- Anonymous





Imagining myself in a group therapy session is rather painful; my mind is burning as I try to envision this moment: what would happen, how I'd convey my feelings,which of those I would pick and choose to vocalize, how I would collect and perceive others difficult - possibly traumatic - situations; what I'd be able to say to help.I've always tried to think of, or consider myself, a helpful person.

At this given moment, late at night - I am now questioning how helpful I really am, hence the thought of therapy in the first place. It's as if I've reached the point of being completely sick of my mental thought process, but that's not it, there's a horribly long list, and I'm an exceptional list maker. My uncontrollable urges to say what I hold to be self evident (and combined with the influence of alcohol, is a force so terribly strong that no one, and I mean no one, wants to listen to - even if it holds a shred of credibility - hidden amongst the malicious poison in the positioning of my lightning bolt pinpointed pokes and prods.) What gave me the god honest right to tell others what I think they should do? How have I made these justifications? After you tell yourself something over and over again,you truly start to believe it is completely and absolutely okay.

How repetitive I can be - Miss Repeating Parrot. My mind is trying very hard to believe what I say, so out it stumbles - in hopes that, at the same time, others will believe it too. 'Oh I've lived in this place and I did this and this happened and I'm trying to accomplish this," Great. Say it a few times, well okay. Say it any more than that, exnay on the oopid stay. Dwelling on the rough bumps in the past needs to be washed away - the future and the unknown are trying to wiggle their way in, alas - there's still a swinging no vacancy sign. 'What is keeping them so long?' they wonder.

Is it that awkward prospect of... love? the most mysterious indefinable fallacy (note the extreme oxymoron) - translative and questioned in every language - am I really just waiting around, putting my life on hold, driving myself and others crazy because of... love? Am I that gullible and naive? Oddly enough, after two years of throwing myself at (not to) the dogs (after two previous years of manipulative misery - on both ends, may I add respectively) I am attempting something with someone. Tippy toe, day to day,with the highest level of uncertainty (and pushing against my fatalistic, defeatist, holier than thou attitude.) Do I really want to tell anyone about that? In a town where secrecy is problematic, I am making the decision to keep something to myself for once (even though thoughts of creating a column about these specific endeavors constantly run around in circles in my head: probably on lap 5,698 - and that's only this past month.)


To Be Continued (Bed time.)