An answer to why I write so much when I was asked over having pancakes over three months ago.

Some mornings I have to watch out what thoughts I entertain. I've come to realize that I don't think lightly and I have the annoying tendency to think over things for a period of days if not weeks. It's the reason why I usually stop saying hello to most people and simply continue our conversation from weeks before. I think about things when I'm in the shower, walking, sleeping, eating, staring at any object longer than a minute and have even gone insomniatic when I have not given it proper time to think. It's the reason why I have to stop some of you from giving me "too many details" because I simply can not let go of a thought or an image in my head. In some cases I need to keep my mind solemn enough so that I can look people in the face and not have them stare at me "looking at them funny". And for your information, I have no poker face at all. It's so bad that I have to be careful what music I listen to and usually have to study the music video to not only sing the song throughout, but sometimes I have to do the choreography.

I was told by someone that not only do I have this as a "strike", but I'm the type of person who must experience everything before I can honestly judge something and chances are I'm going to give something so much thought that I'm going to give it a try and things that I should not give too much thought I end up "doing the math" to make sure at least it's survivable. Yes, physics and stats have not helped me to be "safe" in this respect. In fact, moments that I usually end up messing things up my previous thought was before, "Let's see what happens" and usually end up with me thinking "what the hell was I thinking". Yes, Will E. Coyote has nothing on me.

And so, I need to watch out my thoughts. Not only because I may say the wrong thing to someone, but because I know that if I entertain thoughts too long that I have the tendency to lock myself up behind doors and not come out. Sometimes because I can't get over the thought. Other times because I haven't solved it yet and I'm too busy to mimic people to go outside. I'd say every 30 seconds I'm backtracking a thought. Oddly enough it can start with "I like pancakes" and end up with "If we evacuate everyone form the 'Holy Land' and we ignite a few nuclear bombs then no one will fight over it and it will remain holy......then again people will just build walls around it and start arguing over the fucking walls.....didn't I like pancakes a minute ago?"

And so I have to watch over the chain of thought that passes over me. I grok too much and it's not healthy and sadly there are only a few things that can blank my mind long enough to actually not think and even fewer I can do alone. Thankfully writing helps and I have to empty my mind if only for a moment. It not only helps empty it, but it gives me a chance to read over what I was thinking and actually have a chance to end the chain without one of these "oh shit" moments.

So that is why I write. Alot. Thank you for asking.

Wait a minute, didn't I like pancakes a minute ago?

I thought therefore I wasn't....

Ever tell you that I woke up one morning and thought myself out of existence? I actually proved that I should not exist that I realized that the only thing stopping me was me agreeing to the end result. I mean the math was all there and it was extremely convincing. So convincing that I decided to write it down so people would understand the logic, but I could not find a pen. Then I got mad because I was missing pens.

And I forgot the argument.

I'll let you know if I find it again. I'll try not to lose my temper.

Remembering Rustle Laidman

I'm going to ask you to forgive my clumsy fingers and scattered mind. Although I don't really pay too much attention how I express myself, more conscious on trying to bottle the lightning of my thoughts down for fear of losing them in an frustrated huff, I'm trying to address this gingerly, giving it the respect and honor that it deserves and wishing only that I do this justice. It's not for me. It's for someone greater than me.
Today, I found out that one of my teachers has passed on. His wife gathered a small collection of photos that they have taken the previous months and made an album in remembrance. Today had been a good day so far and yet reading over the post made I had that horrible feeling of mounting dread and the desire to sacrifice and trade in everything I have in order to get back lost time. It's a reflex to hearing someone passing on, somehow convincing me that in some sort of Groundhog's Day moment I can make things different if I was given an hour, a day, or a moment back. Having lost so many in my life, I can not help to carry some sort of guilt even now, somehow being responsible for a passing of a life that was not only well lived, but in truth perfect in many ways.
I've just lived moments in my life where death was a cruel bastard and not a meaningful end.
And after the initial shock and bearing the self imposed weight of notifying those around me, I've given myself time to process the meaning of it all. This is my attempt now in trying to sort this out. This is very new to me. This has been a good man. It has been someone who has lived well and as far as I know, died well. In attempt to make things as positive as possible, a trait that I only attempt when I've in the motion of damage control, I'm going to simply state what I know for fact and let that speak for itself.
Please forgive me in using the present tense. I'm still trying to come to terms.
Sensei Rustle is perhaps someone who I emulate greatly in a long series of men who I've have been given the honor to meet. I ended up meeting him in a time of my life where I've convinced myself that life was easier living it alone. And meeting him in that moment I have to admit that I was not the most social of people. And yet, my years with him have not only allowed me to soften my heart but it has allowed me to be a better person. We meet in the same judo class. We've both found the subject difficult as well as fascinating, since being tall men almost negated our ability to take full advantage of a sport/art that is best suited for a short woman. And yet, we've both worked our ability.
And yet it was that medium that made Rustle magnificent. He not only taken in the Principle of Judo to heart and made every effort and action focused on being a better person and not just a better Judoka, but he gave of himself as only a person bent of watching the world learn could. He gave his time to be there in class, he gave his free time to support our ventures, from creating the first BCPC class shirt to supporting the martial arts on campus with dvd's, books, lessons and his opinion. We've learned from each other and we taught what we learned. He not only helped others in Judo, but also helped a young Brazilian Jujitsu class as well as a secret Muy Thai, a Kempo class and any other venture in Martial Arts. He wanted to learn and he wanted to have others learn also.
Although he was older than most of the students, he could not have been a better partner. He understood the folly of youth that I was undertaking that strength came from withholding it and that grace and beauty came from a minimum effort in reaping the greatest reward. That Budo was not a lesson from the Ancients to deter greatness, but a method to develop the mind and soul to foster gentleness, cunning and quick mind. We've spent conversations discussion classes, life, and the Art in terms of what is and what was. We've both learn much from our experiences, but I have to say I learned most from him.
He was a person I could not disappoint. A moment when money was lost for work he had done for us led me to not only apologize for my lack of responsibility, but to correct my error with my remained of my bank account. I fear more in giving him the idea that he was ever being used or that his efforts were not appreciated. He has given more of his time than anyone else, taking time to support our tournaments, maintance of our lacking facilities, and always giving encouragement. To say Martial Arts was to mention Rustle Sensei in the same breath.
The day he was promoted to Sensei we not only understood that the title was late, but we knew that he was already in plans to move. We knew that our days with him would be numbered and I had taken full advantage of him here. Life takes us to separate places, but it never severs the connection between us all, a lesson that I am still learning. Being our unofficial "Judo Daddy", I understood that we benefited greatly from his presence and he leaving us has left great and big shoes to remain empty. The man who bleached and patched up our mat, who rode his bike on sunny days and rainy days left a great absence among us. Sadly, I've jumped into the role with much disappointment. I did not have his time, resources, or extra income. I simply had his desire. I mopped the mat clean and when we changed the mat I've taken the time to vacuum it clean. My role in Judo had been more of a teacher than that of a player. I've taken the time to build up others rather than lament my lack of interaction or my loss of ability due to injury. I've sparred with others to improve their performance rather than to satisfy a childish need. I've taken the extra effort to make our mat room more suitable to all the classes need even though many of them have no idea what I have done and know that most of them have taken actions to make things worse.
I've even taken up the honorary title of "Rustle". Our way of remembering someone who gave more than he probably should have. A good man.
His moving didn't end my connection to him. If anything it simply meant a chance to see him again. To see where else he had made a better place with is presence. I know today that he has made every place he has gone to better and have collected others in the same way he collected us. This is the natural order of life. You do not stop caring for others even though you moved away, but you care more. You recreate that place where you miss and love else where so that others may learn from it. Make their lives a better from it. It's the Principle of Judo. Making a better world one place at a time, one person at a time with only your desire as the catalyst.
Him leaving us is not only the natural order of life, but it creates our legends. It give my stories of him life and worth knowing that someone magnificent had touched our lives and pulled greatness out of all of us to manifest it simply because it is the order of all things. It leaves us empty because that person meant so much of us and demands us to give that kind of effort and dedication that has touched our lucky lives. I'm now responsible to make the lives and efforts of others just as great as he did.
And so, I've come to peace in his passing. I'm still saddened by it all and I still think I have a few tears to shed from it all. You can not help feeling lost after losing a good person from your life. You can either wallow in that hurt or you can indulge in that knowledge that the universe as gathered itself for a moment in time and space and offered you the greatness that dwell in all of us. And so I miss him greatly. A lot of people will miss him greatly. He had lived a great life and that challenges us all to celebrate that life rather than morn him. It's gong to take some time. Perhaps that time I can fill his large shoes a bit more on my side of the world. Perhaps I can continue his memory with good deeds and a kind word as he would.
Thank you, Sensei Rustle.
Thank you for everything.

 

......

Sorry, no blog today. Just found out that I lost a good friend today. Need to sort some thoughts out. I don't do death very well.

Tomorrow maybe, but no promises.

Eye of the Storm

There is nothing more intimidating that staring at a blank screen when you know you need to fill it with something of substance. In my case, there is nothing more annoying than to write something when I'm not either miffed, pondering, or going through something heavy. In fact, I can say that I'm pretty much calm and together at the moment if not just a little bit happy.

I know, I said happy. Go fig?

And after this week I can't believe that I am this calm. In the matter of a week, my grandmother has been moved to a convo home after suffering from the flu that needed medical help. A client of mind has celebrated a huge success only to suffer a fall that not only placed her in the hospital to have pins placed in her leg, but to lose some achievement as doctors say it'd going to take 6 months to fully recover. I've been placing paperwork to my community college to certify an educational block that the university won't recognize. And among all of that I've started the long road in shoulder rehab after dislocating it more than a month ago……again. And yet, I can't help to be calm.

Looking at it all, I have to say that I'm a creature of conflict. Not by choice mind you, but by habit. I literally consider myself a child of Entropy, being familiar and secure in change one way or another. Just knowing that today will never be like tomorrow is probably the safest bet I could ever gamble on. Mind you, meteorites crashed into Russia this week and I couldn't be less fazed. I have been in good moment and bad moment with the same thought in my head: This is going to change soon. I've been in the sweetest moment of a relationship and the roughest purge of a personal hell. I can almost say that the only thing that has gotten me from one point to another is that things will change and I'm not going to get too used to them.

And now, my writing has suffered. Ever since I had that bad break up years back, I've come to realize that as much a I love to write fiction, my thoughts tend to be closer to real life. Sitting down and simply sharing what has and what was with someone has a way of making people not only get pulled into the moment of the story, but it does push them into a place where they usually regard me with some frightened awe that I could endure some stuff that I've lived through. And instead of "going down the street", I've always chose to grab raw emotion and slam it down on paper or the screen, throwing to hell all the rules of spelling and grammar, to make sure that I have that emotion as raw as it felt leaving me as it is being read again. To understand that raw emotion has given me closure where none were offered and peace of mind of knowing that I've done all that I could do.

I think this kind of self therapy has not only helped me reassess myself as a human being but has helped me define myself. I can honestly say that my 20's have been spent fueled on raw rage, lust and sarcasm which is an epic way to die in a Romantics sort of way, but a crappy way to exist in your 30's. Hatred and fury has a way of draining your life away when trying to make things understood. Searching for answers forces one to stop committing acts of stupidity and helps clear the mind of trash and baggage that weighs one down. I've read more books on Zen and psychology and yet it has taken me a decade to try and put it all to work. Like pulling out a field of weeds, you focus on what is at hand and simply pull out what is not needed until one day you look up and notice that the field is almost clear and you are almost done.

And yet, I'm waiting for the eye of the storm to pass while hoping that it doesn't.

I watered my lawn today. I had a small conversation in a coffee shop the other day. I was nice to nice people only to realize that I was being hit on and simply written it off as "being nice". I've taken the time to talk to others than to revel in my mystique of "silent asshole". I've actually felt my face hurt and realize that I was smiling. I'm starting to feel the pangs of loneliness that pulls me out of my antisocial life and I even wondered if I should start dating again until I tossed that thought aside since people are jerks and I remember that I have an issue with picking the worst people too sleep with. And yet, as I sit here and try to finish writing the things that I've started so many weeks ago and realize that I honestly do not have the heart to write about them. I've come up to some issues that not only have made me come to terms and find peace in some things, but also realize that my exits are closer than I've thought. I didn't even think I had an exit.

Then again, you know. Eye of the Storm. I might just find my rage again next week.

The World, she takes me away from you...

I know, I'm sorry. I should have had something up by now. Before you start bugging me, I promise to get something up tomorrow. Alot happened this week and I haven't had the time to really think and rather not write something blind. I just started sleeping. With my grandmother being moved from the hospital to a convo home to a client of mine falling and having surgery for pins in her leg, and trying to petition to graduate I've been running around.

Give me til tomorrow. I'll make it worth your while.

Me

Happy Darwin Day!

Ok, I was just asked why I'm worshiping Darwin. Let's start with this. I worship no man or object or ideal.

He was a naturalist who believed not only in God, but believed that if he cataloged life he could support the claim that God made every animal special. After some time in the Galápagos Islands he began to catalog finches and realized the similarities between them except their beaks and hypothesized that a species of animal if separated due to geography they adaptions made over a long period of time will change the animal to best adapt to it's environment. Some finches ate bugs, others seeds, others small berries and their beaks changed.

This not only disturbed him, but knew that this kind of thinking will bring him hell. And yet upon death he knew that life followed a pattern of adaption in which the strongest and fastest animal were not favored, but the animal that can best adapt to it's environment. It not only angered his wife, a devout Christian, but his own faith demonized him stating that he blasphemed and took the world of biology off course. his contributions have not only allowed us to understand where we come from and who we are now, but it helped us understand "Germ theory", helped understand antibiotics, physical adaptions, the amount of stimulus to cause change, have connected to all of life to the simplest cell, and have given us a respect for all life.

I honor him on his day not only to remove the stigma place upon those who want to mire his name and work, but to continue a lie that is not only simplistic and full of holes but to perpetrate an ego that we are greater than all life and have no responsibility to our environment or actions. Above all, he faced great conflict and opposition in order to question what he observed and to have us today question what does not make sense in order to attain greater understanding. So no, I do not worship the man. I admire his work and am thankful he had the strength to speak out when he could have remain silent in order to make those around him happy in ignorance.

Happy Darwin Day.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Darwin

Three Stranger Days or How to Stay Sane while Pondering your Mortality

To be honest, there isn't much to write this week. I've been a little busy to work on anything substantial or sit and ponder thoughts worth pondering. Instead I'm in the school's clinic waiting room waiting to hear some news while wearing a paper mask.

You know, normal crap.

As some of you know who bother reading this gibberish that falls out of my head (you people do know there is porn on the internet, really porn. You can go watch right now if you want something better to do) I've been sick since December, but that's not explaining all of it. Back in '93 or '94, I picked up TB while working in a Westwood investment brokerage place cleaning offices for minimum wage. I had a 4 month old baby and independent as I thought I was there were not many opportunities for teenaged fathers. So cleaning offices between taking classes was the best thing for me even though I had an hour and half to clean 50 offices, four bathrooms, a break room and trying to make sure that everything was placed back where it was, especially the wallets and bill folds that they had "laying around" to see if I was dispensable. Funny thing was that I worked for two weeks and then got the worst cold I've ever had. I was in bed for a week and had to leave work which considered my absence a pain and still refused to pay me my wages. They called it even for "training me" even though I've knew how to vacuum and clean a house for years.

Long story short I lose a ton of weight until I weighed 120lbs, became sickly, and look like a walking corpse until I took a TB test for a TA job. I thought it was odd that I had a huge lump where they injected dead TB cells. A lump means that your body is fighting it while it going away meant that it never infected you. While most young men get puberty and muscles, my growth spurt was used to keep me alive long enough to realize that I needed I've been dying. Oddly enough, being told that I had TB meant nothing to me. To me it was like telling me that I had a bad haircut and thought, "ok, so what now?" Others around me were a bit more emotional. My father yelled at me as if I decided at this point of life to rebel again living also for kicks. In-laws were solemn and respectful as if I had been at my own wake, while my wife at the time cried her eyes out in a way that actually convinced me that she kind of loved me between the abusive behavior.

To say that I was in the dark, is saying a lot. Either way I was told what was wrong or that there was a new epidemic of TB rising in the US and that it wasn't my fault. I liked that. I like being told that something wasn't my fault for once. I was given a yearly dose of nasty pills to take and took them. It wasn't until the 6 months after my divorce when I started to pack on muscle and add a few inches to my height. I would not get control of my health really until a few years ago. Before I started to pack on weight I was basically given a free ride to eat whatever I wanted since I could not gain a pound. Funny how stress works that way. I would have to finish my degree to actually learn how to take care of myself.

Thinking about it, it was then when I stopped looking in mirrors. It's sad seeing the face of death staring back at you. I still cringe looking at any existing photos of me. As determined as I was, I was no where near as healthy as I am now which is kind of sad. In one decade to weigh 120lbs and just a few years ago to weigh 255lbs, my heaviest. While some guys had years to pack on muscle and to get physiques that made women drool I was the walking dead. While others talked about their body fat and their VO2, I was trying to learn to run again after the vein burst in my leg. If I can look back to the fittest I've been it would have to be before my shoulder tore in '07. Hmmmm…..I think I under stand my lack of self esteem.

It's kind of hard to think you're attractive when you have little control over your own body. It's almost like being branded permanently ugly. And yet, I've been in numerous relationships. I could only imagine that I developed a great personality with what little I had physically. That and a huge dose of sarcasm and humor always helps. And yet, I can see myself being ever being the object of lust. I have to say that my "game" was never taking off my shirt, but making a woman laugh her way to bed. It's funny when you are seen as different and ego wise it's crushing to think that anyone looking at you would only turn away in disgust or simply put you in the category where you have no chance to sleep with them. If anything I've worked my ass into the category after so much work. Thinking about it I can see how I've became most of the women's guilty pleasures. Never really the guy on the pitching mound, but the one on the bench or warming up. The other guy.

Come to think of it, my entire dating history has been coffee and hanging out. I don't think I've ever had a real date. Odd.

Sitting now in the room, I start looking around and start poking my nose in the regular places. Rubber gloves, giant cotton swabs, and the large container of condoms. It's been a while since I had to get any. My encounters have been sparse and more of a surprise lately, almost as if it was already decided that sex was to be had and I was invited at the last moment. Still I like looking through them. They're fun to pass on after a conversation, usually with a comment on how I care about their health and telling them not to use them up in the same place. Always a laugh. I pull out a couple of flavored ones and know I'm making a face. Banana? Really? Who the hell is gutsy enough to pull out a banana flavored condom and have the bravado to sport it. I'd think you'd be laughed out of the room. Then with some thought I realize that I would. My bravado has always been humor based, especially to open up the conversation to sex. You start out with, "Hey, wanna see something surreal", and after a few laughs the topic is explored and brought up and then I blink and I'm in someone's thighs wondering how I got here.

Not enough to stop sex usually, but enough to make me wonder how I got here. I get these moments a lot. Unless it's a steady girlfriend, and those I can count on one hand, I've never been really instigated sex. It's more of a laughing on the couch moment and then clothes are torn off. As if I was tempting enough for a woman to "make a stupid mistake". Hmmmmm….I've been a lot of women's "stupid mistake" and very few desires. Yea, did I mention my ego is tiny? Most guys worry about a tiny wiener. I worry about making that jump from friends hanging out to loved ones. Yea….wow. A lot to think about.

So why the hell am I thinking about this when I'm in a clinic? Why am I wearing a mask? Why am I going to see a doctor when I hate going to see them and rather self medicate and even perform minor surgery? Why the hell am I avoiding talking about why I'm here and rather talk about what bugs me? Ok, fine. I've been sick since December to now with at least three colds or flu hitting me one after the other. Since it always takes me time to recover I'm used to having to cough up a lot of phlegm. It's just one of those prices I paid to survive TB. Colds make me their bitch and I cough my lungs up every morning in the winter months with basically is 8 of them. I know I live in sunny Cali, but I'm not a creature of cold and I more than willing to never see snow again if I can have my lungs clear.

So one morning while coughing up some nasty phlegm into the white sink I stare at a lot of blood. A lot of it. More than a tablespoon. More blood than phlegm. Blood. Oddly enough, seeing that much blood you'd think I would have gone to the doctor sooner. Instead I stared at the mess in the sink and thought how pretty it looked and if I Facebooked would anyone appreciate the contours and colors. I think what bothered me the most was the tiny pink bits. I poked at them and wondered what they could be. After some time I simply coughed up all the blood I could until it stopped and then washed it all down the sink.

A fluke.

Then the next morning I cough up more. Same amount, same color and more pink bits. I've done this from Wednesday to Sunday. I decided to go in after then. I honestly hate to go to the doctor and paying out of pocket if I'm not sick. And so I show up, pay my fees to go in, get my temperature and vitals taken by the nurse who remembers me from the last time I popped my shoulder back in (they weren't going to do it and I wasn't going to ride the bus with a shoulder out of socket), and told that I need to give them a blood test and an X ray. After a day of all that I ask them if I'm contagious in which they say they do not think so behind paper masks. So for three days I wait until I get my results in the morning.

And so, I think of my mortality for three days. It's very different from the last time when I thought I was going to bleed to death. You don't have time to grok the details. You simply make peace as quickly as possible and wait to die. Here I'm waiting to see how bad things are. Am I losing weight because body is using up everything to fight it off? Am I going to be sick, constantly coughing up crap and swigging cough syrup like gin? Am I going to have to be taken away to be quarantined? Am I going to be taking pills for another year or are things worse? If it's worse, how long will I have? Good years? Can I still be active? Will I be bedridden or can I go outside. Will I look like a cadaver again? Will I tell people? Can I hide it? What do I do if I can't hide it anymore?

Yea, that kind of stuff. Thinking of this stuff is bad for your health. So I only given it enough thought to know that I'll cross that bridge when I come to it and there is no point thinking about it. And so I didn't. It's that easy. I mean, one you realize you're going to die there isn't much to worry about. I mean, I got to go one day, right? So why worry about that. Just do what I can and everything will handle itself. Live free or die trying and all that. The last thing I needed was stress because that stuff can kill you.

The worst part about being dead is that you're not alive anymore. So why not live it up?

And then, it hit me. Or actually I got hit with it. Seems that I'm invited to an event when I get to dress up and look swanky. Fun. Then I was asked if there was someone I'd like to take along and I thought no. It bothered me. The thought bothered me. It made me wonder why I was thinking about this over anything else. It's funny, I completely gave up wondering if I was going to die soon because there was nothing I can do about it and there was no point is worrying about it, but ask me if I'd like to take someone to an event and I'm stumped. I thought about it. Do I know anyone well enough to say invite them? I've been so focused on finishing school and now getting my life back on track that I completely gone Hermit. But, I talk to women all the time and yet no one single, worth getting to know better or know well enough to ask them to dress up and come with. The irony was rich. I'm more worried on asking someone than facing my mortality. You live a bachelor and focus on life and you get a little spoiled. You make your own hours and you focus on what you want and you then do what you want. That is my life. I get up when I want to, eat when I want to and that's it. I stopped including anyone else since my children moved away. No responsibilities to anyone really so I simply ghost my life through.

To be honest, since the last odd encounter with a woman I've pretty much given up. I mean I stopped caring. I haven't bothered with even being socially nice outside of a small group of people who I enjoy. I bred already. Twice. So that obligation is out. I can enjoy a decent conversation with people and sure there are some people I would not mind getting to know more, but I still have that deep down fear on losing them. I mean better a friend than an angry ex. I've pretty much enjoyed my ugly phase and just not caring. I mean the only reason I cut my toe nails is that I rather not tear them out on carpet or a mat or the such. In truth, I don't think I can endure dealing with that crap again. To be honest, with a screwed up shoulder, bummy lungs, and tons of more issues I can name from the top of my head I can't see what I have to offer to someone. I don't think I can keep someone happy longer than two years. I honestly consider myself unattractive.

But then, why do I get hit on?

Fluke. Must be.

And so my biggest worry in this examination room is not that I'm sick or that the bloody lungs which stopped bleeding on Monday is a symptom of something terrible. It's if I can find a date. That. All of a sudden I'm 15 again with the cracking voice and the thought that I have to get a date for some thing and junk. Really? So sad. So I decide to tell my friend that I'll go stag and if they can find someone willing to go stag too than that's cool. If not I'll just not go and give a couple a chance to go. I'm not even going to make a joke on taking sand to a beach or taking someone else's date while I'm there. I just don't need this pressure. I'm dying! That's more then enough, right?

So the doctor walks in with his mask and we talk though paper conversing on how I'm feeling and if I'm still bleeding. I say I feel great, not mentioning my dating issues. He looks at my X rays and says that I have huge lungs and that feels like a compliment. He then tells me that I'm clean and that my blood results are ok. No infection or anything. He offers me a referral to a specialist if I keep bleeding which to this day I have not. He then offers the theory that it's was probably just my lungs irritated for so many months. I mean, who else would not cough up blood? The weight loss? All me and he recommends I lose more to get my BMI under 25. So all in all I'm in great shape. No death for me. I'm out of $55 bucks and I'm ok. See this is why I don't go to doctors. Such a waste.

I walk out and take the paper mask off, feeling stupid. Why make me more of a pariah even though it hides my ugly more. I decide to tell my fiend that I'm not seeing anyone I'd take to the event and shrug off that issue. I'll cross that bridge when I'm force to get near it.

Not now. Busy existing, if you can call it that.

Intermission

    It hasn't been more that a half and hour since I've woken up, turned water on and shook my mouse awake. Sundays are usually my days to study since there isn't anyone home and I can completely focus my time on studying, taking a well deserved nap and whatever needs my attention in a lazy manner. It seems that since I've thrown myself into my school work that I've busier that imagined. I've made huge strides despite smaller class sizes, the University trying to get rid of me, and getting a patron to offer me the money to get this stupid degree done. Even though I've given up my social life to the wolves and usually spend a total of 12 to 14 hours a day studying just to keep up with the pack and ahead of the failing crowd.

Mind you, I'm not claiming to be intelligent in any way. I'm the last person to claim that I'm in any way intelligent. Stubborn, yes. Determined, sure. Too stupid to know when I'm beat, of course! I'm the first person to say that I'm not the brightest bulb in the bunch, but I'm more than willing to learn and make sure I never repeat mistakes then to pull a House moment and see the trees for the forest. And yet, just struggles in thought has actually gotten me in some awesome parties where I happy am aware that I'm the dumbest person in the room and I'm more than happy with that. Being the dumbest person in the room usually means I get to learn something new and nothing makes me happier. Better than being the smartest in the room.

And yet, this was my life a half an hour ago. See I'm being kidnapped in less than 20 minutes before they're here. Personal messages scream across my screen that notify me that my abductors are already on their way and have already crossed the threshold of "too late" and "be ready or well drag you out". My plans of making coffee and watching Bruce Campbell be Bruce Campbell have gone up in smoke as I sit there a bit confused and shock. I'm calculating the time of a shower and laundry and how quick I can come up with an excuse to hide under my rock more. Abductor A has already disarmed me with remarking that not only are they getting off the freeway and I am past my midterms and have nothing better to do. She disarms me of every chance of escape and has even baited enough cheese to make me think twice. Before I know it they're pounding on my door laughing and telling me to get out or they'll coming after me. Reluctantly I crack open the door and concede without the benefit of a white flag for them to snatch away and smack me with. I plead for a half hour to shower and to mimic human beings and to wait in the car. They give me 15 and counting.

Packs of women, what is it about packs of women? Oh, did I leave that part out? Yes, I'm being kidnapped by two women hell bent of making me do things. Yes, I'm that antisocial. Lookers? Of course they are. Fun to be with? Easily. Wanting me and I have the nerve to complain? Hardly. Hey, you making that 70's porn music with your mouth! Stop that. I'm telling the story here. If you are in that mood or impatient then go look at porn and stop reading. Did I mention you can get porn on the internet instead of reading this? Yea, I know. What ever you are into and what ever is going to give your nightmares. Ok, I'm digressing, but while I'm showering and trying to get my hair to behave I'll describe my rowdy abductors.

Abductor #1: She's a physical manifestation on why I stopped trusting blue haired girls even if her hair is a bright red. A bit of a long past that makes her more than interesting and fin to have around if not for the fact that she is living on the edge of civilization. A drive longer than sin, yet still worth visiting when my other friends are too busy with life to pay attention to me. You can almost call her the little voice in my ear that makes me want to let go the reins and raise a little hell. An awesome person to date that even her own ex's recommends her to others. More than my intellectual equal even though I think I know more. She has been a joy in my life and more than willing to climb through her window even when she's not home. Have a bit of a harem problem being the patron sexpot of all Nerdboys, but hey what are you going to do?

Abductor #2: If you wrap a wolverine in pink and dump adorableness with a pair of legs that would make you drool until you kicked by them is a good idea of who she is. Brilliant in her own ways and can almost keep up with my drinking and have actually made me car about basketball, if only for a season. A woman that would make Wonder woman proud, she can throw down as well as discuss complex mathematical concepts. She bounces with life and is more than willing to hold saloon or court. She also pulls on that hedonistic nerve in the way that a martini should be quality, food decedent, and fury at a close switch. She also pulls on the whole Nerdboy vibe, but she is completely oblivious to what they are and where they come from.

So why are they friends and not more? A topic too complicated to sum up in few words and too complex to phantom. Or not. In truth, it's me and never them. After some time I've come to realize that I have some sort of x factor that makes most of my relationships fail. As much as I would love to say that I just met a few psychopaths in my time or even that I'm some sort of magnet or even that I've made a few women unstable to the point of stalking me, leaving messages on my phone between insane and threatening, and even a few cases of assault against me. I'd like to think that I'm a victim of circumstance as Curly would declare, but after so many encounters I hate to say that my random outlier has to be the mutual breakup with the understanding that love has been shared and paths simply have to move on. In truth, I've become a bit Machiavellian in my relationships, going with heard earned rules and methods of dodging those bullets. In many ways it's easier keeping an awesome friend that will bring me years of joy even if they leave than to have a pist off ex to avoid.

Even if I not able to smell the flowers I'd rather sit among the beauty of a garden than to take a chance of killing off another flower.

It seems that my abductors are getting restless as why start honking and yelling for me. Yep, just what my reputation needs more, restless women demanding that I get in the car. We travel Westside in search for new territory of conquest as I offer my old stopping grounds as fresh slaughter. I could use caffeine, a nap and more caffeine, but why complain while I'm here or at least that's #1's logic in shutting my complaining ass up. We hit a Middle Eastern restaurant and dine as we talk and savor rich coffee as it's meant to be. We take moments to catch up and to laugh and share our time together.

We share our views and keep conversation light. One of my abductors is still recovering from heartbreak and we dance on eggshells enough to keep our thoughts proactive. If there is a connection to us all it would have to be that we all had out rough relationships and dealing with love yet, we have different methods of coping. Different mechanisms that help us get over the worse of it. Methods of emotional survival that gets us over the worse and make us some how functional.

And yet, I can't help to feel a bit more envious at times.

Our meal leads us to one of my old haunts when before the young and stupid ages before I discovered that the curves of the feminine appeal in vivo than on the pages of comics. We walk in as I'm taken back to a simpler time. #2 flows through the crowd as if she was a fish in water, searching through volumes of back issues and anthologies. #1 is busy remarking how odd the settings all the while letting everyone know that she does not belong here and that she is a stranger in strange land. I allow myself a moment to look at new and old. I've not collected in years when extra income was an annoyance rather than a fluke. Volumes speak back to me in memories and times of old. I retrace my steps back to when all I had was myself rather than to look after those near me.

There was a time when I didn't have a roll to play or responsibilities to others. Where my Saturdays were filed with me trying to take up the time rather than sit alone in dark rooms. Reading stories of heroes and villains alike. Wondering what life will have set for me and how I will take on the world. Reading of those who suffered losses and fought for vengeances, it's hard to wonder differently one could behave to face on the world. World takes something away from you, you take on the world. A simple view of the world for a world past being simple. It's difficult to understand who I was and what I was. How my view of love and life have changed into a world of gray rather than black and white. In two decades I will fall stupidly in love, marry, have children, divorce, and try to rebuild what life I never had all the while stumbling and falling into one oddity to another. I would play numerous roles, some by my own choosing and others given to me. I still question my past at times, even when I've continue to arrive at the same conclusions.

We make our exodus quickly as we laugh to ourselves. It seems #1 has raised the ire of the Nerd Boys rather than their lust this time and nerd rage is something to be avoided at all costs. We head west until we reach the beach as we find a parking under shade and walk on towards the beach. By this time I forget that I'm annoyed and denied a Sunday filled with slumbering. Soon my feet are immersed in sand and seawater fill happy lungs. My previous memories of this beach has been soured a bit as we walk on the sand. It's been years, but I usually try to rewrite memories in places dear to me in hopes of combating any bitter feeling. This beach has seen moments of joy and sadness. People with me and those far away. People who have chosen to leave my life and others promising to return. It's still a place of promise and hope for me so this had to be a place we chose.

Walking on the sand has offered me some insight and calm. Watching the sun slowly set to the ocean, it would be a few months when both my abductors would leave to go east. Their lives will take them to new places and new tasks as I remain here to struggle on a bit longer. I have a hunch others will leave and enter in time and not without a small moment of respite to pass the time for just a small while. And yet, I can not help feeling a bit hollowed inside, with some yearning that only T.S. Eliot could put to words. There is still much story to resolve and much to uncover and yet, I can not help thinking back to the sandy sunset wondering that this time is mine, even if tomorrow is taken from me. This moment in the warm sand and the salty breeze on my face is special. After all, tomorrow is never promised, but this moment is mine for the taking.

It almost gives me hope.