| Subject: Because |
Author:
Joe
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Date Posted: 12:35:06 06/11/11 Sat
Author Host/IP: c-75-64-227-105.hsd1.ms.comcast.net/75.64.227.105
There's something, I don't know... is "poetic" the right word? Maybe not, that's flowery and it doesn't feel quite like me in that. I don't know that I've ever been flowery. Maybe "dramatic"--but that has such connotations. Perhaps just "fitting". It is a something that is fitting.
I'll start over.
There's something fitting about putting my thoughts here. Its an old place, and one I never felt uncomfortable with. Its anonymous. Its empty. Its the last house on the left that nobody lives in anymore and even the trade and marketing stuff isn't wasted on its mailbox.
I suppose it feels fitting because I get to feel as though someone might read it, while knowing that's not going to happen. An exercise in being candid, without the burden of an audience. Naturally, few other places work that way. And certainly none I have any relationship with anymore.
Life is going well. Work is well, but that's pretty unimportant. I try very hard to keep it unimportant. It doesn't always work, but if I don't then it will consume my every waking moment--and I've been that way for my whole life and its not healthy. "Workaholic" is a term people use to pat themselves on the back, too often, for me its a thing I think of like a chronic genetic condition. I will let the world burn, and the baby cry, and the phone ring itself off the hook so long as I'm busy working. The DSM doesn't have an entry for that. So, I self-medicate with willful and intentional occupation with other things.
Not the least of those medications is not talking about it.
I miss my father. That's more important than work. Moreso than missing him is knowing his life is not going well. Not badly, but he moved to Kentucky to get back together with my mother and be close to the grand-kids and he's been there for a year and a half.
A year and a half is a long time. Long enough to make anything hard to leave behind. He's not happy, he feels he doesn't quite fit in. I think he misses me. I hope so. We talk every day, I bought him a cell and put it on my plan--and he's my evening drive-time. He's been out of work since moving up there and that depresses him, though he'll never admit it.
I want to fix everything for him, but I can't fix everything. That's another "-aholic" I work on. the desire to fix everything. Lots of things can be fixed. Not everything, and some things need to fix themselves and other things need other people to fix them.
Friends are well, though I still worry about Jay (daily, it seems). We talk most afternoons and evenings when I'm on a break or in an airport or bored in a hotel. I visit him monthly, on the Coast. I try to find him work, but that's difficult from Jackson. I know Barbara worries, and her and I catch up when I'm down there. But, worry or not, he's well. And the best.
Mike and Ian are good, too. Ian's got a baby on the way. Little Michael is a growing, chubby little cutie. The four of us growing up has been a beautiful sociological experiment in how different four boys can be and how different (and less predictable) four men can come into being.
I think we always knew Mike would get married. And live the family life. Ian was a surprise. Nobody expected me to stop letching, and Jay is Jay. But then, I think everyone expected Mike to make it in a big way, Jay as well; I think Ian was going to be the stable one, and most thought I'd end up... I don't know... maybe failed and deeply flawed.
Unserious.
Predicting the future is hard. And a failure. Or close enough as makes no nevermind.
I went to a Farmer's Market today with a woman I've been hanging out with for a while. We went to New Orleans a few weekends ago. She's... alright. Nothing romantic, just friendly. The same time I made a decision to get in shape in March was the time I decided I need to go on a hiatus with women.
Like a diet, really.
Most people, friends and family, hold that in suspicion. Not all, but most. I'm not well-known for ever taking any real break from women. Casually, seriously... never far from spending my nights in company and my nights in more company.
But, I have. Its been cleansing. Satisfying. Hard, very much so. But its like an alcoholic gaining some clarity after getting off the sauce. The world has been more coming into perspective. Its been nice. Dropping sixty pounds hasn't hurt that, either.
I might be moving soon, the job has asked lightly and looks to ask more strongly in the next few weeks. Chicago. Ohio. Other places. I don't have much here, anymore. Not with Dad away. I'd miss Jay, but that's manageable--I'd still be visiting here every couple of months.
We'll see.
Hope you're well. That's the truth. I hope your world has been shaping itself into what you want. I often, and this is also true, think about the things I knew you worried about when you were younger. The caricatures of a woman in her mid-thirties you sometimes thought on. And in thinking of it, myself, I often hope you've found strength and confidence past that idea.
Have a good month. And don't think poor of me, if I may ask that.
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