Last night, a girl I know posted something on the Facebook, reminding me I’m not supposed to be here. It read:
Growing up suicidal is kinda weird, because I didn’t think I’d still be alive right now, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my life or where I’m going because I never planned on being here for it.
How’s that for some dark shit?
Looking back, I’m not certain I grew up suicidal. Yet, I did have this recurring dream. For whatever reason, I never made it past March 25, 2004. That was the day I died.
It is amazing how a seed like that can affect you. I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants ever since. After all, what else can you do when you never planned on being here?
Now that it is morning, and the sun is up, I hope April is alright. She’s gone through some bad shit in the past week. She’s in a dark place I will never know. Yet, my empathic ass seems to be attempting to follow her right down into that rabbit hole.
I’ve been drinking too much. I haven’t been reading nor writing. I’ve been snapping too much, posting on the Facebook too much. Sleeping too much.
And I want to escape.
I have made a friend at work. He’s a good looking guy who’s desperate to find some companionship from a young lady... except for the “good looking” part, he reminds me of... me.
Myself? I have a face for radio.
For weeks now, I’d entertained the notion of teaching him some of what I have learned to have more ladies in his life. His mind goes to those dark places I’m tragically familiar with. He is so stuck in his own head that he truly is his own worst enemy.
I had forgotten that the draw of those places is so alluring.
This bipolar roller coaster I’ve been riding since the implosion of my relationship with Gabrielle keeps becoming a wilder and wilder ride... it’s beginning to affect my life. It’s beginning to affect my dreams.
Last night’s dream, for instance. I’ve been awake long enough now that I’m beginning to lose it, but I’ll give it a shot:
I’ve bought a new house in town. A very nice one with a lot of rooms. And an amazing kitchen. And an upstairs room with a lot of space and a lot of windows.
In this particular dream, I was able to purchase the house from Kristen’s father, as he’s downsized after her mother has passed. Anyway, so I managed to buy it.
Sophia is there. She’s calling me out on my dark Snaps. She’s also calling me out on my affection for her. She doesn’t know what she’s doing that attracts me to her, nor does she understand it, but she’s threatening to out me to the world.
Why are the girls doing that in dreams? Why do I still do everything wrong? After all, ideally, I shouldn’t be harboring a secret attraction for the ladies in my life.
In order to move toward the life I want, she should be aware I want her in my life, romantically, from the start.
Kids, starting out as friends doesn’t work. It is remarkably hard to flip a friendship with zero romantic overtures into a viable romance. Ask me how I know.
Anyway, within the dream, I suddenly feel the urge to Facetime (something I never do, it’s the whole “face for radio” thing) with my mother, to show her this beautiful house. And I recall I have no data left on my cellular plan.
My mother has never visited me in my new life. To see her, I always travel back to the old world. I don’t know if I’ll ever get her out here. To see my home, to see my life.
In reality, my life is a mess. I don’t enjoy living in the house I bought. I have no motivation to make it a place where I want to live.
A place I’d want to bring Gabrielle, Sophia, Niki, Brittany, April to.
A reason to bring a companion into my life.
Maybe, I overthink everything too. Maybe, it doesn’t matter what state of disarray my house is in.
Then, there is my best friend. Someone I’ve known as long as Sophia has been alive. Yet someone who still doesn’t know me.
Maybe this shouldn’t bother me. He has always been consumed with his own life. His life is worth consuming.
He was once a victim of his own thoughts as well. He has taken the lessons I have learned and run. Even though his current life is nothing like he had planned, he has made something pretty special for himself. He has a tidy and cozy home. He has a pretty fantastic sugar mama for a girlfriend. He knows what he wants and figures out how to get it.
He has a plan.
He’s trying to drag me out, yet the rebel in me—or, let’s be honest, the apathetic cynic in me—resists every turn.
Yet he’s right. I am why the relationship with Gabrielle imploded. I am why I’m dreaming about something similar will happen with Sophia. I am why I cannot seem to make it work with Niki. Eventually, I’ll drive Brittany and April away too.
I’ll get in my own way.
All because of my “tragic” life, which really isn’t that tragic... and is actually remarkably mediocre.
Funny, considering my one life goal since reading Alabaster, is to eradicate my mediocre life and become a student of women.
That is enough rambling for one morning. I will need to get out of my own way and truly give it all to get that beautiful house, and that beautiful girl (who I have no doubt will always call me out on my shit). Maybe I should face my aversion to sunshine and water and get out on a boat on the lake (where I cannot escape).
Which leads me to the Internet legend of that fan who approaches the pianist stating he’d give anything to be able to play like that.
The pianist simply replies, “No, you wouldn’t.”
This Is Ponderous
