Heresy. A true story.

I like to think of myself as a man of science. I don't believe in any notion of any god, or any concept of fate for that matter. Once and a while I catch myself wondering about my overall purpose in life. What is my goal? Was I meant to do something more than have a job? Follow the American dream of getting married, having some kids, then having a messy divorce? I don't know the answer to that question yet. But something happened recently. Something that shook me to my core. In an instant, I had discovered a brief example of every horrible thing mankind is capable of made manifest, but alternatively, it was through my discovery that gave me a glimmer of hope that we can change. Fate? Or coincidence? Again, I don't know. All I can do is share my story.

It was a refreshingly sunny Saturday afternoon in March, in a sleepy corner of New England. Like many of my weekends, I was spending it with my father, moving furniture. This particular job was mutually beneficial: My mother's former boss, Paulette, has one less bedroom set to worry about moving while I gained said bedroom set. We pulled up to her house in North Providence, blissfully unaware of what I was about to encounter. We proceeded with the usual, making insignificant small talk with the owners while navigating their home. I was thankful that we had arrived so close to the date of the house closing, almost everything was already moved or thrown away. Very few things would be in our way, and with a U-Haul we'd be done in a hour with only one trip. Easy enough, or so I thought.

I took the initiative to bring the nightstand out myself. I walked it down the stairs, out to the road, and set it on the sidewalk. I arched my back and stretched, my only relief to scoliosis. Next to me was the large, plastic trashcan with the lid removed. As I walked past it, I took a glance inside, and that's when I saw it. I stopped dead in my tracks. It can't be. I wasn't exactly sure if what I was seeing was actually there, so I removed my sunglasses. Son of a bitch. Before I could finalize the image in my brain, my hands shot out and clutched the precious item. I stood there in complete disbelief. How? How, was the first question I asked. Several days later, I still can't even fathom an answer to that question. It was something that meant so much to so many people, almost lost to time. It was an heirloom, a gem, mass-produced yet completely personalized, on so many levels. Around this time Paulette's boyfriend had emerged from the house. "Do you know what this is?!" I almost frantically accused him. Of course he didn't know what it was! But ignorance is no excuse! It wasn't even his to throw away! The carelessness! I knew these were "privileged" people and the connotations it brought. They didn't value anything, everything has a price to them. But this, was their putrid idea made manifest in a way I couldn't understand. Without the basic courtesy of asking to keep such a gem, I rushed it back to my father's little red pickup truck for safe keeping.

On the way home, I kept looking back to make sure it was still there on the backseat. How? What if I hadn't arrived on this particular Saturday? What if I came after trash day? What if it wasn't on top of the trash can? What if the lid was still on? There are so many variables that could have completely changed the outcome of this story, and its these variables that still make me question if fate is in fact, real.

All I know is that what matters is that it found a new home that day. Most importantly, while never losing respect for it, it reminded me of what truly matters.

And here it is
http://i.imgur.com/8sdqTFc.jpg

I alread peaked.

I truly think I peaked. My sexual conquests were the stuff of young boys' fantasies. I had a gorgeous red Mustang with racing stripes. I was going to a prestigious university and a well-paying job. For a brief moment, I had it all.

Gone now, all of it, and I've come to terms with it. It dawned on me while I was sitting here, in my barn alone drinking and smoking, feeling old. All I have left is my job. A peon's job that I toil at every night.

After a peak comes a crash, and I definitely had that. Literally and metaphorically. I've recently been flooded with ideas of being a failure and thoughts of low self-worth. Its to be expected after having everything good taken away.

I've been told "I'm not meant to take the normal path" and I'm "too intelligent to not be in school." I wish I could believe those things. Maybe they're true. Most likely they aren't. 

Am I failure or am I simply giving up?

Dunno. We'll see. 

I don't learn from my mistakes

Predictably fell into my age-old pattern: Fall in love with a woman, become let down, become sad.

And resentful.

And angry.

I dunno.

I wrote a letter to end it. And possibly the only time I've taken the high road in my life.

Regardless, it came out decent. And I feel like I shouldn't forget this, or what I've been through.


____________________________________________

Dear ______,

I can't do this anymore. I truly cannot continue this constant roller coaster of extreme happiness followed by darkest sorrows.

I'm not arguing what happened or why we're at this point, I just can't deal with the inevitable outcomes. You are so much like a drug: You're the sole source of my most euphoric highs, then almost predictably you cause me to sink into my most abysmal lows.

You've also betrayed me on a level I hadn't experienced in a long long time. In all honesty, I've done more for you than any other person in my life, because I cared about you. I wanted you happy. I loved you. My only crime against you was a mild careless remark that you seemed fit to blow out of proportion. Even after all the remorse and apologizing, you didn't budge. I'm not arguing your reasons for being mad, but I feel doing so much for you entitles me to at least one instance of forgiveness. Its as if, once again, I'm being taught not to do anything for others, as they'll inevitably take advantage of me.

That being said, I can't talk to you. If we did, we'd end up arguing, having sex, then the cycle starts again. I can't let it continue. I can't do it anymore. I don't have the strength to keep going.

Please don't reply, I promise I won't read the response.

Deep down, I do hope things work out for you and your family. You're very lucky to have such great children.

_______, meeting and being with you was such a great point in my life, and sometimes the darkest. I don't hate you.



Sometimes I wish I did.



Goodbye.






------------------------------------------------


As usual, I regret publishing this.

Vroom vroom.

Recently bought a gorgeous dark red 2004 Mustang, with black racing stripes.

Absolutely beautiful car.

Everyone loves it.

A lot.

They like me more now that I own it.

Which means they like it more than me.






And I can't blame them.

I Am

I am the guy you love to hate.
the guy you hate to love.
your close guy friend.
I am like a brother.
a good listener.
the understanding one.
I am the guy you can vent to about your boyfriend.
the embodiment of everything you wish your boyfriend was.
also invisible to you.
I am right in front of you.
your fuck buddy.
the guy you cheat on your boyfriend with.
I am your long-forgotten good fuck.

But I am never the boyfriend.

4:52AM, and Walking the Dog

Its a cold January morning, and I haven't gone to bed yet. I'm outside in my driveway walking my aging dog. Its so quiet. The silence makes every boot step sound like cannons going off in the middle of the street. Its dead outside. No sound. No cars driving by, no house lights on, no warmth, no life. Its beautiful. My dog raises his leg to the telephone pole. He's freezing and just wants to go home. Such a creature cannot enjoy his surroundings like I do. Or is that human nature to assume we're higher than them? This is what I ponder as I stand in the road, listening to the deafening silence. Only two lights in my small town remain on, the two street lights situated very far apart from each other. The cold is bitter, but I came prepared. All that can be heard is the wind blowing somewhere far off. I'm almost saddened when my dog finishes his business, signaling the start of walking home. Every step sounds like rubber pistons bashing into the ice-cold pavement. I reach the end of my driveway and unhook the leash. I watch the tiny lap dog eagerly run back to the house. I deliberately take my time reaching the door. I don't want to leave, yet I know I have to. Only once a year do I get to experience a peace like this. Oh the joys of walking my aging dog, on a cold January morning.







----------------




I stayed up late because I was watching Videodrome. I don't regret it at all. None of that was planned. I just felt like writing the moment I got back.

One of these days I'll go back to writing a genuine story. Hard to top Clean-Up, Aisle Z, though.

Overall, I'd say things are on a positive note.

A day lived is not trying to reach a positive note, but seeing how long we can preserve it.

Nothing lasts, though.

Clever Title

Well its the new year, and I really don't care. Just means I have to keep myself from writing "09" on the transfer slips at the library. Least my birthday is soon.

My side project is dead until further notice.

I am enjoying the hell out of airsoft these days. And here's a picture for once.







Its pretty much the most fun I have these days. But even I don't want to hear me ramble about it.



Got a new laptop I cherish. Got my own room which I also love but rarely use.

And its 1938 on a saturday. Epitome of bordem. I sit here barely clothed on my computer with Nevermore playing. Nobody to talk to. Mildly depressing.

I honestly have no idea what I'm going to do.

Maybe work out. Or write. Or read. I'm that desperate.

Why do I type this? Or have this site for that matter?